


Fixed in Time

by TheWorldsaBeastofBurden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cissamione, F/F, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Trans Character, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 538,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWorldsaBeastofBurden/pseuds/TheWorldsaBeastofBurden
Summary: "I did not want this for him, for my son. I did not want...any of this," the words poured from her lips like bubbling potion boiling over, "I wish...I wish I never allowed him to set foot on this path. That I never stood by and let the Dark Lord brand his precious skin with his Mark…I wish for many things Miss Granger. If I could change the past, I would.”A desperate plea leads to a desperate mission. In a split second when all seems lost, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor’s Golden Girl unlinks the golden chain around her neck and throws it around the shoulders of Narcissa Malfoy and turns back time to a week before Draco was set to take the Mark. Working together they'll manipulate the events of the last few years to lead their past selves to victory against the Dark Lord. They have a year and a half to change the course of Draco's life, destroy the Horcruxes, prepare all versions of themselves for the Final Battle and make certain their past selves still end up in Malfoy Manor so they can snap back into time without creating a major paradox.A lot can happen in a year and a half.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 303
Kudos: 1034





	1. I Solemnly Swear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torture, Time-Travel, Spontaneous Blood-oaths. It's an eventful day for the likes of Narcissa Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this happened! I have fallen (in love with) Cissamione and I can't get up. Happy Apocalypse! Enjoy!
> 
> To be clear, I own nothing. I mean this both literally and in the disclaimery way: I don't own Harry Potter or anything else mentioned or pulled from this fic, I own nothing.

Hermione Granger had had a relatively pleasant childhood. Easy, loving, thanks to her parents. But she had endured moments of panic, paralyzing fear of the unknown when fright or a fit of anger caused something strange and terrifying in her to spark and make itself known in unpredictable ways—once, Peter Jenkins shoved her into the dirt and mocked her for being a little miss know-it-all, his leg had drawn back to kick at her and then he fell forward with the blast as the entirety of the school building’s windows blew out behind him. It wasn’t until Hermione was home, seated on the edge of the tub while her father carefully dabbed at the scrapes on her knees, pressed a feather light kiss over the bandage covering the cut on her forehead where she’d caught a bit of glass, when she felt the overwhelming lack of oxygen in the room, a cold chill settling over her from head to toe as the air constricted in her lungs and her father was frantically calling for her mother in a panic because…well, she was. Panicking. Having a panic attack, they informed them when they took her to Hospital. Understandable—goodness, to have witnessed a side effect of crumbling infrastructure in a school building that she’d only just been in moments before would frighten anyone. But she had no further trouble with it, not until maybe two years later when she came home from the library one sunny summer day and found her parents seated with Professor Minerva McGonagall—a perfect stranger in even more curious clothing, billowing robes and a tall pointed hat. The discovery that she was a witch wasn’t…shocking. No, that did not hit her harshly—it felt like freedom, relief! There had always been _something missing_ an answer to a question she didn’t have the words to ask. Now she had question and answer in one fell swoop— _what am I? A Witch._ She’d been breathless with excitement, questions bubbling up to burst from her lips the moment this beautiful, powerful _Witch_ was done speaking and-

 _"No.”_ Had been mother’s initial reaction. _No I- I mean absolutely no disresepect miss-“_

_"Professor.”_

_"Hogskin does not sound like a credible academic body and I won’t sit here and let you confuse my dau- you- please leave. I don’t know how you ch- changed our end table into a chair but you- this doesn’t make sense! You’re no longer welcome here.”_

_McGonagall had let out a sympathetic sound, sighing as she nodded, “I do apologize if I’ve overwhelmed you Doctor Granger. Please do forgive me I understand it is all a bit much to comprehend at once. You have my information and I’ve left instruction on how to contact me when you’ve questions. I do hope you’ll seriously consider this opportunity for your daughter.”_

_“W-wait!” Hermione cried, “Mum! I- I want to go! Oh my gosh I have so many questions, can’t she please-“_

_“Absolutely not, this is ridiculous-“_

_…_ mum hadn’t found it ridiculous when it appeared Hermione’s magic had a thing for lashing out at glass when let loose, wild. The living room’s window seat was full of glass as all three panes shattered to pieces, the delicate windows of her mother’s curio cabinet, the slender sliver of window in the top of their front door Hermione wasn’t yet tall enough to use to peek out at visitors before opening it. Fear that this woman who must have every answer to her every question was being banished, never to be seen again, that she would be left with the knowledge she was a Witch and never have any possible idea of just what to do with that. The anger that her mother would just cast this aside without so much as taking a moment to consider maybe Hermione wanted to listen, wanted her questions answered. She realized later it had been fear, her mother had felt overwhelming fear of the unknown, the very fear that sent Hermione’s first identifiable in the moment bit of magic breaking from her skin to wreck her childhood home.

 _“I- I don’t- I didn’t mean t-to,”_ Hermione had whimpered out, trembling so fiercely and her mother had cried out in fright—not of her daughter, but for her daughter, she’d immediately swept Hermione up, a litany of shushes falling from her lips as she rubbed her back, stroking her hair as she reminded Hermione to _breathe_ her father promising they weren’t upset, that she was safe—no one was hurt, they were home, and together, and they could fix this. Broken glass could be replaced—broken pieces could always be worked into something more beautiful with care and patience and a little bit of glue…backed, eventually by sticking charms. When the dust settled, her parents and Professor McGonagall spoke— _Hogwarts_ might be an appropriate educational path for her daughter after all seeing as…well, she was a Witch, that much was far more plain to see. Hermione had lost the energy to ask her questions then but she’d a sense of peace that she would get her answers in due time as the Professor took her leave—withdrawing a wand to first return the end table she’d turned into a chair back to its former state and then _reparo_ …reparo, Hermione dedicated the word to memory as all the shards of glass from the window seat leapt into action and begun fusing together in the window frame once more. And her father swept up the glass from the curio cabinet, and sat her down at the kitchen table the following morning with all the pieces gathered, and a wooden picture frame, which now held her invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was confused what the glass was for but…well it was very pretty, a shame to go to waste—paper thin glass inlayed with brass that shone like gold to form patterns of delicate vines sprouting with little rosebuds. Even broken it was lovely and her father had taken the perilous task of smoothing each shards sharp edges to make them into pieces that could be puzzled together with his young daughter. Using some glue that was…technically for dental use, they fused the glass to the picture frame as decoration, clear glass with broken patterns of brass backed by the light oaky frame that made what was one of Hermione’s most cherished possessions, made along with one of her most cherished memories. A morning with her father doing something fun while chatting away her excitement about- well, everything! She was a Witch! She finally understood why she never quite…fit in, connected completely with kids her age, her…her magic must have something to do with it, right? Made her different and strange to them, that was it! And she’d be going to school with children just like her now! And she wanted to learn every last thing there was to know about being a Witch and Magic and everything! Her father smiled, encouraging her, agreeing that yes—Hogwarts would be an amazing adventure for her. And sometimes adventures got scary, and hard.

 _"Sometimes life gets overwhelming, little love,”_ her father said as their work neared its end, _“But no matter how bad things might seem—you are a brilliant, resilient girl, you’re going to be meeting children like you, and soon you’ll make some wonderful friends, and no matter what, your mother and I will always be here for you. And now? Now you know you’ll always have something with you—your magic. It’s…done some unexpected things but you’ll learn to control it, and I’ve no doubt you’ll use it to do some amazing things. Remember that sweetheart, there’s always something, there’s always an answer, and if you can stop and take a deep breath and apply that brilliant mind of yours to the problem? I don’t believe there’s a single thing you can’t solve, no situation too dire, no thing too broken,”_ he smiled as he released the pressure he’d placed on the last bit of glass and they looked over their finished product that went on to be proudly displayed on her nightstand at home.

Now Hermione Granger lay bleeding and broken on the floor of Malfoy Manor. Her brilliant mind felt like miserable mush, her friends captured, and her parents a lifetime away with…with no idea they even had a daughter at all. And where was her magic? She didn't have her wand, but magic had never- there'd always been something, some form of intervention when things got dire. Peter Jenkins could barely push her in the dirt before her magic blew out the windows of an entire school building but Bellatrix Lestrange could carve an eight letters of hate into her arm and the Malfoy's got to keep their precious windows, not so much as a crack appeared in her defense.

She wasn’t sure why Bellatrix stopped all she knew was one moment her entire body had been wracked with the nerve-sizzling pain of a cursed blade piercing punishment into her skin, and then next the woman’s weight was off of her, somehow that was worse she could only focus on the pain now and that wasn’t the least bit helpful oh Merlin, _Merlin_ why wouldn’t it _stop-_

Pressure again. Not on her body but on her arm. Soothing pressure—painful but a better sort somehow as a spindly fingered hand covered in a delicate, silken, slytherin green handkerchief wrapped around her forearm to ply pressure to the angry red swell of blood.

“I’m-“ Hermione hadn’t much realized to whom the hand belonged to until her voice got her attention—whispered words lilting low from Narcissa Malfoy as the woman knelt at Hermione’s side, eyes frantic as she met her gaze before looking about to ensure her sister wasn’t just about to burst back into the room again. “I’m sorry.”

Somehow the apology felt like pouring salt in her wounds as anger, fresh and powerful blazed in her chest, “You’re _sorry?”_ Hermione snapped…wept but she’d her bite still as she wrenched her arm from Narcissa’s hold. “What good are your _sorry’s?_ Even your _son-_ ” She- she still wasn’t certain how she felt about that. But he’d saved Harry’s life…spared it, for now anyway, “Draco had the courage to speak up, to protect people. To do the right thing for once.”

Narcissa’s hands ghosted before Hermione like she’d only just stopped herself from reaching out again, but chose to put her hands in her own lap, blood soaked handkerchief staining the fabric on her thigh which…well the woman did much notice, which felt…strange. Not very Malfoy-esque of her, Hermione had never seen so much as a hair out of place on the woman who now knelt on the floor of a room that hadn’t been touched by a House Elf in ages, hair falling from the knot where she usually had what would frame her face bound instead behind her head, face streaked with tears.

“I did not want this for him, for my son. I did not want...any of this," the words poured from her lips like bubbling potion boiling over, "I wish...I wish I never allowed him to set foot on this path. That I never stood by and let the Dark Lord brand his precious skin with his Mark.” She gulped in air as a shudder worked through her, “I wish for many things Miss Granger. If I could change the past, I would.”

She…

Her mind might be mush, friends captive, family gone. And still, something her father had said rang true.

Despite everything? _Magic_ would _always_ be with her. And in her last seven years at Hogwarts? She’d managed to do some pretty incredible things with it.

There was an eruption of sound from somewhere in the house—the basement? From above? She wasn’t certain but the clatter of calamity didn’t sound like anything working toward solutions to this- to this mess. This broken, brutal mess. So many things had gone wrong—everything, these past few years. She…she had one shot, she’d not wanted to risk it unless it was clear, absolutely imperative that she go to such lengths and now…well. This was about as dire as it got, it felt like.

So Hermione met Narcissa Malfoy’s gaze. “Well I hope you mean that Mrs. Malfoy because if I’ve a say in anything we’re about to do just that.”

Pink lips parted to question…well everything about that sentence was questionable. But the answer would be plain enough.

With little more than a seconds thought Hermione Granger unlinked the time-turner from around her neck and looped its chain around Narcissa Black Malfoy, raising her aching arm to pull the woman close as she gave time a carefully calculated turn and a half.

The world whipped around them at dizzying speed, air whooshing with such a fierceness Hermione felt her head might explode from the pressure and then-

And then they were in Malfoy Manor, in a pristine parlor that looked almost eerily inviting given just moments ago…several months in the future, she’d been tortured here.

Well…maybe not. That wasn’t entirely certain, was it?

“What…what did you do?” Narcissa breathed.

“Mother?” Draco’s voice called from a nearby room and Hermione only had a split second to press her hand over Narcissa’s mouth to halt her before she _overlapped_ herself calling back from the hall,

“Yes my Dragon?” Hermione’s brow raised at that as she mouthed ‘Dragon?’ before seeing realization dawn in the woman’s features and she nodded, so, Hermione lowered her hand.

“We have to get out of here,” Hermione whispered. “Apparation?”

“I can,” Narcissa whispered back as she looked like she was thinking rapidly of somewhere, anywhere to go or- or maybe it was that, “but I would have to alter the wards to permit you and that would be visible to any who examined them and this- just how far back did you-?”

“Before the Mark,” Hermione said. “At least…I think? Draco came back from break with it, there…there were rumors, anyway, sixth year. I brought us back to…July, I think—that was the intention.”

Narcissa stared at her for a moment and then nodded, “Well then. The Wards will be under examination soon. There’s nothing else to be done,” she said and that…that couldn’t be true! There had to be something! Maybe if she could let Hermione look at the wards she’d see something-

“We will be giving the Dark Lord full run of our every estate in…well anytime now, soon,” Narcissa was saying, “is there anywhere you know of we could go? If you could apparate us?”

“Yes.” She…well she’d actually thought that part through, a little. It came to her mind the moment it conceived of this foolish failing plan.

There were heels clicking in the hall, footsteps approaching and-

And Mrs. Malfoy breathed a hasty incantation before pressing the tip of her wand into her index finger, pulling it away to reveal a pinprick pooling with blood before she raised her hand to Hermione’s face, cradling her cheek, a painful press against a scrape on her cheekbone as Narcissa placed her bleeding finger into the wound which was all _unsettling enough_ and that was before she whispered,

“Blood of my blood, bond of my word—you may pass all thresholds I am welcome, find refuge under my every roof, be seated at any table where I preside. From this day forth I pledge to thee my loyalty and fealty true—no harm will come to you of my hand, no foe may cross you unmet by my wrath. This, I do solemnly swear.”

Was…was she supposed to say something back? “…cool.” Cool?

And Mrs. Malfoy smirked, amusement sparked through the panic in her gaze and she murmured, “Indeed, Miss Granger. Now. If you’d be so kind? The Wards will permit you to pass without question.”

Oh. Oh! “Real-?” there wasn’t time for questioning even if now she was feeling the very real fear she was about to be double crossed and horribly splinched…if not by attempting to pass through unwelcoming wards, then by sheer risk of apparating while her magic felt like she could barely case a _lumos_ let alone apparate side-along-

An arm snaked around her waist, a firm hand pressing high on her back between her shoulder blades as Narcissa Malfoy pulled her close, “You concentrate, do the mind work behind our journey and I will supply the magic-“

“You can do tha-?“

“Miss _Granger!”_

Right, right! Footsteps—definitely Narcissa’s and if she saw herself? Well, they’d hurdle after hurdle so far…but given her every adventure since darkening the doorstep of Hogwarts, the plan was going according to plan. Plan, scramble, don’t die, repeat. It worked for eggs and half-baked schemes, so.

So Hermione did her best to ignore sickly strange feeling of a stranger’s magic surging through her, catching and clasping against her own to pull, and put it in her mind exactly where they needed to be pulled _to._

They landed on the floor a crumbled mess of limbs and hair, Narcissa’s caught in Hermione’s curls while the younger witch worked to unwind her fingers from silken strands she’d no idea just when she’d latched onto, a hasty, “Sorry, sorry,” falling from her lips as she scrambled to get off of her, Merlin! She'd landed right on top of the woman!

“I believe I’ll live, Miss Granger,” Narcissa supposed as she sat up, taking in their surroundings with confusion and mild distaste. “Where the devil are we?”

Hermione’s gaze swept across the empty, vacant living room of a two story house nestled in the heart of Hampstead Garden*, and then she looked to her guest, offering the Witch a hand that got stared at for all of a moment before Mrs. Malfoy took it to help her rise, and Hermione answered her question.

“Welcome to my home.”

* * *

She wasn’t certain her sanity was wholly intact. In point of fact, she was absolutely certain it wasn’t. This was all overwhelming to say the least she’d…one moment she’d been watching Bella blacken her soul as she held down a _child_ for _torture_ and now somehow, some way…she was a year and a half in the past with said child _._ She had known her sister was broken but Merlin, her actions toward Miss Granger were beyond the pale. It had- it felt unjust to claim it to have been torture to endure but it certainly smacked of torment, the only reason she could abide watching was for the sake of the girl herself, she…she would have needed Bella to be taking it to a place the Dark Lord would deem too far, and he would forgive the Mudblood’s death, but Narcissa had felt she could plead for the girl’s life but she…was grateful, especially now that she was in such a perilous situation with only Miss Granger as a tentative ally, that she hadn’t had to do. Somehow she doubted the girl would appreciate _Bella, honestly, what fun is there in killing the filthy Mudblood so quickly? Allow her to recover and heal. You know you can mark her skin fresh as often as you like, I’m certain the Dark Lord would let you keep her, a reward for all your hard work._ She was a Gryffindor, she’d have precious little understanding the Mistress of Malfoy Manor would have truly meant she was convincing her psychotic sister to spare the girl her life, to leave her healed under the pretense of being tortured anew only to hopefully be given escape before then.

She’d made escape for them both now. And Narcissa needed to understand _how._

…but Merlin did the girl need to recover. It had been jarring for the woman to be so suddenly thrown into the past, apparated to some horrible, dingy domicile in the middle of…wherever the hell they were, what country was this? The world outside had been relatively silent but now as the afternoon wore on there was the sound of children at play, and those horrible Muggle machines, automobiles, could be heard outside. Unpleasantness aside, she’d done this in good health. Miss Granger could hardly say the same. Narcissa could only imagine where the Golden Trio had been as of late, being on the run in the _wilderness_. The girl had been wan and pale, bleeding and injured before Bella’s playtime with her, she was certainly no better off for it now and Narcissa hadn’t any great idea how to proceed. Everything flashed through her mind erratically, and she wasn’t certain which was more frightening—how out of depth she felt or how _alive_ it made her feel. It felt like the first bit of free agency she’d had in more than a year…far more than a year. The last few decisions she had full power in, had gotten precisely her way and had been free to have it was the moment she first looked upon her son, got to hold his precious body in her arms and said, _“His name is Draco.”_ And when she’d pled to Severus for her son’s life, begged him to ensure his success on the path his father foisted upon him. She’d spoken in nothing but wishes in the stands of time between—requests and suggestions to her husband he listened to when it suited him…when it suited the Dark Lord, more over.

And the Muggleborn cohort of his worst enemy had heard her wishes and granted them in spectacular fashion.

She…did not maintain that spectacle. Or perhaps it was that she moved to make a spectacle of herself in a different fashion—Miss Granger looked around the empty home she brought them to, sat back down onto her bottom in a motion that looked like perhaps her legs had collapsed under her weight, sat there momentarily before laying back, sprawled on the floor and staring at the ceiling.

 _Welcome to my home_ , she’d said. And Narcissa felt a disgusting pang of sympathy for the girl as her gaze swept over the small, vacant space. She could see into a room that bore double doors into a back…patch of earth she supposed might pass as what she prayed was the world’s smallest garden, surely there could not be smaller. The room also had counter space and a faucet? A kitchen, perhaps, though only Merlin knew what sort of meal could be prepared in such a space. So she assumed the room they appeared in was some sort of…informal dining room? A parlor? Where had this girl slept? There was a staircase but she doubted this domicile’s upstairs was any more grand than its lower level. She’d known she grew up among Muggles, but Merlin, she’d not the faintest idea _this_ was how she’d lived. There windows were bare of curtains, there were these strange…ugly, white…panels? Connected by strings? They blocked the view from the windows and did shield the room from sunlight to some degree. There wasn’t a bit of decoration or a single piece of furniture in sight. The chandelier overhead wasn’t lit, its candles looked like the muggle sort, light…something. Balls? Light balls, that were currently void of all light and Narcissa did not want to even begin considering how they were supposed to fill them with as much. She would _not_ stoop to some inane muggle methodology. Though perhaps it wouldn’t be terribly difficult, Muggles didn’t strike her as the hardest working sort, if they _all_ entertained these light balls, they must be easy enough to fill the Muggle way—she wasn’t certain just how much magic her surroundings would abide, nor was she certain her signature being so plain in the area would bode for them just now. The panels blocked direct sunlight, perhaps unblocking it would allow the light to fill the balls and they would have it for use once the sunset, that- that was imperative. She wasn’t certain where they would go from here but surely they couldn’t stay, but there were here for the time being and she would _not_ endure this place in the dark.

She did feel badly when Miss Granger groaned as sunlight shone more blindingly as Narcissa tested her theory, tugging the pair of strings that hung loose for such a purpose, to be pulled so the panels could be drawn upward to uncover the window, oh. There was more garden before the…house, there was one that looked similar in…very dear proximity, almost directly beside them, this whole street seemed lined with matching domiciles on one side…how quaint. Oh Merlin they were surrounded by Muggles, weren’t they? Where were the girl’s parents? There were a great many automobiles lining up alongside the houses, she saw a woman on a massive stone paver that bore the weight of an automobile beneath it, stepping out of the contraption, the door closing with a _slam_ as she adjusted the leather messenger bag over her shoulder, inserting keys into the side of the machine before moving forward toward her home. Returning from an occupation? Perhaps her parents were at…work. The two of them?

"I apologize,” Narcissa said…feeling flummoxed when the strings in her hands caught on something and the inane contraption refused to be righted. Infernal thing! It should do her bidding! Oh, she would figure it out, it would not best her, surely not. She cleared her throat, explaining, “I was merely catching the light.”

“…catching the light?” Miss Granger asked, sounding confused.

The damned strings were still being- ugh, obstinate! “The sun is out now but that will change soon enough.” A quiet, albeit frustrated growl escaped her.

…met with giggling. Ugh. The girl was laughing at her and it- well it was only relieving because she’d been through so much today, that was all. She…deserved a bit of laughter after such trials, Narcissa supposed.

Her heart startled in her chest when a hand clasped the string just above her own, guiding it to the right and then sliding down the…newly freed things that now slipped between their fingers with ease and allowed the panels to close once more. She hadn’t heard Miss Granger move, but she had, and now she stood, meeting Narcissa’s gaze with an amused smile at her lips. “Feeling fickle with the sunlight?” she supposed.

“It served its purpose,” Narcissa shrugged, though- oh what utter nonsense! An aghast sound burst from her throat as she drew her gaze from warm glittering eyes to the darkened chandelier! Not even a spark of light in a single ball! “Why I nev- Miss Granger your light balls appear to be defective.”

“My what _what?_ ” the girl questioned in startled surprise as she looked between Narcissa and then, “Oh…you- you…”

Narcissa looked to the girl as she drew very, very quiet, confused as Miss Granger turned her back on the older witch and- oh Merlin, oh what had she done? Had she said something? The young lady had had quite a time of it today, it…must be catching up with her now. The girl was _shaking_ , shoulders heaving as a choking sound escaped her-

And then Hermione Granger threw her head back and exposed her actions as _laughter._ Loud, entirely unprompted laughter.

…not…not wholly unprompted, Narcissa was embarrassed to realize.

“Oh I- oh I’m sorry,” the girl apologized as she fought to collect herself, sniffling and wiping at her eyes, she had cried after a fashion, her laughter invoking tearshed. She turned to Narcissa with a sheepish grin, “I- I’m not trying to be mean, I just- whoo,” she breathed, and then took a bracing breath, “you…want the lights on? Glad I paid up the utilities just…just in case, I never did anything with the place but I wanted the option in case it was needed,” she shook her head as if to clear it, and then she stepped away, to this square panel alongside the window seat, and the chandelier lit straight away with brilliant light once she pulled upward on a small lever she called a, “Lightswitches will turn on just about any light in the house—some of them will have pull strings but you shouldn’t have any problem with them you just pull to turn the light or fan on, pull again to turn it off. These you just flip,” she explained, pushing the lever down, light vacating the glass orbs before reappearing the split second she pushed it upward again oh- oh it was-

“Delightful I-“ Narcissa caught herself—she’d many questions and right now the least important were the ones forming rapid fire in the back of her throat, _how does it work? Why? What muggle magic had been brought to bear to do such a thing? Was it magical in nature—had the muggles harnessed it or was this some such contraption the witch had come up with to bless her poor parents with light?_ She settled for a statement, which was true enough. “I did not expect Muggles to be so innovative.”

Miss Granger shrugged, “Science can have a magical cast of its own I suppose. I’ve always loved it, even after finding out about actual magic,” she confessed.

“I…would not wish to rush you,” Narcissa said, in full truth, but she felt no painful press on her magic that said her words would lead to the girl’s detriment, “but I’ve questions, and no clue just how long we have to answer them.”

“All the time in the world…insofar as the next year and a half is concerned. Um…” she swallowed, oh, she was tired, looked momentarily as her hand sought purchase against the wall briefly. “There aren’t any chairs just now and I’m not sure there’s anything fit for transfiguration around, but we could sit on the stairs?”

Delightful. There wasn’t anything at hand, Narcissa supposed and she stepped forward to tentatively brace the elbow of her uninjured arm, the girl flinched a bit but accepted the bit of contact as Narcissa walked her to the stairs and saw Miss Granger was seated securely before…well, it was no grand staircase, but she was hardly going to sit in the girl’s lap. It wasn’t ideal but she sat on the step just below the one Miss Granger sat on, sliding into the space between the railing and the young witch’s legs. “What do you mean we’ve a year and a half? How do you…where did you find a Time-Turner?” they’d been lost to the battle at the Ministry two years- well. A few months ago now. The entirety of their collection had been sent turning eternally, wholly unusable. So where had Miss Granger’s appeared?

…she wasn’t certain what answer she expected, nor what her response might be. But the young witch’s calm…sincere, “I made it work,” was a rather shocking claim. Mostly because the gentle brush of legitimacy she plied; the cursory glance she gave the forefront of the girl’s mind provided verification that she was being forthright.

“…you…made it work?” Narcissa repeated slowly.

She hadn’t expected the words to make the girl blush so fiercely, nor did she anticipate the stutter in her chest at how painfully shy it had Miss Granger seeming as she ducked her head, hair veiling her reddened cheeks as she confessed, “I…spent some time with a Time Turner. I…might have taken on a bit of a heavier course load and I was allowed to use one to do so, it gave me five extra hours a day to attend overlapping lectures and study.”

“And sleep I hope,” Narcissa drawled. “Heavier course load?”

“I _might_ have elected to take…every available course third year. I did drop Divination and Muggle Studies eventually,” she shrugged. “The point, Mrs. Malfoy—I had an entire school year with it…more than that given the nature of a Time Turner I could turn back as far as I wanted, as long as I only stayed there for five hours and didn’t run into myself, I could study anything for however long I wanted and what I studied an awful lot was the Time Turner itself. It was…stupid but I knew Mc- I knew I would eventually have to give it back, if not for the summer than permanently one day. And it was something that would definitely come in handy given Harry Potter is my best friend. So…I experimented with it. Overstayed my welcome and nearly erased myself from time,” she shuddered. Good heavens. She did not necessarily consider the girl dear, but Merlin was she grateful she’d not met such a fate. “But I did it while running diagnostic charms and that let me look at the internal magic, the wards and mechanics behind the _why_ of how the Time Turners restraints worked and I was able to work out a way around them. Its…” she looked like she wasn’t certain she should continue speaking but, “well. We’re working together and you’ve got to be able to trust that we won’t break time itself or end up erased, so,” she cleared her throat, “Time Turners worked with the restraints their creators put on them. They were regulations to instate accountability and structure to their use, not laws of Time that magic must adhere to. It was meant to stop abuse of the world’s timeline—making great stands of time harder to calculate with accuracy by making the turner operate on ‘one turn per hour of time you wish to move through’ and putting a five hour limit on how long you could be displaced in time before needing to return to your natural present. When I began preparing for Harry, Ron and I’s…seventh year excursion, I went to the person who gave me the Time Turner and she let me have it back with a few…conditions. I promised not to alter major points of history, or abuse the timeline in a way that would unravel it…and if I used it, to make it unusable once I return-“

“You swore an unbreakable vow?!” Narcissa questioned, alarmed.

“Oh gosh no,” the girl assured, oh. Oh thank Merlin. Though, “I signed a magical contract. I won’t die if I don’t keep my word but I don’t exactly intend not to keep it—I understand how dangerous the turner is, I nearly set it unusable a few times this past year…future year?” she waved her hand dismissively, “Whenever I was tempted to use it for something frivolous or asinine.”

“You’d a single opportunity to turn back time…and you chose to use it now?”

“Well it seemed like the only chance we have,” Miss Granger shrugged. “I…I’m not even sure where to begin with getting back, but we have time to figure it out.”

“Do we?” Narcissa questioned, “I counted a single turn and perhaps half, of your turner.”

The girl shook herself, blinking as if she was seeking to regain focus from her exhaustion, “I…” she thought momentarily, mouth moving to murmur words to herself and Narcissa caught a recap of sorts as she retraced her explanation to see what she’d missed. “Oh! I got the Time Turner back and unwarded it. Well. I mean I unwound the wards that placed the time restrictions on it and adjusted the arithmancy a bit—it used to be more of a mechanical thing, where you just turn and appear wherever you are with a few hours difference. Now it requires a bit of intent, like all casting. I put the intent to travel back in the space of years—making it so a single turn counts for a single year, half a turn…”

“Prompts half of a year,” Narcissa nodded. Merlin…

Hermione Granger might just truly be the brightest Witch of her age.

The young witch nodded, smiling as if pleased Narcissa had kept up with her explanation, of course she entertained the company of the likes of Ronald Weasley, if she’d gone over as much with that boy he likely wouldn’t have been listening for half of it, and need what he did hear repeated further still to even begin comprehending. And he, a Pureblood. “Do…you have any more urgent questions?”

Oh. “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere you could rest here?”

“I can get furniture out of storage but that will take time,” Hermione said, “there’s a few stone benches fixed to the ground out back, a bird fountain? I don’t have my wand or I’d help but if you wouldn’t mind transfiguring us a few beds…?”

“Certainly,” Narcissa nodded, rising, though it struck her, “…Miss Granger, your homes furniture is in storage? Do your parents vacate these premises during your schooling? Or are you all vacationing now?” that would make sense, it wouldn’t do to run into the past’s-present Hermione Granger.

“I’m at Ron’s right now, I won’t be coming here period,” Miss Granger said, sounding nervous. “No one…no one will disturb us here, that’s why I brought us. Um. My parents are out of the country rather indefinitely. The house is ours for now, I…it’s mine, sort of, I’m renting the place. The owner’s furniture is in storage. Um. I just need to use a phone, I don’t think it’s too late to put a call in to see about having it delivered.”

None of this…sounded necessarily _right_ , as in it did not feel as if it made much sense, there was certainly more to the story but, “You should rest—I’ll manage our sleeping arrangements if you would be so kind as to use your ‘phone’ for delivery. You can do that now?”

Miss Granger nodded, reaching up to grab the railing along the wall and hoist herself up, “There’s a landline in the kitchen. Um…I- no one is supposed to be here right now so there’s not exactly any groceries—are you hungry?”

Not in the slightest, not after…her appetite had fled when Bellatrix launched herself at the Muggleborn Witch left to her tender mercies. It had yet to return. “Not particularly, are you?”

She shook her head, ‘no’. “We’ll see about supplies and such later then. I can show you how to use the phone in case you get hungry later—most places will deliver until ten.”

‘Most Places’…around here…would likely be Muggle establishments, and she doubted more than dual stars. So. “That is…kind, but unnecessary. I would not wish to break this…it is a means of communication?”

“C’mon, I’ll show you,” the girl invited, carefully treading the path into the kitchen, using the wall for support as she guided Narcissa and approached a…object attached to the wall made of a material Narcissa hadn’t a name for but could associate with some of the things she’d seen—the panels that made light happen. It made an alarming sound—this drone Narcissa could hear even without pressing the part of the machine Miss Granger pulled from the wall to her ear, as the young witch did now, cradling it between her ear and shoulder as she pressed small numbered buttons, producing a series of strange short tones that seemed to alter based on the number she touched…was it a communication device or some horribly tuned instrument? The former, apparently, as after a few groaning noises there was the sound of a voice coming through, and Miss Granger smiled and nodded to Narcissa expectantly…like a dismissal, she’d gotten through to whoever she needed to and Narcissa could be about her own business. And as the Witch moved to do just that, opening one of the double doors to exit into the garden, “Good afternoon. My name is Monica Wilkins, I was wondering if I could speak to…”

…an alias? The girl had been speaking…strangely, voice lowering and softening as if endeavoring to sound older to whomever she was speaking to before her voice became an uninterpretable muffle as Narcissa closed the door behind her.

It was her first moment alone. The gardens had…passable fencing, she supposed—wooden, but it surrounded the entirety of the garden and offered appropriate privacy, and Merlin did the sun feel incredible. When last had she stolen a moment to herself outside? She hadn’t been permitted to set foot outside the manor in…well far too long, her gardens suffered for it, she was certain, but the Dark Lord…well. His word had been law. He’d been absolutely paranoid about their movements even throughout the house, stepping outside had been prohibited.

Now she lived outside of them. She took a moment to breathe and feel light on her skin and…calm herself. She was someplace strange with someone she barely trusted, under strange circumstances of epic proportions. She’d-

She’d vowed herself to the girl. Merlin. It had been necessity, but still. Something didn’t sit right, saying _Blood of my blood_ , to someone born from Muggle stock. But she’d needed her to pass through the Wards without detection—permitting her as she would an acquaintance or…or as she would soon be doing so for the Dark Lord, would be visible. When the Dark Lord _was_ keyed into the Manor’s wards, it would be there for all to see—that Narcissa Black Malfoy had granted Hermione Granger permission to pass through their wards, and her current self would be just as shocked as everyone else in that situation and that…did not bode well. So. She’d done what she needed to do.

…she’d done a bit more than what she’d needed to do. She could have stopped after making the girl be seen as a member of the household. Pledging her fealty—that no harm would come to her of Narcissa’s hand, _no foe may cross you unmet by my wrath._ That…

It had been necessary, she was certain. For their current circumstance, more so than for the purposes of passing through wards unharmed. Too, if the sharing of blood hadn’t quite taken, Narcissa’s vows would have shielded the girl from harm as she used her own magic to propel their apparition—her magic could not hurt Hermione Granger now, it could not stand idle by while she was harmed either, it would have defended her, taken the brunt of any trap that might have ensnared the stranger moving through Malfoy Manor’s wards. It had…ultimately been unnecessary for their travel, Narcissa felt no maleficence against her magic as they apparated. Still. It was better safe than splinched. And the girl needed assurances, guarantees that the Malfoy she’d entrusted with this insane plan they hadn’t even fully formed yet, wouldn’t turn on her, take it into her head to torment her as her sister had.

Still…vows were serious things and that she’d made so many so swiftly with a girl who was little more than a perfect stranger was…unsettling to say the least. She needed a rest too. So she taxed her magic further still, taking up the rather challenging task of altering solid stone into soft beds she plied shrinking charms to for transport to wherever in this home they would lay their heads tonight.

…it only just occurred to her, a thought that had her bursting back into the house with battlefield urgency, “The Ministry-“ she fell silent when the girl looked to her, mildly alarmed, shaking that implement, the piece of the phone she’d been speaking into. She shook it at Narcissa with a bit of attitude that silenced and riled her to a degree—impertinent girl! This was serious!

“Yes, nine o’clock, someone will be here. Thank you sir. Certainly, I’ll tell my husband you say hallo,” husband?! “do give your wife my regards. Uh-huh. Take care.” which was apparently a wish of farewell as the young woman placed the piece of phone back into its counterpart on the wall and she turned her attention to Narcissa, “Problem?”

“I’ve cast to procure us beds—how closely does the Ministry monitor your home for underage use?”

“Not very closely at all,” Miss Granger assured. “I’m of age.”

 _"You’re_ of age,” Narcissa snapped, impatient. She thought the girl more intelligent than this- “Your _presents_ self, however is-“

“Of. Age.” Miss Granger steadily insisted.

“You’re the same year as Draco-“ and then, “Time travel,” she caught on. “You traveled so much you’ve aged yourself that greatly?”

“I really did use the Turner to it’s full abilities during third year. I would plot out my day each morning—based off my friends schedules I’d coordinate around them so they didn’t spot me too many different places at once, and avoid running into myself. Usually four or five places at once. On a good day I could spend my five hours…my record was seven different places at one time. Library when it was supposed to be closed for the afternoon, the Astronomy tower, my dormitory…Ginny’s dorm, Ravenclaw’s common room—it was empty of students in my year because they were…with me in my Arithmancy class and…the kitchens. Dobby let me study there on busier days like that to make sure I ate.” She blushed, “I usually relived five hours in the morning and then again in the afternoon setting back five hours, in at least two to three places, so. That adds up. I’m technically nineteen?” she supposed, “Twenty, twenty-one by the time we’re through here I guess.”

“…nineteen?” Narcissa asked incredulously. Merlin, the hours really did add up. What utter fool allowed this girl to traipse about time that much to pick up the entirety of Hogwart’s course load?

Miss Granger nodded. “Drives Ron mad I won’t kiss him because he’s underage,” she shared like a bit of fun conspiracy.

Well, she seemed to be going for amicable joviality. Which Narcissa preferred to her earlier utter disdain. Just as it was, if Miss Granger was endeavoring to be friendly, the least she could do is meet her halfway. So, she gently teased, “Oh is that why you wouldn’t wish to kiss the boy?”

The younger Witch’s cheeks pinked at that…a touch more embarrassed than Narcissa had intended as she indignantly questioned, “W- Why else wouldn’t I want to kiss boys?”

… “I was not suggesting his boyishness bothers you, Miss Granger, save for its accountability for his lack of tact and intellect.”

Oh, that brought out her indignancy further still, less embarrassment and more resilience, fire, as she defended, “Ron’s a brilliant mind for tactics!”

“Perhaps in battle,” Narcissa allowed, “But we’re at _war_ , Miss Granger. Battlefield bravado is nothing without cunning conspiracy to support it.”

“Oh- oh whatever,” the girl snapped, Narcissa had expected a bit more…refined an argument than that, but Miss Granger slumped against the wall. She felt a bit of sting in her magic, oh. She should not have- she knew the young lady had precious little in her to give just now. She should not have teased her quite so much it was…unbecoming, honestly. Fun. But she was not here for that.

“Where shall I place our beds?” Narcissa wondered, stepping forward and offering her arm.

Miss Graner looked at it momentarily before sighing and accepting the bit of help…a great deal of help more than Narcissa had initially expected, she put her weight onto the older witch’s arm but that was easy enough to bear. “Upstairs,” she said. They returned to the stairway, making the journey upward which left the young lady panting softly, unsteady on her feet as they reached the top and Narcissa caught her against her side as she went to her knees to go down with her, ease her fall and- and just be level with the girl, see what she could do to help, panic spiking across her magic in warning that the young lady she’d vowed to protect was in some sort of peril.

“Hermione?” Narcissa pressed, alarmed.

“Sorry, sorry. J-just tired,” she promised, shaking her head as if to clear it. “There’s a room at the end of the hall—you can have it. There’s an en suite,” she offered…kindly. Well, Muggle’s apparently raised their children with an insistence on hospitality, Narcissa supposed. “My room was the first door on the left.”

 _Was_ , she kept saying. But Narcissa would not question that just yet. Perhaps it was a condition of their travel, speaking of what they were currently experiencing in past-tense. Something told her that was not the case, she’d have to wait and see. “Very well. Can you stand?”

She nodded, and Narcissa helped her rise, moving gingerly forward to the first room at the top of the stairs. Vacant, as the rest of the house, and Narcissa withdrew one of the beds from her robes and cast it out, removing her shrinking charm and once it was a more useable size, she cast to levitate it to rest with its head against the window that looked out of the side of the home, a line of houses visible. Merlin that was disconcerting, made the space feel even smaller. She focused on other things. “Do you need to bathe? You…should cleanse before lying down. Infection would be less than ideal just now.”

“Pretty sure I’d pass out in tub, drowning to death probably isn’t ideal either,” she supposed, wincing as if something hurt, “…probably.”

“Would you permit me to cast a cleansing charm?” Narcissa gently offered. And when the girl hesitated, “I cannot cast on you in harm. I’ve vowed as much.”

Miss Granger nodded, though that did little to keep her from flinching as Narcissa cast. But her skin was clean, hair silken and the young witch took a handful of it to sniff, a bit of a wry look on her face. “Lavender?” she spoke the word as if she suspected insult.

“It’s a pleasant scent, associated with calm. It will…I hope it will assist in giving you peaceful rest. I am sorry I’ve not any useful potion on hand,” she said as she helped the young woman to bed, she relaxed against the mattress with a bit of a groan that was followed with a more contented sounded sigh. She…was glad she could offer that much comfort. “It has been…you’ve had a trying time,” Narcissa said carefully. “If you’ve need…if you find yourself distress-,” she cleared her throat. “If you’ve need of anything, you’re to come to me. Is that clear, Hermione?”

“That’s twice now,” was the younger Witch’s…nonsensical reply. Was she already asleep? Her eyes were closed, voice a bare whisper. Some private amusement seemed to get to her, an amused hum in her throat, “They say third times a charm you know.”

“A charm?” Narcissa murmured before questioning, “What has happened twice now to set such a thing in motion?” A question which proved the girl’s consciousness—her eyes drifted open albeit sluggishly and she stared at the older witch for a moment before articulating,

“You called me ‘Hermione’,” there was a bit of an amused quirk to her lips, gentle teasing crossing them as she said, “You’re lucky no one’s listening—it almost sounds like we’re friends.”

…well. “Someone is listening,” Narcissa supposed. And if it was some sort of charm, it would do well to be something of use to the girl, so she offered the wish, “Sleep well, Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the actual physical house used for Hermione's home in Deathly Hallows is located in Hampstead Garden.


	2. Penning Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa is introduced to Muggle Technology, Hermione is introduced to Narcissa. Our ladies settle in to their hide out and plan their course of action for the coming future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two posted in one today! The next chapter is underway, I just have no clear timeline for that because I'm not a time traveler and right now time is a meaningless void, so jot that down.

She didn’t remember falling asleep. In actuality, Narcissa Malfoy’s last coherent thought was a mournful one—that she might never sleep again, lead the rest of her life in a pique of eternal exhaustion. It was so strange. The home was…pleasant enough, as she adjusted. Something about how unfamiliar it all was made it feel safe—like it was the very last place in all the world anyone would dare look for her. Which was nonsense—no one was hunting them. And yet it felt like they were on the run. Perhaps it was the constraints of time travel, the fact that they absolutely could not be seen by themselves at all, and too, it wouldn’t do to have others being able to report having seen them so, it was best to stay as inconspicuous as possible. An empty muggle home felt practically anonymous.

Claiming an alias felt particularly bemusing.

Narcissa didn’t remember falling asleep, but she did remember the sound of Hermione Granger’s screams, Bella’s cackling reverberating off the walls of her mind in the split second before the sound of a knock just barely broke through her consciousness and then,

“Mrs. Malfoy?”

Narcissa shot up, the tentative fear, worry in Miss Granger’s voice had a bit of panic spiking in her chest, or maybe it was the combination of her nightmares meeting the difference brought with the light of day. “Is something the matter?” her voice left her an almost unintelligible mumble to her ears.

“Sorry, I- I saw the light on and thought you were awake, er…”

Ahh. Well. “I am awake, as you can see, Miss Granger,” Narcissa supposed, she…well she wasn’t about to be embarrassed, she- well she hadn’t been keen on lying there in the pitch dark. She’d…trouble sleeping without being secure in the knowledge she would be able to see if she woke in the night—she’d had a stone charmed for such a thing that lived in her nightstand. In, and not on, as it aggravated Lucius to no end, the light waking him if she woke in the night—she only set it out on nights she was certain her husband wouldn’t be joining her in bed, which had happened less and less when the Dark Lord first made himself at home in Malfoy Manor, and he kept Lucius’s company evening after evening, the pair sitting up before the fireplace in their grand parlor, plotting or raving until morning light, when Lucius would fall into bed and mumble out the high points of their conversation. Then Harry Potter went missing, his Dark Eminence grew…he was less swift to reward his compatriots, and such evening regaling’s were reward in his eyes. Bella betrayed that Narcissa had stepped outside— _once_ , just to _breathe_ some fucking air that wasn’t stale and dry—and the Dark Lord saw fit to make the comment that perhaps Lucius should do a better job keeping his wife entertained so she did not wander out of bounds, and if boredom was not the issue, then perhaps it was merely a lack of knowing her place-

Her light stayed locked away in the nightstand. And Narcissa had gotten precious little sleep without it. The only mercy to be found was in Lucius merely joining her when it came time for sleep, at least that was all he left it to after he’d had a few nights working through his frustrations. It had not necessarily been for her enjoyment, but that was rather the point she supposed—which could be fine, had been fine in the past when it was something borne of mutual interest in mixing pleasure with punishment. She did not, however, care for it coming from embarrassment and the need to fix an ego bruised by the goading of the Dark Lord.

Ahem. Well.

Miss Granger made no further comment about the light, except to say, “Sorry, I would have left you to sleep a bit longer but um…if you’ll need to be up soon,” she sounded apologetic, “The movers will be here shortly there’ll be things for this room and I can’t undo the beds—they can be returned to benches, there’s beds coming and…and…” she seemed embarrassed, “Monica Wilkins is supposed to be a bit older than me, and I’d…I’d rather not have my face associated with her name if that can be helped, her being here in person will keep the company from calling to follow up.”

“…you wish for me to pose as your alias?” she…she wasn’t sure which of them was confused—perhaps Miss Granger’s intellect took a dive for the nonsensical in the mornings? Or perhaps it was Narcissa, sleep addled.

“It isn’t my alias,” she said. “um…I don’t know that you’d ever answer the phone but if you do and someone asks for Stacie Greene, that’s for me, I’d appreciate you getting my attention please.”

Narcissa hadn’t the foggiest as to how one answered the phone. It seemed intuitive, but she couldn’t be certain if there was some other aspect to the interaction she hadn’t seen—would she have to press buttons? Which ones? Did the part that was removed from the wall require further ritual to be answered? “I think I’ll let you handle the phone if that sorts,” she said, clearing her throat. “Alright. this is absolutely necessary—posing as this ‘Monica’?” Miss Granger nodded. “Very well.”

“The movers will be here soon—don’t worry, I’ll not be leaving you alone with them or anything, just, I shouldn’t be the face person for this. I’ll talk you through everything over breakfast—wash up if you’d like, you’ll want to um…transfigure your clothes.”

“Breakfast?” Narcissa wondered.

The young witch nodded. “I popped out to the shops first thing. Before sunrise—your cleansing charm helped me not look such a sight, I was able to go pick up a few essentials.”

Oh. “Splendid. I’ll be downstairs momentarily.”

Miss Granger left her then and she took a moment to cast a cleansing charm on her person—the idea of a bath was more than tempting but bath itself looked…strange. Small, and made of materials Narcissa would not term as stone or…well, she wasn’t certain _what_ to class it as but she wasn’t putting her skin against it just yet without a few assurances from Miss Granger. She felt fresher and made use of the small mirror over the sink as best she could to alter her clothing, transfigure them into…well. Mugglish apparel, she supposed. She did her best, thinking back on the Muggle woman she saw the other day had been a decent reference for what would pass as appropriate. Crisp black slacks and a deep green sweater, her boots could remain as they were, she thought, the silvery buttons that lined their sides were well covered by the slacks that fell to her ankles, and a Muggle wasn’t going to realize the pitch black leather was Dragon skin.

Her efforts were rewarded with something of a relieved smile that graced Miss Granger’s face when Narcissa descended the stairs and entered the kitchen after returning their beds to their former states as benches she banished to the back garden. The young witch earned her own smile from Narcissa when she realized she had been serious about breakfast—she’d thought she’d never be hungry again but stars above, her appetite was returned and she was admittedly grateful to see a small feast to sate it. She wasn’t certain the specifics but Miss Granger’s kitchen had a few cloth bags on the counters that were full of her shopping. Eggs, bacon, bread, milk—the girl was amused with her inquiry as to which sort but Narcissa wasn’t certain what was so funny. Apparently Muggle stores stocked cow’s milk, primarily. It wasn’t Unicorn milk but it was passable, Narcissa supposed—she sniffed the stuff when Miss Granger asked if she’d mind putting it in the ‘fridge’ and it smelled unquestionable enough. What she did find questionable was,

“…fridge?”

“Oh! It keeps perishables cold—that there,” the girl pointed to a large hissing cabinet. Oh. That’s the purpose it served. Narcissa had done a bit of exploring the night before—she hadn’t dared to touch the thing, but she’d stood in the dark of Miss Granger’s kitchen under the pale yellow light streaming in off some lantern in the street, staring at the appliance for a stand of five minutes, wand primed to cast against the thing should it attack. Apparently its many disconcerting sounds were normal—it was merely…refrigerating.

“There’s coffee if you’d like?” Miss Granger offered nodding to this packaging that worked to hold three paper cups with black caps, a fourth was on the counter by the stove in reach of the Witch using it. Narcissa took up a cup and gave it a few careful sips.

"Thank you, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said, feeling uncertain just how to proceed.

“Furniture will be here some time—when they arrive just…greet them, say ‘hallo’ and let them in. Everything should be marked and you’ve a decent idea of where the rooms are if they ask you for directions or something—the only one you might not have seen yet is the study, it’s across the hall from my room, the half-bath on this floor. If they ask anything you’re not certain of I’ll be around. Um…you’re just settling me in, as your tenant. Hand them this when you thank them before they leave.”

“You…as in Stacie Greene?” Narcissa made the leap.

Miss Granger nodded. “Yeah.” The word was spoken with some measure of finality that said that was all the questioning the witch would allow from her just now. She wasn’t certain what passed as furnishings in the Muggle world, but anything would be better than the utter sparsity they were currently enduring. Were…were they staying here?

Miss Granger _did_ allow that question. She took a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts as she doled out portions of eggs and bacon onto more strange materials, white plates that felt strange to her, smooth and flimsy—she was able to break off a small piece of it between her fingers rather incidentally, she’d merely been examining it once it was before her on the countertop, and she did _not_ appreciate that her muttered _reparo_ did precious little to mend it. Oh, oh dear. It was such a flimsy thing she prayed it wasn’t of value to the girl—Lucius once-

Her question went ignored a moment longer, interrupted by one from the younger Witch, “Hey, what is it?” Miss Granger’s hand was on her arm then, “Is…something the matter with the food? Oh. Are you vegetarian or something? Sorry I just went to the little shop on the corner, they don’t have fresh produce and I didn’t think you’d much appreciate the tinned kind but-“

“The food is fine,” excellent, she suspected. She wasn’t certain if it was rude to compare the girl’s work to that of a House Elf but Jinsey could not have done better herself. “I apologize for damaging your dinnerware.”

“Oh,” the girl said almost dumbly, “uhh, it’s fine Mrs. Malfoy, it’s just Styrofoam—disposable, like our cutlery,” she said, withdrawing two clear, crinkling packets that held black utensils made of what was apparently disposable material, and…ugh. Paper napkins. “We’ll have proper plates and things coming, reparo works on them fine. Magic gets tricky with heavily processed materials.”

Reparo did ‘work fine’ on most plates in Narcissa’s experience, crucio worked better to discourage such incidents. But she doubted Miss Granger’d the ferocity in her to cast unforgiveables. Even yesterday, fresh from torment the girl had thrown…conviction at her, with her anger, not insult or injury. Bella once beat Andromeda senseless in their youth, when the girl came to her sister’s side in sympathy after mother was exceptionally harsh with her—she’d a fresh list of lines scrawled in her arm, _naughty girls don’t marry well. naughty girls don’t marry well-_

The only person who’d a marriage that resembled happiness had been _very_ naughty, running off with her Muggleborn boyfriend. Bella’d better behavior before Azkaban, if only barely. Her marriage had been far less ideal than Narcissa’s, at least in the beginning. Something broke in Bella, the day she married Rodolphus, quietly but it was the silent breaks that screamed loudest when pressed. Lucius had at least…he’d courted Narcissa in good fashion, they’d romance and care, early on. Before their marriage became about his servitude to the Dark Lord. She once thought it utter rot, ludicrous when she heard lowerborn Witches decrying their marriages, considering _divorce_ of all things on the basis of _wanting different things_. Now that she stood with the future outstretched before her, knowing well the fate that laid in wait for her son? She’d wanted different things the moment Lucius declared his fealty to the Dark Lord—she hadn’t had the specifics of _what_ she wanted so differently, until her blood did not come for her and their Healer confirmed there was new life inside of her. New life condemned to old ways—the very instant Narcissa held her child she knew exactly what she wanted for him. As did Lucius, the gleam in his eyes, dark richness in his voice as he looked upon their child and claimed him, _his son_.

They were very, _very_ different things. and maybe if she’d divorced him then, her way would have won out.

Of course that would not have ended well for her, she didn’t suppose. Her vows to Miss Granger were not the first that left her incapable of harming another—she felt only mildly confident that the lack of reciprocation in this instance would result in her murder as it certainly would have with Lucius had she proposed the very idea of a divorce. And Draco would have no mother who loved him so greatly she was ready to face the task of _changing the course of the future_ for him, no matter the cost.

“…nude, they’ll be none the wiser. I know, I know—winter’ll be difficult but committing to total nudity will keep us in doors and out of the public eye, and I mean if you heard you were seen running starkers around Muggle London, you’d be the last person to believe it. It’ll cut down the risk of forming a paradox tremendously.”

“I do beg your pardon?!” what nonsense was this girl on-

Miss Granger’s eyes were alight with mischief, giggling into her hand and it should not be so terribly- was Narcissa that sympathetic to this girl? That her enjoyment at Narcissa’s expense deflated the outrage she felt that the girl would endeavor to _have_ enjoyment at Narcissa’s expense?

The feeling deflated further still…melted, to a degree when the younger Witch had the grace to blush, smiled so sheepishly in her shame at her bit of fun, “I’m sorry—you were the one playing space cadet, I was just trying to get your attention.”

She wasn’t certain what a space cadet was, but, she was absolutely certain, “You’ve regained my attention, Miss Granger. I was merely lost in thought—would you care to elucidate once more?”

She nodded. “I think this is our best hiding spot for right now. No one will look for us here, we aren’t likely to interact with the timeline in any way we don’t mean to, at least not in a way that will affect anything in the Wizarding World, from here.”

“I don’t know that we can explain this situation to your parents,” Narcissa said.

“We won’t have to. I’ve told you—they’re out of the country, they definitely won’t be returning to England anytime soon and if they did, this place isn’t…they don’t live here, they might pop in on the place, but they wouldn’t extend themselves further than a momentary visit, and they certainly wouldn’t do so unannounced. I’m renting the place from the Wilkin’s under the name Stacie Greene. They moved and Muggle’s don’t have the most inexpensive form of transport for their things, they left their furniture in storage—they weren’t certain a tenant wouldn’t wish to furnish the place themselves, and I didn’t really intend on using the place so,” she shrugged.

“But you’ve permission to use their furnishings? Why need I pose as this ‘Monica’ then? Or you, on the phone.”

“The Wilkins are the ones with a contract with the storage company—I’d have to call them to arrange for the furniture to be moved back in, wait for them to make the call. I’d rather…limit interaction with Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins—if they don’t have to know I’ve only just moved in, that’s likely for the best. It’s…I’ve been renting the place for a few-” she stopped, catching herself given the time change and the girl blanched as if something only just dawned on her. “I’ve been renting the place for nearly a year, now.”

…alright. The notion seemed to pain her in some way and it…appeared she was living separately from her parents, and as it stood, would be even in her seventh year-

_W-why else wouldn’t I want to kiss boys?!_

Oh goodness. Perhaps…Narcissa hadn’t much interest in Muggle politics of course, but Draco…had Half-blood friends in Slytherin. Some of whom had Muggle-born parents and could not be…forthright, with details of their sexuality or even their gender identity. She was uncertain if Blaise Zabini’s disdain for Muggles and their kin derived from genuine indoctrination of the Dark Lord’s vitriol, or from the negative association with the grandparents on his biological father’s side. Anathema Zabini was a private woman, as much as the woman made it her business to be in the spotlight—she’d never spoken to anything of substance with Narcissa. But Blaise had been forthright with Narcissa—the sweet boy had a crush on the Mistress of Malfoy Manor, was utterly enamored with her and often sought to speak with her of anything she would listen to. Blaise’s father was one of Anathema’s more scandalous marriages—her first marriage had been a shock from beginning to end, given she refused to give up her own name in favor for her husband’s, a husband who ultimately perished under mysterious circumstances six months after their wedding night. Her second? Her second husband proposed not one week after her first husband’s funeral rites, they were wed in two and he was dead in three. So, by her third, Narcissa supposed she had to find some way to outdo herself.

Anathema Zabini’s third husband—the man she chose to make a child with—was he himself the product of a union between a Muggleborn and Pureblooded pairing that rocked Cygnus and Druella Black’s worlds long before the days of Andromeda and Teddy Tonks—it was a great shock, and little surprise that Anathema Zabini was ultimately drawn to the man _all_ of their parents had steeled their Pureblood daughters against. Through this, Blaise had a Muggle aunt on his father’s side who he adored in his youth, and Narcissa was certain he did still care for the woman despite his open prejudice against Muggleborns and half-bloods at school—a part of that derived from his own need to separate himself from them, given his own bloodstatus was tentatively Pureblood and there were many who would be quick to consider him half, the other? From genuine hatred derived from horrible Muggle-based prejudice against _him_. His deceased father’s Aunt had simply _adored_ him, she doted on Blaise, calling him her ‘little prince’ and sweetly encouraging him in his studies even as she’d precious little grasp of them. Narcissa had seen her on one occasion, in passing—she’d been a lovely young lady, had a fragility to her that Narcissa had associated with her Mugglishness but…well. Apparently the young woman had been poorly. She passed of some sort of blood disorder when Blaise was in his second year at Hogwarts. It was then young Blaise was given the opportunity to meet his only living grandparent—the Muggle-born grandparent his father left with his passing and…well. He was made to leave his dear Aunt’s funeral and came directly to Malfoy Manor and poured his heart out to Narcissa in his mourning, oh she felt a pang of sympathy for the poor thing even now. As his magic flourished it was made clear the young Zabini was indeed male despite his anatomy. His mother righted all misconception about her son’s identity the moment it became clear he was, in fact, a boy—as was Wizarding culture! So twelve year old Blaise Zabini had been rather devastated in the wake of his Aunt’s passing, only further grieved to discover that she was an exceptional young woman in more ways than one—she’d been nothing but accepting of Blaise’s true gender, she even left a great deal of her worldly possessions to her ‘sweet little Prince’ in her will. Of course Blaise only learned this some weeks later—he and his mother had been promptly ejected from his aunt’s funeral when his grandfather laid eyes on a child who he’d received the birth announcement of a beautiful baby girl of some twelve years prior show up, the Muggleborn man had not responded well to the sight of his grand _son,_ hair neatly trimmed close to his scalp, in a black suit, the most effeminate thing in his possession a bouquet of his Aunt’s favorite flowers—peonies Narcissa had assisted him in purchasing just that morning only to have he and his flowers return in sorry fashion, the boy heartbroken and mournful that her flowers went to waste.

They did not. Narcissa had been capable of helping him use them to honor his Aunt—Lucius would be _livid_ if he knew the single peony bush on their property was there in honor of a Muggle woman’s life. But he’d precious little interest in her ‘fussing’ with their primary estate’s gardens outside the realm of any praise _he_ received on their splendor, so it stayed there, strong and nurtured and Narcissa took quiet care of the offerings Mr. Zabini left it every June and January to pay his respects to a woman whose true grave he could not visit. From prejudice born of…well. There was a level Narcissa knew all prejudice was born of ignorance, that did not mean she was perfection personified in that regard.

Oh. But the point—a vast majority of Muggles held prejudice against those of differing sexualities and gender identities, found heterosexual relations and birth identities alone the acceptable norm. Had…had Miss Granger faced a similar situation? Revealed a taste for Witches that sent her parents rejecting their child—a child they had to come to accept as magical of all things and apparently did that well enough? But love of women had them casting her from their home? Forced to… _rent,_ she’d said. Rent. As in to pay in exchange for the opportunity to borrow a property someone else owned? Merlin. Draco would never—she would _never_ allow her child to be forced into such circumstance!

But Narcissa wouldn’t dare press something so private and painful unless perhaps the young lady felt compelled to share. Which…she doubted, given their circumstance. So she pushed on with something pertinent but benign. “These movers, they won’t realize ‘Monica’s’ appearance is different from when she communicated with them over the phone?” she checked.

Miss Granger smiled in a way Narcissa was steadily coming to recognize as one that spoke to some small misunderstanding she found amusing despite herself. “Only my voice went over the phone, it isn’t like communicating through the floo—they couldn’t see me. I mean you’re not the spitting image of Monica Wilkins, but women lose weight and dye their hair all the time and that…alone can throw people off facially, if they think you look different they’ll chalk it up to that.”

“So. We’ll be using this home you’ve rented for…some reason, as our base of operations,” Narcissa summarized.

“Yup,” the girl returned, a little pop to the ‘p’ before she popped another bite of egg into her mouth.

“We’re in Muggle London?”

“A suburb of it, yeah. We can get to essentials and interact with the people we need to inconspicuously, all without risking running into anyone or being spotted by anyone we shouldn’t be.”

“No fresh produce?” Narcissa posed the lack of an essential.

“There’s a Tesco nearby,” she said as if that was some solution. If it was, Narcissa didn’t hear how. “but the convenience store’s closer and I didn’t want to leave you here for very long since I couldn’t leave a note or anything, and I didn’t really feel up to lugging armfuls into the house, a quick run to pick up a few things suited but I’ll stock up proper soon.”

'Armfuls’ had Narcissa looking the younger Witch over, and her stomach sank at the sight of blood staining the girl’s jumper she’d cleansed of all filth just last night. “You should have woken me, I would have been of assistance.” If not with carrying then at least with feather-light charms that wouldn’t have heavy bags digging into her injury. Narcissa posed her wand and Miss Granger shrugged so, she plied a fresh cleansing charm to the bloodied sleeve. “Does it ail you?” of course it did, Narcissa knew well, but it felt like the safest…least personal way to question the girl’s wellbeing—left her free to have her pride or vent her agony if need be.

There was something in her eyes like…judgement she was withholding, resentment she was endeavoring not to feel, “A little,” she said and Miss Granger put a smile forth, an attempt at reassurance as she rolled up her sleeve, and Narcissa felt a split-second fear that the girl was exacting her punishment by forcing her to look on something grotesque while eating, but, “I cleaned and bandaged it after I woke you.”

That was good. Narcissa should have realized as much, there was something medicinal—translucent but glistening over the scrape on Miss Granger’s cheekbone, and more, high on her temple where she’d a scrape, bruising. Something Muggle, which may be well and good for them, it might even give the Muggle-raised Witch a false sense of benefit, but her injuries really should be tended properly, especially those from Bella’s blade. It would be…difficult to heal, Narcissa was confident she could do so in its entirety, but not enough to extend that confidence in what might ultimately be false hope for the already thoroughly traumatized young lady. So, she merely returned her smile with a gentle smile of her own and, “We will discuss how to proceed getting Wizarding necessities while we are here,” before, “Just what all did you collect, Miss Granger?”

The pan and spatula—the Wilkens had taken a great deal of their cooking supplies as some of them were heirlooms and too, they were not costly to transport. And aside from breakfast essentials, she’d gotten medicinal supplies and toiletries—bandages, disinfectant, soaps. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash packaged in plastic pink bottles with labels that showed pink tea roses in bloom which she slid to Narcissa as she removed them from the bag. “These are for you unless you’d prefer vanilla?”

There was a divot in the cap on the tops of these bottles and she took one up and pressed her finger to the dip, causing it to click downward and raise up the other side of the cap revealing a slit for the liquid soap to come out of, it permitted its scent escape as well and it was…pleasant enough. Like roses, truly, which was something of a relief from a cheap muggle product. “It will suffice.”

“Great. Um…I’ll finish putting things away,” it was prudent but amusing to realize Miss Granger had put it upon herself to pick up Mugglish school supplies—two matching sets of journals twin black, twin blue, bound with spiraling wire, and what were apparently ink pens. She stacked a black journal with one blue one, set a pack of pens atop them and placed the little pile alongside Narcissa’s toiletries. “We still have a lot to discuss but I’m not sure when the movers will arrive, and I’d rather not be interrupted if its all the same to you?”

“That is sound,” Narcissa supposed.

Although a _sound_ nearly sent Narcissa Malfoy flying from her very skin—good _heavens!_

“Sorry—doorbell,” _bell?!_ The damnable clang could have woken the dead! Narcissa knew the very ritual such a sound would assist in _truly doing so_ , granted it would result in enthralled corpses as opposed to bringing back an able bodied loved one, the result was wholly undesirable in her opinion. Ugh. “It’s cranked up from when gran was visiting and dad never quite figured out how to undo that without rigging it a bit—I can fix it,” Miss Granger hurriedly promised, and then her eyes were wide-struck, blanching as if she realized she’d said too much. She cleared her throat a hand slipping into her jumper pocket, “That should be the movers,” she said before handing off a small stack of folded Muggle money, “for tipping, unless they’re untoward or break things or something. Um…please be nice?”

…well. They would have time for questions later and Narcissa wasn’t entirely certain just how much of Miss Granger’s personal life she needed to know but several things just did not make sense. She’s renting this place from the Wilkins and has been, in this time, for a year? Of which her parents haven’t been living with her. And yet her… _Gran_ has visited her in this place and…her father had been unable to return the door’s bell to a normal decibel that wasn’t made to rupture ear drums? And just why was she renting this place to begin with if she’d not used it even a year into her lease? _I’m at Ron’s right now, I won’t be coming here period._ Just-

The movers were, at present…the task at hand. So. “Miss Granger I’m hurt you would believe me capable of being anything less than congenial.”

The young Witch arched a single brow at her, bemused smile at her lips as her accent lilted a shade more posh as she dipped low to bow, “Oh my _deepest_ apologies Mrs. Malfoy, you _are so_ _known_ as the embodiment of friendly concern to all you meet.”

…Mister Zabini had been particularly vocal of his disdain for Miss Granger—the entirety of their schooling but he grew particularly more vocal ever since winter break during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She thought perhaps the boy might just have a resentful crush on the Muggleborn though she’d not the foggiest idea as to _how_ when last she saw the girl she’d been this scraggly bushy-haired Muggle’s-sprawg. She would believe the same of her son if she wasn’t so quietly certain of his inclinations but…something about seeing the girl’s nature up close, well. It made her absolutely certain Draco’d truly not an inkling of romantic interest in the fairer sex, it was almost understandable how Mr. Zabini could find himself conflicted in his interest, disdaining her background and hating her further for his inability to deny an attraction to the Muggleborn Witch despite it.

“Best for you to remember,” Narcissa assured, heading for the entrance to Miss Granger’s home. The younger Witch followed her, leaning against the wall alongside Narcissa and nodding appreciatively of her caution as the older Witch cast a few diagnostic spells to ensure the two men standing just outside were, in fact, merely Muggles before she slipped her wand into her sleeve and opened the door, warm smile on her face as she greeted her oh so welcome guests. “Good morning Misters…Robert and Clement?” she surmised from the quaint nicknames of _Bob_ and _Clem_ embroidered on their pale grey uniforms.

‘Bob’ gave her a toothy grin, “Pleasure to see you again Mrs. Wilkins—promise I’ve been flossin’, see?” he bared his teeth further still, for her examination…why? Why ever would- was this some strange Muggle ritual? Miss Granger seemed unphased, she was quietly giggling at the expression on Narcissa’s face! “How was Australia? You and the husband back for good?”

Narcissa glanced to Miss Granger for guidance and the girl shook her head ‘no’, mouthing ‘visiting’. “Oh I’m afraid Australia’s appeal lingers still,” Narcissa said, “Just a visit to ensure our tenant settles well.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you to fly all the way from Australia ma’am,” the man, Clement said. _Fly?_ However on Magic’s green world did _Muggles_ fly?

“Oh it wasn’t too arduous a trip—what is a week’s travel with such fine destinations? The Philippines are marvelous this time of year and China has the most splendid tea you know. And there is nothing quite like Summer in Greece. The winds were in our favor.” Miss Granger snorted quietly, oh good Heavens what _was it?!_

Bob offered up a whistle, pitching low, a sound as if to note he was impressed. “Wow. Australia’s dentistry business is booming then? Glad you and the Mister could make such a amazing trip out of it. I tell my missus she’ll be right jealous—we got family in the States, sister-n-law moved to ruddy Alaska for goodness sake. Flight straight there and back was murder on the old wallet, layovers were a right pain, I don’t think she appreciated me saying we visited New York City when all we saw was the inside of an Airport.” An air…port. So. Some sort of sky ship? The Wizarding World had such things but _muggles?_

“Airplanes terrify me,” Miss Granger saw fit to speak up, “Between being so high and the cramped spaces? The things scream ‘death trap’ to me,” she said as she stepped into view, offering her hand to Bob to shake, “Stacie Greene—I’m the Wilkins’ tenant.”

Her hand was enveloped in Bob’s great meaty grasp as the man took it rather roughly to shake and Narcissa had to bite her tongue—it didn’t seem like the brute was behaving unkindly, he was just a large man with a handshake to match but Merlin was she glad Miss Granger had extended her uninjured arm as the man jostled her in greeting, “Pleasure to meet you miss. Family renting the place?” he supposed as he released his hold and Miss Granger crossed her arms under her chest—not a move to close herself off, no the action held an air of casualness, she smiled breezily as lied with surprising ease, for a Gryffindor.

“Gap year—getting a feel for London before committing to Goldsmiths, Middlesex, or Westminster Law. My parents feel safer with me moving out to a quieter neighborhood with room for them to visit. _I’m_ certainly not complaining about having a proper kitchen and the office space.”

“Got a cousin’s kid that goes to Middlesex—Goldsmiths one of those fine art uni’s en’t it? Bit of a different focus from Westminster,” Clement spoke up.

Miss Granger made a show of grimacing with a hint of joviality to the expression, a bit of a hiss escaping her lips as she amicably went on, “Therein lies the great struggle,” she cheerily lamented, “I’ve always loved literature and Middlesex has just, the most wonderful program. But there’s a part of me that just loves working with my hands, I’d love to work in art identification and preservation—my gran left these inkwash paintings from before the war, just gorgeous things that were yellowing up something awful and I was able to research how to restore them at our local library, spent a summer learning how to best go about it and the whole process just,” a happy shudder worked through her, “it was the best feeling to have them returned to their former glory. But I don’t know, law’s something I’ve always taken a shine to, I just- it’s a great avenue to really help people and affect change and I…am rambling,” she gave a sheepish laugh, “So—Gap year. Figure it all out.”

Well, this Bob was kind, he met her enthusiasm with a warm smile, “Oh God love you honey—got your whole life ahead of you and that’s a lot to parcel through, I can barely make a decision on what to eat for breakfast. You take your gap year and enjoy it. Me’n’Clem’ll get your furniture in—you ladies just leave it to us.”

“Thank you for being so timely with your delivery,” Narcissa said. Miss Granger had neglected to mention it, but she realized now the girl knew there would be two guests in the house today—the other two coffees. “There’s coffee in the kitchen if you gentlemen would care for any, please do help yourselves. If you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks ma’am—we’ll get to work but we’ll definitely take you up on that coffee in a bit.”

“Certainly,” Narcissa nodded and started making rounds about the parlor—she wasn’t wholly certain just what to do but Miss Granger didn’t give any indication that her behavior was strange, and this was just how she would over see to such a massive project in her home if it were humans and not House Elves seeing to the work, there was so much more room for error. But they did rather well—the parlor was apparently also a formal dining room, they hefted a mahogany table into the space and set six matching chairs around it, a sofa went before the fireplace, slanted at an angle which Narcissa wondered at…and continued to wonder still as they set its explanation down. A large square device constructed of dark wood and ‘plastic’ and strange looking glass, two silvery sticks Miss Granger assured she’d adjust later while the men rambled off advice to her on how to best ‘get reception’. There was a rectangular device they placed on the coffee table they put between the box and the sofa, that Clem making the comment “Telly’s no good without the remote”, that Narcissa surmised did something to control that contraption. The telly? What did it tell? Was it a form of Muggle clock? Then whatever was the grandfather clock set up alongside the wall that supported the stairs for? Decoration she supposed. There was a curio cabinet with no glass that went alongside the grandfather clock. Before the front windows was placed a large, high chest that served as storage and seating, apparently, fitting snuggly in the tri-fold wall that held the house’s front windows, Miss Granger looked delighted once it was in place, smoothing a hand over the wood before raising the lid to remove a thick, folded cushion, a few pillows that she placed atop the chest once she closed it. Ahh, that did look like a more comfortable sort of window seat. A second table went into the kitchen, for informal dining she supposed, a circular white thing with only three chairs. The men accepted coffee with a great deal of appreciation before they began hefting furniture up the stairs—bookcases and bedframes, mattresses, three desks and chairs, chests of drawers. Miss Granger stepped outside and began helping them with boxes then—some held appliances apparently, for the kitchen, others held books. There was one miss Granger took into her arms and disappeared out the doors to the back garden with, the word _photographs_ scrawled onto the side in dark black ink. She wasn’t certain just where the young Witch put that box, but she returned with a single picture frame, a pale oak frame she hugged to her chest as she reentered the house and offered Narcissa a small smile as she passed through and dashed upstairs, returning a moment later emptyhanded.

“Something caught your eye?” Narcissa wondered conversationally when she returned.

She shrugged. “They let me have some of my things put into their storage unit when I signed the lease—I can’t take everything with me to school. I’ll have some clothes and things too um…not anything you’ll care for, but you can borrow some of my sleeping clothes if you’d like? We can probably get away with a spot of shopping sometime or you could always work your magic with some of my things.”

“Oh Miss Gr-“ Granger, she’d nearly said. Perhaps it was a mark of cleverness that her alias had similar beginnings, “Greene, I quite assure you, if this trip doesn’t hold any shopping in the foreseeable future,” her voice dipped low, hushed to speak with the assurance she wasn’t overheard, “I cannot harm you, that does little to stop me from making your life in general unpleasant.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the girl assured her cheekily, the nerve!

It was early afternoon by the time these gentlemen had everything inside the house—they’d arranged the furniture for them, but it was apparently up to she and Miss Granger to unpack the boxes they brought in. Splendid. Well, they’d done rather the impressive job for something so physically demanding when they lacked magic, and they’d done it without complaint so Narcissa offered a polite smile and extended the bills Miss Granger had given her for such purpose, which Clem accepted with a blush to his cheeks, “Oh, thank you ma’am. You tell your husband we say ‘hello’—safe travels, you hear?”

“Thank you—safe travels to you gentlemen,” she wished them in kind as she showed them to the door. That… _thing_ they arrived in that stayed out in the street before the house was the single most largest muggle automobile she’d laid eyes on in her life and it was _terrifying._ Miss Granger had gone in and out of the back of it with ease and comfort, it sent a chill to Narcissa’s bones at what an _airplane_ must be like to put fear in the girl. Ugh, she daren’t watch as they maneuvered the thing. No no. No thank you.

Miss Granger breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, I know this is all overwhelming—you did great with them,” she complimented. Something panged in Narcissa at how very exhausted the younger Witch looked just now. But the girl shook herself and cleared her throat, “Alright. I’ve been thinking, and I’d like to hear your thoughts about all this too—but I _do_ have something of a plan if you’re up to talking about it? I’m peckish so I think I’ll make some toast?” she looked to Narcissa with a measure of question.

“A little lunch and light conversation sounds lovely,” the woman returned with some amusement, earning a little smile from the younger Witch who nodded and stepped into the kitchen, digging around in a few different boxes for what she called a ‘toaster’ that required ‘plugging in’ to one of the strange panels in the wall. There were multiple around the kitchen—they were higher in here than they were in other parts of the house where they were nearer the baseboards, here they were above the countertops. Bizarre looking things, and apparently dangerous given the moment Narcissa raised a hand and pressed her fingers to the slits in one that was wholly free Miss Granger sucked in a startled gasp and her hand was over Narcissa’s wrist, pulling it away with urgency,

“Don’t! Oh gosh-“ she swallowed, shaking a bit, “gosh I- oh I should have,” she seemed to be struggling to breathe momentarily, “you could get hurt, I should go over do’s and don’t’s of some things oh my gosh I’m- I’m so sorry—you’re alright?”

“I’m fine Miss Granger, unharmed unless you continue increasing the strength of your grip, and even then I am certain I will survive,” she drawled, eyes dropping to the hand on her wrist.

The girl gasped and pulled her hand away immediately, “I’m sorry I just- those are electrical sockets, you can’t go sticking anything in them except for plugs and m- maybe that should be on me until you’re comfortable. You could have been electrocuted,” oh she looked _anguished_ over it.

“I…” Narcissa cleared her throat, uncertain just how to console her, “I’m alright, Miss Granger. I will take your word of caution to heart. I appreciate you not allowing curiosity to kill the cat.”

“Satisfaction may not have done much to bring you back,” the girl returned though the words lacked any humor she may have meant with them. She took what seemed to eb a few bracing breaths before reminding herself, “You’re safe. And now you know not to do that,” before deciding, “We’ll go over some things—if you have any questions or concerns just ask, and I’ll do my best to explain anything I can.”

“Certainly,” she nodded, hoping to placate the young lady, quell her…guilt, she apparently felt at incidentally leaving Narcissa ignorant, “Electricity is in those ‘sockets’, you called them? Is that what causes the things in this house that mimic magic to work?”

The younger Witch nodded. “Oh yes, you see Thomas Edison was a wealthy Muggle who was dedicated to the study of electricity—he patented the light bulb though It was Lewis Latimer’s work on the subject that brought them into being in the first place, he published _Incandescent Electric Lighting_ in 1890 …” the girl launched into something of a mini lecture on the topic. Apparently Lewis Latimer was a brilliant scientist whose work put Muggle society up to near-magical levels of progress, but his involvement was severely overlooked due to…being African-American?

"Muggles do not appreciate Africans?”

“Well, there are white Africans—it’s not so much about the country exactly. It’s an issue of prejudice when it comes to skin color coupled with white supremacy.” Oh. Narcissa wondered if that was another level of unjust behavior Blaise had endured from the Muggles and Muggleborn parents on his father’s side—his Aunt had been pale of complexion; Mr. Zabini got his beautiful skin from his mother. What an inane thing to find prejudice with, but she supposed all prejudice worked that way. “Lewis Latimer was black—so his work gets overshadowed and credit given to white men like Thomas Edison and Alexander Grahm Bell— _he_ gets credit for the telephone,” Miss Granger rolled her eyes.

“ _Tele_ -phone,” Narcissa repeated the word. “Is that any relation to the ‘telly’?” she wondered.

“Oh! That’s short for television—mum-“ she stopped herself, her motions slowing with schmearing butter on the warm bread that had _popped_ from the ‘toaster’ just a moment before, startling them both despite the fact that the Muggleborn had very well expected such a thing to occur, she’d jumped higher than Narcissa! She seemed to be carefully considering her words now but, “Mum and dad never let me watch too much of it growing up—bad for developing minds they said. I prefer reading but it’s fun and there’s interesting things from time to time, educational programs and the like that I’ve enjoyed. It’s…people can be seen and heard through them—pre-recorded and sometimes live things. It isn’t a two-way communication device like the phone is—we can see and hear whatever is on the telly, but nothing can see or hear us through it…yet,” she spoke the word like conspiracy. At Narcissa’s curious stare she launched into another little ramble about a book— _1984_ by George Orwell that apparently forewarned Muggle society about the progression of technology and the abuse of power that may come with it—abuse they may well welcome with open arms unsuspectingly.

They did at last sit down at the kitchen table with a proper plate holding their toast and a kettle of warm tea, and the ‘notebooks’ and pens though those sat untouched. There was something in Miss Granger that seemed uncertain and Narcissa sipped at her tea while she awaited the younger Witch to collect her thoughts, or perhaps her courage.

This girl sat there wandless and alone with _Narcissa_ _Malfoy nee Black,_ seeming for all the world to have forgotten the implications of the vows the older Witch had made to her just the previous day, because what shone in her eyes was the preparedness, the fire of a warrior facing a fight head on, accepting the danger that lay ahead. “You want Draco to go unmarked. That doesn’t necessarily mean you want to help the side of the Light—you just want your son out of the fray, don’t want him involved with the dirty work of wining your war. _I’m here_ to ensure _we_ win. To help my friends and better prepare them for the trials ahead—to _defeat_ Voldemort-“

“You shouldn’t speak his name so casuall-“

“So you _are_ just here to bail out Draco while you service the Dark!”

_"No!_ I am on your side, Miss Granger,” Narcissa insisted, “I am here to aid in your prerogative to prepare Harry Potter to face the Dark Lord and stop him. But you should not so carelessly use such a powerful Wizard’s name-“

“Fearing a name just gives him power!” Miss Granger fiercely returned, “Calling him your Dark Lord is what makes him that. We _should_ call him Tom, all told—that’s who he is. Tom Riddle—a pathetic bigot on a power trip everyone else is paying for.”

Oh…oh it almost felt delicious. “…Tom,” oh it was such a _plebeian_ name, and after a year of cowing at his every shadow in her own home, it was an absolute _delight_ , the most delicious bit of sin she could imagine just now, _“Tom_ is a marvelous compromise. The other…yes, names giving credence is a reasonable argument.” Narcissa cleared her throat. “Miss Granger I do assure you I…I meant every word I spoke to you yesterday. I never wanted any of this for Draco. I never wanted to be party to the Dar- to Tom’s political machinations. _Lucius_ subscribed us to his service. He believed so fiercely in the lies that our way of life is dying, that magical blood is growing weaker with each passing generation as we lose more Pureblooded Wizards and Witches to the seduction of their lesser. When Andromeda…married Teddy Tonks instead of Rodolphus’s cousin, Lucius, the other Pureblood young men he was caught up with at the time, they were galvanized further to Tom’s cause, his ideas that _something needed to be done_ , that Muggleborns, Half-bloods, Blood traitors needed dealing with. _I_ was never of that mindset.”

“…you aren’t?” she questioned as if the notion had caught her entirely by surprise.

Narcissa smirked joylessly. “Would it _shock_ you to know, Miss Granger, I happen to have _loved_ Teddy Tonks? Adore Nymphodora? That my heart is _broken_ for my sister’s loss? That man loved my Dromeda with the whole of his heart, she was never so happy as when she was with him and I have always loved him for that. The last fight I ever had with Andromeda was one of kindness despite its outward appearance—I said things my sister will never forgive me for, and I hoped she never would. Andromeda knew well she would find no kindness from Bella for her betrayal, but she and I…I had never outright discouraged her flirtations with Teddy. With Lucius in an outrage over it all, seeking penance Blood traitors and those they associated with, I couldn’t risk her believing she could come to me for understanding—she would have been killed. I understood her decision, was glad that Andromeda could be with the man she loved, but that came at a cost. She chose to be with him, chose to have a life with him, and that meant she could not remain connected to her birth family. Not and keep her husband and their daughter alive-“ she fell quiet.

A hand rested on her forearm, thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleeve. “Time travel is tricky. And there will be some things we just can’t change, and we’ll have to accept that once it happens but,” Miss Granger shrugged. “Dumbledore’s death may be unavoidable—but it might be, we aren’t certain yet, and it certainly doesn’t speak for all deaths being fixed points in time. There isn’t any harm in us altering the circumstances surrounding his death. So maybe…I don’t know the implications of directly getting involved but perhaps, if we’re clever enough…maybe Teddy Tonks comes out of this alright.”

“That I say he’s dead did not surprise you. There was an announcement?” Narcissa wondered.

Miss Granger nodded. “I guess you didn’t hear it on _Potterwatch?”_

Mmm…no—they knew well of the rogue wireless program, but the password was so often changed, they’d not continuous access to it. It had been almost disgusting, how Lucius preened under the Dark Lord’s praise the day he guessed _Albus_ as a password, as if _that_ was such a great feat of mental acumen. No, Narcissa learned of poor Teddy’s death, “From his killers,” she confirmed, an involuntary flinch sending her arm from the younger Witch’s hold. Unforgiveables had that power, even thinking on their memory could summon a ghost of their influence.

“…you…spoke up against them I take it?”

Narcissa laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, no. Nothing so cavalier or worth _cruciatus_ as that. If…if I were a more foolish person, or perhaps a _brave_ one, I would have actually said or done something more satisfying than standing silent and merely neglecting to raise my glass quite as high as expected when the Dark Lord toasted his Snatcher’s efforts.”

The young Witch’s eyes blew wide in her head, mouth working momentarily before she shot out, “He- he _crucio’d_ you for not raising your gl-“ Miss Granger swallowed her outrage-

Or perhaps transferred it. There was a loud, shattering _crack_ from behind them that caused both Witches to jump—twisting in their seats to see a series of large cracks in the windowpanes of the French doors, and the young woman blanched.

“Sorry sorry- crap-”

She was a bit old for surges of Wild Magic but…well, she had apparently felt a great deal of wrath. Too her magic was pent up, as it stood. Narcissa could scarcely believe how well she was coping being wandless. But perhaps it was her Muggle upbringing, being in a home that did not absolutely handicap her for her lack of a wand. Narcissa would be an utter wreck—she could barely stand to be…the very idea of her wand out of reach was petrifying. It had always been somewhere on her person at all times for the past decade. She’d avoided bathing for that very reason since the Dark Lord made Malfoy Manor his home, supplementing with cleansing charms and developing a perfume that did something to cheer her, make her feel more human. And there were comfortable sheaths she owned, for her forearm, her calf where her wand could be secured to her as she slept. It was the only way she made it through some of the Dark Lord’s Calls over the years—some evenings she practically woke in some clearing or unfamiliar manor, and she could sit quietly and endure the seizing panic that threatened to claim her while she waited for whatever debauchery he wished for to unfold because she _knew_ she had her wand.

“ _Reparo,_ ” dropped with ease from Narcissa’s lips, and the younger Witch regarded her with gratitude, blushing her embarrassment. Though her next words were entirely confusing and ultimately left Narcissa the embarrassed party.

“You’re wrong, you know.”

“I don’t believe I do,” Narcissa carefully assured, just what was this girl on?

Miss Granger met her gaze. “You _were_ brave, Narcissa,” she steadily returned. “You _are_. I’m…I’m sorry I accused you of otherwise,” she said, albeit shamefaced. “I was…well I mean obviously things were not the best just then,” she put it far too lightly, “but I do understand it takes just as much bravery to sit and wait and watch as it does to rise and move and act. Different situations call for different strategies. Screaming from the top of your lungs that you love Teddy Tonks and the men who murdered him can rot in hell would have only gotten you killed…interfering with-“ she flinched, clearing her throat, “I don’t _like_ it. I _want_ to be mad at you. I want to _hate_ you, that somehow makes me feel better, putting the anger somewhere instead of working to deal with it. But fighting with your sister would have only gotten you thrown out of the room or- or worse. And I would have been alone with her and that-“ she stopped, seeming not quite capable of continuing that sentence.

“I…I do promise you I would have…you may not have cared for my methods,” it would have surely traumatized her further, “but I would have convinced her to stop, it was just a matter of…getting to a place she could be reasoned with from—that place is not an easily gotten to, I’m sure you realize.”

Miss Granger nodded. “I get it, I do. At least now, out of the heat of the moment I do. So…thanks for- for st-“ oh Merlin her chin quivered, tears gathering in her eyes and Narcissa reached out to rest a hand over the younger Witch’s on the tabletop to console, Miss Granger’s thumbs pulled from her hold only so she could hold Narcissa’s hands in turn, that same rubbing motion that spoke to comfort and appreciation as she sniffled and her sentence was drawn up from her throat with a painful crack, “Thank you for staying,” she gulped, pressing on, “It was brave of you to maintain your place and follow along until you could find a place to act. Just as brave as what we’re doing now.”

Narcissa wasn’t certain just how to respond to that. She hadn’t…she’d never dreamed the young Witch would ever even begin to understand- just- this was a situation where she should be comforting the younger woman should it not? Not the other way around?

“Are you quite sane?”

The girl just shrugged! “I don’t think it takes a lack of sanity to understand that life is complicated, that not everything is so blatantly black and white. Like you said about bravado and cunning—some situations absolutely require pounding your chest and getting your enemy to back down through brute strength. But others require outwitting your enemy, being smart enough to stay one step ahead.”

Narcissa nodded, and she found her way back to her point. “We are not enemies, Miss Granger. I meant it when I said I did not want part in Tom’s schemes. And I meant it when I spoke my vows to you—you could not have passed through Malfoy Manor’s wards if I’d been anything less than utterly sincere. _I cannot bring you harm_. I’m incapable of it. Being here under the pretense of…biding my time to double cross you and endeavor to turn the War in favor of your enemies isn’t something I can carry out, not with any success. We are on the same side. Your efforts in this…mission, for the side of the Light, are joint.”

Miss Granger seemed to take her words under consideration, parceling through them carefully before venturing, “So…friends, then?”

Narcissa’s brow shot up at that. “Does that make us as much?” she wondered.

Miss Granger smiled, something that put a light to Narcissa’s heart like sunshine and she supposed they must be, a genuine friendship in the making. “I’ve been known be capable of doing amazing things when working with my friends. We’ve amazing things we wish to accomplish so, it’s only prudent to stack the deck in our favor, right?” the younger Witch reasoned, offering her left hand to Narcissa.

So Narcissa Malfoy shook Hermione Granger’s hand, and for the first time since her schoolgirl days uttered the word she meant almost as truly as she would have then, “Friends, Miss Granger.”

“Great! So. friend—before we do anything else I think our first step?” Miss Granger moved right along to the task at hand, “Is to document everything from this point up to our departure from the future.”

“Keeping notes would be prudent.”

“Oh that’s part of it too but no—I mean right now, starting as soon as possible before we make a single effort to change anything, we should get as accurate an account of the timeline as it is going to progress as we know it. Draco being Marked, Dumbledore’s death, everything that has happened the past year and a half to our memories as they stand right now. In the past I’ve never spent much more than five hours in the timeline, but there were times…if I did mess up a little I’d realize a change. I kept a diary that year and there was an entry I looked back on that was strange—I wrote something about thinking Ron was going to kiss me when we ran into each other in the kitchens and it sent me straight to my diary to process that, but…I also remember it happening in the library, it’s an even stronger memory because it occurred in a later time jump, it’s permanently a part of the timeline because I intercepted him in the library—he went there looking for me first and that’s where I was that time. It was the last jump I made that day so…”

“That was the version that became permanent in the timeline…its permanency may well corelate to its dominance in your memory,” Narcissa said, nodding, “as we begin to change time our memories will alter and we may confuse them with memories from the previous timeline, that would certainly complicate things.”

“Which could be a benefit—because we’ll be remembering in real time,” Hermione theorized. “Like…say we _do_ prevent Draco from being Marked. Lucius isn’t going to be pleased with that—I believe you’ll start remembering his reaction to it as it’s happening to your current self. So…”

“Any efforts he might make against our actions, I’ll be in the know of before he can take them,” Narcissa agreed. No matter what, Lucius may be the Dark Lord’s right-hand man but Narcissa was Lucius’s constant aid—even as she did not have much say in the matters he spoke of, he always spoke of them to her, _always._

“We need to document our current memories and put these everything we write that we want untouched by timeline changes to be put in stasis—that should keep them preserved from the timeline since-“

“As our memories change so lays the chance that it would change what we would have documented, I agree.”

“Now. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of how just to go about affecting the timeline without, you know…tearing the fabric of time and space into a mangled mess and dooming us all,” something like broken amusement came over her features, a pop of laughter broke from her lips as she shook her head and at Narcissa’s inquiring stare she confessed, “I used to think the greatest consequence for Harry’s half-baked schemes was the risk of expulsion.”

“Oh we do very much still risk expulsion, Miss Granger, of a very permanent sort,” Narcissa wryly assured. It should not be so very pleasant that her dry response prompted the younger Witch to smile.

“Well, the only major rule—the big ‘absolutely not’ is interacting with ourselves,” Miss Granger said. “We should also bear in mind there are certain events that will likely still unfold no matter our efforts—things that stand in time as pillars of existence.”

“We can prevent Draco from being challenged with bringing about Albus Dumbledore’s demise,” Narcissa supposed, “but that does not necessarily mean the man will outlive the date in this timeline.”

Miss Granger nodded. “If the Headmaster is meant to die that day—if it’s a fixed point in time—he could just as easily slip in the shower or trip on his robes and go toppling over the edge of a moving staircase. Wars are inevitable, we probably can’t circumvent them—if we went back before the attack on the Ministry…”

“The event itself would likely still come to pass in one form or another,” Narcissa agreed.

“So. No self-interaction, if something we directly affect the circumstances surrounding doesn’t change, we’d best accept it as an inevitability,” Miss Granger said, clearing her throat. “Now…we can’t exactly go traipsing around shouting prophecy for the coming year.”

“Working in secret is the best course of action,” Narcissa said, “Would the neighbors question owls about?”

Miss Granger shook her head ‘no’. “They’re um…used to seeing Owl activity. It isn’t a suspicious thing. Why?”

“Well Miss Granger, I believe a great deal of our plan will involve your two favorite activities—thinking, and writing.”

“…my usual plans involve _not_ thinking and jumping headlong into spell fire.”

“Thinking and writing must sound something like a reprieve,” Narcissa saw fit to tease.

“I’m almost nervous the universe is setting me up for the ultimate shoe drop.”

“Oh, we must always be wary of that,” Narcissa agreed, “I’m sure somehow this will grow far more complicated than we ever intended…and our intentions began with Time-Travel.” Then, “Well, I do agree, we cannot go screaming prophecy from the rooftops, but we _can_ carefully interact with those we trust via correspondence. Owl correspondence is the first that comes to mind but that…can be intercepted.” Narcissa’d a feeling Miss Granger had not so swiftly forgotten that deplorable woman, Umbridge’s influence—she’d had all student post examined as a matter of ‘security’. Too, owls themselves could be victim of attack.

“Well…one round of owling wouldn’t be too bad, right?” Miss Granger wondered.

“I don’t suppose not. You believe a single set of letters could change the course of the future?”

“Mmm…I’m not going full ‘a butterfly flapping its wings can cause a tornado in across the globe’,” she promised nonsensically but it sounded like she knew of what she spoke, a reference to something Narcissa was merely unfamiliar with. “I’m suggesting we write to our…coconspirators? Writing things that will make certain they know its us writing them and instructing them to keep what we send and await further instruction—sending along…I’ve done this with coins in the past? But I’m sure I can do it with…” she sighed, “I don’t know. I’m not certain just how often we’ll need to communicate or how _much_ we’ll need to convey each time? With the coins all that needed conveyed was dates and times, a simple change of the numbering on them. My instinct is…well, redundant,” Miss Granger confessed.

“…more of these horrible muggle notebooks?”

“They aren’t horrible because they’re muggle!” the young Witch defended. “They’re horrible because they’re…well. We’re rather spoilt—the Wizarding World does adhere to higher quality, but it’s not quite so expensive for us, is it? In the nonmagical world buying a leather bound journal with actual parchment paper is very expensive to make, so, even more expensive to purchase. _These_ are cheap as can be and anyone can afford them, and they’re great for scrap work and easy to use. And I quite like the smaller version of these—flip notebooks. They’re my favorite for jotting quick ideas down before they escape me and they’re so convenient to carry around I can have one in a pocket at all times ready to go no spells required-“ she blushed as she caught herself rambling. It was albeit inane but…endearing, to a degree. Somehow more so when she startled a bit and then, “oh. I guess…my argument worked around to ‘yes Muggle notebooks are horrible…but because of a lack of magical processing not…just because muggle is somehow synonymous with horrible’.”

“Oh I assure you it was utterly fascinating to watch,” Narcissa drawled, almost frustrated for some reason when her tone only made the younger Witch smile again. “So you propose we send notebooks charmed for communication purposes? That is a viable notion but…”

“Oh gosh, not muggle ones, yeah. Definitely not,” Miss Granger had caught on to exactly Narcissa’s hesitation, “Don’t get me wrong, magic seems to work on them fine, I made sure the binding is metal and not plastic, and the covers are cardboard—they’re natural materials like a leather-bound journal would be, so we shouldn’t have any trouble applying stasis spells to the ones we want to keep the old timeline recorded in. But yeah, for sending to our conspirators, journals that would blend in with their books and things. We’d need…double journals in relation to who we’re communicating with, so we can keep as many moving parts doing so smoothly with as little chance for error—it’s not like we can have an army. I mean it’s risky to reach out to… _anyone_ but definitely no more than a handful. Whoever you trust to keep Draco out of the fire, whoever I trust prepare my friends, and…well I don’t think we should be in communication with ourselves but…what if we wrote each other?”

“…are you proposing we part ways?”

“Oh! No—I mean I would communicate with your present’s self. And you would communicate with mine. We can’t create a paradox from interacting with our present selves if we don’t interact with _our_ present selves, but with each others.” A blank look came over the young Witch’s face, “…that made sense, right? Time travel is confusing and I swear if we don’t get a footnote in the history books for this for, at the very least, _figuring out how to make this work_ , I’m suing. Who, I’m uncertain, but someone.”

“Likewise, Miss Granger,” she bemusedly agreed. “…we absolutely require our current selves involvement?”

“Which brings me to the second set of notebooks—where we’ll document the changes we make to the timeline, choices we make and what we experience due to our actions.”

“A record of events would benefit us to look back on and keep our plans straight, I suppose.”

“It’s more than that, Mrs. Malfoy,” the young Witch said, “We’ll need to make accurate, instructional documentation to give to our current selves when the time is right.”

…“I do beg pardon?”

Miss Granger sighed. “This is complicated but…bear with me?” Narcissa nodded, patient as the girl took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Alright. Usually I only ever used the Time-Turner to attend overlapping lectures or for extra study time. My motivation to time travel was consistent—I wanted to attend to too many things at once, I would always want that, so I didn’t need anything other than having the ability to Time Travel, to motivate me to Time Travel. But what would have happened if I _didn’t_ have that motivation?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Okay imagine…let’s say I’m walking along with zero motivation to time travel today—it’s just an average day, I don’t need it. But I get into an argument with my friends and I decide, hey, that was dumb, I’d like to circumvent that unpleasantness, so I time travel specifically to do that, prompted by the event itself.”

“You would stop the fight from occurring I suppose.”

“And then what?”

“…return to time?”

Miss Granger shook her head, ‘no’. “If what prompted me to time travel was the fight, and the fight never occurs?”

“…your reason for time travel no longer exists, you never time travel to begin with,” Narcissa realized.

“Which ultimately returns me to the present I left—at the moment of my time jump, still in the timeline where I had that fight,” Miss Granger said, “I know this seems like I’m walking us into a conversation where what we’re doing here seems impossible, but just hear me out. I have done _this_ what we’re doing here, before, on a smaller scale—this is where I’m getting my theory on how to make certain we succeed comes from. There was once when I traveled back with Harry. When Sirius Black was up for execution? We were the ones who rescued him from getting Kissed.”

“Truly?”

Miss Granger nodded, “The thing is… _Dumbledore_ prompted us to do it. _He_ was the action that set us in motion…” the young Witch started from a beginning of sorts—how that day in particular started, glossing over the incident with Narcissa’s son, but making a point of explaining things like a rock being thrown to get their attention when they were nearly caught at Hagrid’s Hut, and Mister Potter being rescued from dementors by what he believed at the time to be his deceased father’s Patronus. It wasn’t until Dumbledore put the idea into their heads to rescue Sirius Black using the Time Turner, that the duo realized it was _they_ who threw that rock to get their own attention, and Harry Potter, not James, who cast such an impressive Patronus. And when they were through? They ran to return to the hospital wing, only to meet Dumbledore just as he was leaving them to begin their time traveling journey, catching the glimpse of themselves disappearing into time as they entered the hospital wing.

“For Harry and myself, the motivation to time travel came from the Headmaster—that Sirius escaped wasn’t announced until after our return so we always wanted him to escape, and the Headmaster didn’t lose his reason to tell us to time travel in the first place. In _our_ case…” Miss Granger gestured between the two of them, “the motivation came from dire circumstance we wished to escape. If Harry and I had done something that messed with our motivation—like say somehow we caused Dumbledore’s death or caused some chaos that detained him from meeting us in the Hospital Wing?”

“You never would have gone back. You may have reappeared back in the hospital wing where you began with the choice of going back and trying again, or accepting your failure. But if we change the course of the future, we’ll have no reason to-“ she was…right on the cusp of tipping over into absolute outrage that this foolish girl had dragged her into some horrible mess all for nothing when it dawned on her. “You believe in order to succeed…we must still recreate a circumstance where the two of us decide to carry out our mission?”

Miss Granger nodded. “We’ll need to make certain that our current selves eventually end up together, prepared to go back in time and make certain the things we do to change the future actually happen, and we can re-enter the timeline seamlessly, moving forward with the future we create. That also means…if we’re successful, there will not only be changes to our memories, but changes to the things that have happened since. If our…selves re-do this, we’ll need to arm them with the choices we’ve made, so,” Miss Granger tapped her notebooks, “We’ll need documentation that we’ll get to them before they make their Time jump.”

“That will make permanent the things we accomplish and allow us to move forward,” Narcissa nodded, following along.

Miss Granger nodded, rubbing at her temple, and Narcissa didn’t think it was for the bruising there—all this talk of Time Travel and paradox avoidance was beginning to give Narcissa a headache likewise.

“We’ll need access to appropriate necessities,” Narcissa pressed, “you need a wand, and it is…not safe to imbibe Muggle medicine. There are so many things that conflict with our Magic, Draco has friends in Slytherin who have horrible tales of their experiences with the stuff.”

Miss Granger nodded. “I mean I’m all for vaccinating your kids but…magic doesn’t react well to some things, yeah. There are magical equivalents that replace things like that—found that out my First Year, that was fun,” she drawled, “I thought Madam Pomphrey was never going to let me leave the Hospital Wing. I had to go in every evening for a week solid and drink all sorts of vile stuff. My parents tried to get me vaccinated once when I was maybe…five?”

“Vaccinated?”

“Preventative charms and potions, like tincture of Dragon Pox Defense? Vaccines contain the same germs they help protect the recipient from, just in a more dormant form, they stimulate our immune system to teach it how to defend against the disease in its active state. Magic is so closely tied to our biology— _it_ defends us from most non-magical disease, having it injected directly our bodies makes our Magic attack it there, that’s the theory anyway.”

“Inject- excuse me?” Narcissa questioned, she- she said something about injecting _disease_ into-

“Muggles have…it’s like an injection of potion—they use a syringe with a needle that pierces your skin and puts the potion directly into your bloodstream?”

Injected into- how- how utterly _barbaric._ What Dark rituals did Muggles resort to for their medical care?! “This was done to you?” Narcissa asked, aghast.

Miss Granger nodded to Narcissa’s utter horror, wholly unphased even as she reported, “I got badly sick—I nearly died. My parents and our general practitioner chalked it up to an allergic reaction. It isn’t that way with all Muggle medicine—I’ve had injections like IV’s of Saline solution when I was so sick I ended up in A&E for dehydration, that worked wonders. I can take Aspirin, most allergy medicine just fine, the sort that’s just straight up antihistamines, nothing extra. Cold medicine has always made me…woozy. Even non-drowsy stuff, it just makes me feel sicker and conks me right out—I think because they interfere too much with whatever it is magic tries to do to handle it itself. It’s sort of like how some materials don’t interact well with magic?” she supposed. “On a basic level I would be fine but if _I_ have sensitivities to things, for _you_ it might be even worse, I wouldn’t dare risk it,” she shuddered at the thought. That was…well, kind of her to be so concerned on Narcissa’s behalf, she supposed. Was the girl truly this forgiving? Or was it merely a symptom of her morality—all life seeming so precious, even of your enemies, that the thought of their unnecessary harm was an awful one? “So yeah, we need wizarding supplies. I’m not sure how to get another wand, I mean…mine’s with _me._ I can’t necessarily steal it from myself. The one on me,” she tapped herself in the chest, “was taken at Malfoy Manor.”

…and? They need only- oh. oh dear. “…darling…did you fall for that ‘the Wand chooses the wizard’ tripe Olivander peddles?”

Miss Granger’s cheeks pinked. “It does! Doesn’t it?”

“…to a degree. But Miss Granger, a wand is merely a combination of ingredients, like any potion or spell—your magic resonates best with something in your wand, it doesn’t necessarily mean that is the sole wand of your life. You can have another—it needn’t even be similar, you were eleven when you’d your first wand, your magic matures and changes over time. Some Witches benefit from such a long relationship with their wand, in some cases they mature and develop with you. But that isn’t always so, in fact your recent wand may have been holding you back to a degree if you’d outgrown it. Despite any of that—you’re certainly capable of casting with another wand, perhaps with even greater ease. If you wish to play it safe, you need only find a wand with similar components.”

“…alright, yeah, that makes sense,” Miss Granger supposed.

“I believe I’ve a solution to several of these challenges, if you’d be willing to endure a moment of…well it might seem implausible, but I ask you let me explain.”

“Oh, go ahead, I’m listening,” the younger Witch assured earnestly. She certainly seemed to be giving the older Witch her rapt attention.

“…we needn’t owl our co-conspirators. I…I’m uncertain who you’ve chosen as yours but I trust they are attending or working in Hogwarts?”

She nodded, “Harry. It’s not that I don’t trust Ron, it’s just…Harry trusts me implicitly; he wouldn’t argue just for arguments sake—he’ll know its me and trust my advice in the coming year. If he knows it’s me, or a version of me, he’ll trust me and do as I instruct.”

Narcissa nodded, “I…I believe I will be interacting with Draco, for similar reason.”

“Convincing him not to go through with his Marking?” and when Narcissa nodded. “I can…make sure Harry won’t outright reject him if he…you know. Openly switches sides? I mean I’m not certain how Lucius will handle his son going back on his promises to be Marked but I can’t imagine it’s ‘oh that’s alright son, let’s go play Quidditch’.” No. No no—Lucius…would not dare take his only heir’s life. That was…in part, the very reason she encouraged Lucius in his endeavor to keep the tradition of his liniage—he was an only son of an only son of an only son—it went back almost as far as the Malfoy Line could be traced. She’d not wanted this life for her son, for him to live in fear, cowering to the Dark Lord’s demands, and if he _did_ ever someday defy them, having no other heir to Lucius’s legacy would better insure her son’s life, Lucius wouldn’t raise a hand to murder his own son if there was no one waiting in the wings to take his place. That did not guarantee her son a pat on the head and a game of one-on-one Quidditch for his defiance. It…gratified her beyond words that the young Witch would consider her son’s safety in all of this—it was one thing to see something blatantly obvious or hear Narcissa’s spoken concern, but to look at the situation and consider elements of Draco’s safety that required genuine care for his quality of survival said…something, about the young woman’s character that left Narcissa uncertain _what_ she felt about it other than…whatever it was, was positive despite the way it made her feel like she was standing at the edge of some deep precipice. “He’ll need allies. It would probably be best if…they’re er…us. This timeline us. I mean you think you can really sway him from Tom’s tripe?”

Narcissa nodded. “Draco really is…he’s always been a tenderhearted boy. He only does this to please his father…he believes it will please me likewise, keep me safe from his father’s ire. He doesn’t…he repeats the things he’s heard his whole life but I don’t know that he genuinely believes them. His jealousy with you derives mostly from his father constantly rubbing your grades in his face and demanding more of him, claiming him an embarrassment in any arena he can’t best you in due to your heritage.”

“Lucius Malfoy knows my grades?” Miss Granger saw fit to question.

“…he is on the Board. I believe he began checking them, looking for something to use for gloating fodder. When he discovered your marks are just as good, occasionally better than Draco’s, it’s become a method he uses to push the boy harder, ensure he doesn’t feel he is enough.”

“…Good. I mean not good that he uses them to torment Draco but…good to know Lucius is aware of my intellectual prowess. He’d do well to remember that,” Miss Granger grinned, albeit mischievously, like it pleased her greatly to torment Narcissa’s husband in this way—that it bothered him so greatly that a Muggleborn could thrive at his alma mater. “I…I didn’t realize Lucius was doing that though, making Draco feel er…less-than. I can see why he’d try so hard to do the same to me, put me in my place and hope he can er…take me down a peg so I slip up and he can pull ahead,” she supposed. “You’re certain it’s truly nothing to do with my being Muggleborn?”

“He has Muggleborn friends Miss Granger—it is not something that Slytherin’s advertise necessarily, if you are not Pureblood you keep your blood status vague when sorted there, but there are…exceptions to Salazar Slytherin’s ideals of a perfect pureblood house.”

Miss Granger’s mouth dropped open, gobsmacked. “There…there are muggleborns in Slytherin.”

Narcissa felt herself smirking. “The way you lie I’m genuinely surprised you weren’t one of them.”

The younger Witch’s eyes widened at that like she’d been caught at something, “L-lies?”

“…to the movers?”

"Oh,” she relaxed. “I suppose yeah, my name isn’t Stacie Greene. But I know how to keep a secret when its important. I really am…was…am? Uncertain just what I’d like to study in particular. I mean I need to finish my schooling at Hogwarts but I truly am considering my options for Uni. Those are all er…dream schools, I suppose. I fibbed with the truth,” she shrugged.

Oh…that was interesting. “You may well need a gap year then when all is said and done,” Narcissa supposed, “you’ll well deserve it.” She cleared her throat, “yes—your idea of seeing to it Draco can ally himself with your current self, Harry Potter that…will be dangerous but his safest bet, should he choose to not become Marked,” Narcissa agreed. “I would also interact once—initially—with Severus Snape.”

…for all the girl had just been insisting she more often than not fibbed with the truth, her reaction was rather spectacular, quite the performance. “That snake!” she exclaimed, looking for all the world wholly appalled at the notion. “We can’t reach out to him; he’ll be the first to rat us out! You can’t possibly think he’d _ever_ help-“

“I am aware he is a tool for the side of the Light,” Narcissa drawled. Emphasis on tool. “The Dark Lord has always held suspicion of him—granted Tom is paranoid and suspects even the likes of B-“ Merlin! She…she did not think it wise to just blatantly bring the woman up needlessly, not when, “of Lucius, will betray him more often than not. I…my current self is planning to go to him and plead with him to ensure my son’s survival of his mission for the Dark Lord—his success. _I_ would give him a different prerogative. I would write him to enlist his assistance in acquiring our supply of potions, medicinal assistance we may need Wizarding wise, and too there are a great many reasons a potions master would need spare wands—he could acquire you a selection to choose from,” Narcissa said. “And lastly, _he_ could distribute these communication journals you wish our conspirators to have, including myself—he will be at a meeting with me in a week’s time where he can put mine in my possession, and he could…be convinced to assign journals to the whole of his sixth year potions students. Harry and Draco’s, your own, would be-“

“Charmed to communicate with us, yes! And they would raise absolutely no suspicion whatsoever! Narcissa that’s _brilliant!”_

Narcissa felt a small smile tugging at her lips as she was inclined to inform the younger Witch, “And that’s twice now.”

“…twice?” Miss Granger asked.

“That you have called me Narcissa,” she returned the girl’s earlier sentiment, “I believe _they_ say third times a charm?”

Miss Granger huffed a laugh, smiling as she gave the older Witch a nod, “Noted.” She cleared her throat. “Alright. Yeah I think that’s a great idea—Snape can handle…well you know. Spy stuff. If he can get me a wand…journals as well? I can prepare them,” she said, “and pay him back, honest.”

… “You’ve some wealth to speak of?” Narcissa wondered.

The younger Witch blushed, “No, not really. But I- I do have some savings from a summer job.”

“Don’t worry yourself with Severus. He owes me a great many favors.”

“Are you sure? Potions aren’t exactly cheap, neither are wands, I’d hate to put him out-“

“Severus Snape is a world-renowned Potion’s Master and a Professor at the finest Magical institution, not some pauper, _and_ he’s an absolutely deplorable man, regardless of his true affiliations. He neither needs nor deserves your concern—he can afford the financial blow, and it will be righted later if it so dearly bothers you. _I’ll_ hardly feel the loss once I’ve sole control of my own accounts once more without worry of…myself becoming suspicious of just who is accessing my accounts.”

Miss Granger relaxed at that. “Alright. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa nodded, regarding the younger Witch with a critical eye. She would be contacting Severus forthwith…she was not presently the cause of harm to the girl so she’d no press on her magic, but neither did she need that to see the pallor in her complexion that might be ignored for the color in her cheeks, but it was plain enough she was entertaining some level of fever. She’d barely stomached more than half a slice of toast, Narcissa wasn’t certain if it was some infection setting in or merely a side affect of her curse scar—it’s nature was…activated when any in a victim’s vicinity used the trigger-word it’s mistress carved…or when it’s mistress spoke the word herself, no matter where she was. Even as it was now a future Bella that would put this word in Miss Granger’s skin, Bellatrix was somewhere in this time with them, and apparently, she was railing about Mudbloods. Which was, unfortunately, a common occurrence. The closer Bella’s or someone in Miss Granger’s general location’s physical proximity was to the girl, would increase how badly the scar itself hurt—so a tormenter could delight in making the scar feel freshly carved by merely repeating the word. From a distance…it likely stung unpleasantly, and it would still…attack Miss Granger’s magic, as it was now, invoking an immune response. “You should rest, Miss Granger. We’ve a plan—we can enact it soon enough.”

The younger Witch had been resting her head in the palm of her hand and she startled a bit, as if catching herself doing so, “Oh! I’m fine-“

“Here I thought you prided yourself on your grasp of complex vocabulary. That is not quite so impressive if you’ve such horrible understanding of a simple word such as ‘fine’. You are most decidedly not fine, Miss Granger, you look piqued—you’ll do no one any favors if you push yourself needlessly. Neither will you cause any harm taking an afternoon nap—I daresay I could use one myself.”

The younger Witch nodded tentatively, sighing as she relented. “Alright, yeah I don’t feel great,” she allowed. “Do you want something different to sleep in? Or will you just alter what you have on hand?”

"Oh I would never pass up on the opportunity to raid the closet of Hermione Granger, Golden Girl of Gryffindor, brightest witch of her age,” Narcissa assured. She felt almost vindictive—she wasn’t going ot go poking through the girl’s things to make a mockery of her wardrobe choices, as abhorrent as she was certain they would be, if the girl’s current attire was anything to go off of. Of course, to be fair, the younger Witch had been woodland wandering for the better part of a year, fashionableness wasn’t exactly high up on her list of priorities…though Draco’s ramblings on the matter said her fashion sense wasn’t much better out of the woods.

Part of her would absolutely be judging this critically for her own amusement but she would most certainly _try_ to keep her comments to herself.

She would try.

Miss Granger merely nodded at Narcissa’s bit of snarky goading and that set her worry deeper—she must truly be feeling poorly if she’d no intelligent come back. The younger Witch rose from her seat…and turned about to the garden doors for some reason. Oh, to turn the lock there. And then moved to the parlor, Narcissa following after to make certain the girl was steady on her feet, did not go toppling down the stairs or some such nonsense when she stopped to lay eyes on the latches over the windows before going to the front door…she’d locked it upon the mover’s leave, but she double checked it now, tugging on the door to make certain it was locked and the latch had caught, before turning the bolt above the doorknob to secure it further still. “If anyone comes to the door…well we aren’t expecting anyone but sometimes people go door to door selling things or have petitions or pamphlets or something. If the doorbell rings and we aren’t expecting anyone, don’t answer alright?”

“Certainly,” Narcissa assured. She supposed this place wasn’t warded either, she could cast things that would keep muggles from finding interest in the home—raise them if for some reason they required one come through. “Thank you, Miss Granger, for securing us.”

The girl merely shrugged, leading her up the stairs and permitting Narcissa entry into her chamber. It was rather a lot smaller than Narcissa’s but…it would seem bigger once the mover’s boxes were dealt with. One of them held a great many jumpers, sweat shirts, what the girl termed ‘t-shirts’ and sleep shorts. There was a sweatshirt in particular she pulled from the box, that she held gingerly like it was something very dear to her, pulled it to her face and breathed in like she was seeking some scent that was apparently lost to its time in storage, if her expression was anything to go by. She let out a soft sigh and put the sweatshirt back into the box, pulling out a light blue sleep shirt, blue and white striped shorts and telling Narcissa she was free to have whatever most appealed. It was wildly inappropriate but she- she was distracted with the thought that…well that the shorts looked like they would very much live up to their name on the young Witch.

It meant she blindly grabbed the first thing in the box and she kept it, made certain it looked like she’d just been decisive and not distracted at just what miss Granger’s change in apparel would look like.

Curiosity did not kill the cat in this instance. Satisfaction…if she were inclined toward overstatement or dramatics, nearly did.

Narcissa entered her own quarters to find…someone—and she very much doubted it had been dear Bob or Clem—had gone through the trouble of searching these boxes and preparing the bed, sheets and blankets neatly done up, pillows waiting against the headboard. She changed into the overly large sweatshirt, appreciative for its size because it was the only thing she’d grabbed—she could alter it but if it’d some sentimental value to the younger witch, she’d no interest in risking magic going awry with it—but its size did make her wonder just who it belonged to, it was much too large for Miss Granger’s slight frame.

Not…not terribly slight, Narcissa came to discover. She’d had only just pulled her blankets into her lap when there was a gentle knock at the door and Miss Granger poked her head in before stepping inside, leaning in the doorframe. Her time in the wilderness had…left her with some measure of benefit. More revealing clothing displayed lean muscle in her arms and legs earned from long hours traversing wilds, wielding her wand like a warrior. She wasn’t certain just what attributed to the shapely form filling the lines of her pinstripe sleep shorts. Mister Zabini…oh he would be horribly jealous he may never be privy to this—Hogwarts uniforms always did leave a bit much to the imagination though that had its own appeal, didn’t it? Though Narcissa was no schoolboy, she may have given the young lady a cursory glance, but her gaze settled on what was most pressing—the visible sign that said perhaps she should be concerned the younger Witch needed something, that maybe she was terribly poorly from Bella’s scarring—she looked utterly exhausted. But she merely offered a tired smile and softly informed her,

“I’m going to go ahead and lie down—I’ve an alarm set so I actually wake up and arrange for dinner, and maybe I’ll get some work done tonight. I don’t know that you’ll be able to hear it from in here but if you hear a sound similar to the ones the phone makes when I pressed the number buttons? A little drawn out and louder—that’s what that is,” she ran her through the potentially…alarming sound she would be unfamiliar with. It was kind…and then the girl was kinder still. “I’ll be leaving the hall light on—sorry I didn’t think to yesterday, it’s safer if one of us wakes up and it’s dark, you know? We’re not fumbling down the hall in the dark,” she met Narcissa’s gaze, “…would you like your door left open, or closed?”

She…wasn’t certain the offer should leave a lump in her throat, something constricting in her chest, but it did. “Open, if you would, do…” she regarded the young Witch for a moment. It felt like something she should thank her for and yet somehow the words escaped her and there was a level where…the girl didn’t need to be thanked. Somehow that made it even…she wanted to say worse? For all it was better. Oh. Oh she wasn’t speaking full stop and Miss Granger was very much exhausted, to the point Narcissa’s silence leaving her lingering longer still in the older Witch’s doorway instead of going to lie down sent a warn of worry across her magic and she caught herself. “Do get some rest.”

That earned her a brilliant smile from the younger Witch as she nodded, gaze assessing as her fingers went to the lightswitch just inside the door and when Naricssa made no move to stop her, she turned out the light overhead, leaving the room washed in pale light from the hall, and wished her, “You too.”

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy chewed her quills. Of this, Hermione was absolutely certain because she was currently biting the pencap perched on the end of her pen as she considered what to write next. It was utterly asinine and confounding, this information, she wasn’t sure what to do with it—somehow it rocked the foundations of what she knew about this woman far more than her proclamations of _loving_ Teddy Tonks.

Everything Narcissa Malfoy was currently about rocked the foundations of Hermione’s idea of her. She was currently seated on the opposite end of the couch from Hermione, in dad’s old _St. Thomas and King’s*_ sweatshirt, blonde hair in a messy bun atop her head, an order of fried rice the older Witch had dropped several pieces of Kan Pao Chicken into was sitting at her feet, legs curled before her as she rested a spiral notebook on her thighs, chewing on the end of her pen as she scanned the page through—shit you not—a pair of round, silvery wire-framed spectacles. _I need them to read_ , she said.

Hermione needed them to- to bugger off. For some reason. It felt…she wasn’t sure. Just. Weird. Hermione felt _weird_ sitting here, splitting Chinese and working on world-problem-solving solutions with Narcissa Malfoy just- why did the glasses make her feel the woman was looking indecent, more so than the fact that her legs were bare save for the large, brown woolen socks she’d slipped over her feet? She just felt-

“…ridiculous,” Hermione jerked when she realized she’d- oh Merlin she’d just been sitting and staring for the better part of five minutes, hadn’t she? She met Narcissa’s gaze…well, almost. The woman was still looking at her own work as Hermione looked to her face.

“Come again?” Hermione asked.

Mrs. Malfoy met her gaze, “I sound ridiculous.”

Oh. “Hitting some writers block?”

“More like embarrassment and remorse,” the older Witch softly confessed, taking a tendril of hair that hang loose at the nape of her neck and twining it between the fingers of her free hand while the other sent the pen wagging rapidfire back and forth as she frowned at the notebook in her lap.

“You know my mum says if you aren’t careful making faces—when the wind blows it’ll get stuck that way,” ahh, now the frown was directed at her.

“I mean absolutely not one modicum of disrespect for your darling mother, Miss Granger, but I assure you that is a wholly ludicrous notion.”

“Oh it is? You’re certain? You’re absolutely willing to risk it?” Hermione checked, Mrs. Malfoy’s brow creased at that, “Well then I suppose you leave me no choice.”

The woman looked wholly startled as Hermione sat up, notebook in hand, and began fanning it rapidly to, you know, produce aforementioned cursed breeze.

Narcissa Malfoy just stared at her with the most unimpressed look upon her face.

And then she broke out into _giggles._

_Narcissa Malfoy could giggle._

_Narcissa Malfoy could giggle_ and it was _absolutely adorable._

“M- m- Miss Granger, honestly!” the older woman wiped raised her hand to wipe a middle finger at the corner of her eye, “Oh, good heavens. You realize you’re absolutely ridiculous?”

“Well…that’s better then,” Hermione supposed with a grin.

“Better?”

Hermione nodded. “Mm-hm. You’re smiling and saying _I’m_ the ridiculous one.”

“…and you find that preferable to my frowning and finding myself ridiculous?”

Hermione shrugged, “If you’re going to look so sad about it? Absolutely. I wouldn’t let Harry or Ron or Ginny or Luna get down on themselves like that.”

The older Witch was overcome with a look that said she found that sentiment something precious. “So this is what friendship with you entails?”

“Oh, you’re currently at my most peak level of friendship right now—I mean we’re sitting here on a Saturday night,” July 27th—exactly one week before Draco was to be Marked, Merlin’s beard comb, they’d cut it close, “in pajamas, eating Chinese. The only thing missing is either the latest Weird Sisters album playing or a bad movie on the telly.”

“I would…be interested in learning just what the telly does, you made it sound…strange but interesting earlier. But it is something to be viewed, is it not?” she confirmed and when Hermione nodded, “Well, I wouldn’t oppose a little light listening, if it wouldn’t distract you.”

Oh! “Not at all—it drives Harry up the wall, he can’t really deal with overstimulation when studying, if there’s anything else in the world around to distract him, it will. But I always work better with a little background noise.”

“Likewise,” the older Witch seemed pleased to note, a smile at her lips as she teased, “Of course your musical selection may well drive me…up the wall? Quaint.”

“I can grab the record player—mu-“ she stopped, catching herself. Mum took the little radio they owned in the uh…move. Hermione hadn’t quite remembered—forgot until just now, she’d put the record player in storage since…well she hadn’t quite anticipated needing it, but Narcissa Malfoy was apparently full of surprises. “must still work, I imagine. It’s in the cellar, I’ll be right back.”

That sparked a bit of interest in Mrs. Malfoy. “Oh there is a cellar? In the back garden?”

Hermione nodded, nervous. “The door’s old, really rusty—it’s a little dangerous to mess with and the stairs are really steep and- well if anything happened it might take a minute for me to go looking for you there” Mrs. Malfoy was regarding her with a bit of cautious curiosity, quiet uncertainty that sent Hermione rambling further, Merlin the woman had claimed she was good at lying? Since when? “—I mean patronus’s are well and good but it wouldn’t do for the neighbors to see a glowing animal roaming the neighborhood.”

The older Witch blanched at that and then stared at Hermione hard for a moment like she…had she said something insulting? Oh. Oh hell.

Hermione sat on the edge of the coffee table before Mrs. Malfoy resting a hand on the older Witch’s shoulder, “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. You’ve just been…hostage in your own home by Tom and his sycophants, and our world is _pretty_ small right now, I- I didn’t mean to make it smaller for you or make it sound like I’m the boss of where you can go in the house. We’ll go out tomorrow maybe, if you’d like? I can show you around, and we can go grocery shopping, shopping-shopping, stretch our legs a bit. And you _can_ go to the cellar, absolutely, I just…” truthfully? Yeah the truth always did the trick. “I worry about what might happen if you do.”

The woman blinked at her. “Miss Granger you-“ she stopped, clearing her throat before she let go of her pen in her lap to bring her left hand up to overlap Hermione’s. “You really are a dear thing aren’t you? I…appreciate the care you’re taking, I’m sorry—I misinterpreted your statement about Patronus’s. It…” she trailed off, looking perplexed about something before deciding, “you should know…as we are working together and perhaps there might just be an incident where such a thing would be necessity I…” she swallowed, looking ahead and not meeting Hermione’s gaze as she gathered up whatever it was she needed, in order to deliver a confession with the barest whisper, “I can’t. I…cannot cast a Patronus.”

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry I-“ Hermione’s mouth worked momentarily. “I just assu- I mean Merlin, you…you figured your way around Malfoy Manor’s wards so quickly and I mean you powered our apparation like- I mean I didn’t realize- I know side-along is a thing but you powering someone elses intent is just wild, but you _did_ it. You’re such a powerful Witch, Narcissa, I can’t imagine there isn’t anything magical you can’t do once you’ve put your mind to it.”

That had the woman’s gaze snapping to meet her, a smile pulled at her lips and won as she let out a pleased hum. “Well… _that_ was thrice. So we’ll see how well this ‘charm’ you speak of works.”

Ch… “Oh, your name, yeah. Sorry-“

“Oh you certainly needn’t apologize…” the woman seemed to take it under consideration. “…you call your other friends by their given names. Perhaps the same could be extended between us, could it not?”

Somehow the offer made her throat dry up like…like it just wasn’t something she was supposed to do. She wasn’t, right? She was…she was Narcissa Malfoy-

Well. Names…only have the power you give them. So.

“…perhaps. I’m game if you are, Narcissa.”

“Always, Miss-,” she smiled, catching herself, “Hermione.” Oh she only _just_ resisted the urge to snark, _you needn’t call me Miss_ , but it would merely be private amusement and she was rather more occupied trying to decipher what it was in the older Witch’s gaze—her eyes shone with something Hermione couldn’t quite determine before she said, “…I believe you were off to fetch us some musical entertainment? Unless the dread cellar is truly so very dangerous that we should make the journey together?”

“Oh, no, thanks, stay comfy. You need anything while I’m up?” she checked.

“Offering to wait on me hand and foot? And here I thought I’d be going without proper upkeep for the next year and a half.”

“Oh as if. No, it’s just, when one friend is up, its only right to offer to make sure the other doesn’t need anything—it’s kind of the rules and I _will_ be expecting reciprocity.”

The woman’s eyes went a bit wide at that, cheeks pinking, mouth working momentarily before it was pulled into a smirk, and she risked toppling over to lean into Hermione’s space to-

She sat back once she’d a glass in hand, raised into Hermione’s view, Narcissa shaking it to rattle the ice. “My glass could use refilling.”

So Hermione took it in hand, “Your wish is my command.”

“…as I have seen,” Narcissa supposed.

…this was weird right?

Right?

The…entire situation was weird. So.

…it didn’t hit her until she was at the cellar door that she…Oh. Had she…

Had she been flirting, with Narcissa Malfoy?

…maybe?

Not- it wasn’t-

It wouldn’t be…it was only strange because it was Narcissa Malfoy. Someone who raised a boy in her year. But…they were friends now, right? At least…making a go at an alliance that was friendly? She…flirted with Ginny, from time to time. Nothing serious—oh God, she was hardly trying to be sweet on Harry’s girl. Ginny always started it, set the tone, it was just friendly flirtation, the sort that cropped up between people who were close and comfortable enough to joke that way without ever truly meaning it untowardly. And Luna…sometimes the girl drove Hermione just barmy, she’d a fascinating understanding of magic but some of the things she believed, Hermione just couldn’t get behind but…the Witch…had an unabashed straightforwardness that was endearing and…well Hermione wasn’t sure. They went for butterbeers, well, and gillywater with onion of course, on the occasional Hogsmeade weekend, a few library…dates? Sort of? Studying by the fire, sharing cocoa, Luna was always so sincere and open with her feelings, she didn’t flirt necessarily she just…said straight up, _exactly_ what she was thinking, feeling, no matter what. No dithering around or falling over herself. _I like you rather a lot, Hermione Granger_. And, _you’re so…vivid when you’re solving Runes. Your smile’s ethereal, I think it would be a perfect Patronus._ A smile couldn’t be a Patronus, Hermione had saw fit to remind her, but the girl had shaken her head. _My hare always smiles, every molecule of his glittering form—they’re already like your lips, pretty, pink._ She was decently sure Luna’s Patronus was white like everyone elses, but the girl insisted on a molecular level, her Hare was pink. Who was Hermione to dispute her?

_"So…you’ll be putting my smile on your Hare? That might…be frightening, Lu.”_

_"Oh…I don’t think so but maybe you’re right. Well I’ll certainly be thinking of your smile to when next I cast.”_

She was also…good at being forthright. _I like you. I want you to always be happy. I like lots of people. Ron mightn’t be comfortable with it, if you were dating—I would stop, I just…like you. Enjoy you. Is that okay for me to enjoy you so long as you enjoy me too?_ It was. Hermione hadn’t felt anything…drastic in regard to the pretty blonde. She was nice company, could carry on entertaining conversation, was fun to kiss. But that’s all it was, for either of them, Luna even said so—it was fun. And Hermione, she just wasn’t…she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t very focused on romance or dating or Merlin forbid, marriage. She didn’t want anything close to marriage until…well certainly after her schooling. Ron…she loved him but…as a friend. And he had all these ideas about what a relationship is, what it should be. He gave her assurances, awkward ones since it was always within the lines of their friendship, that _if_ they were together, he’d not be too swift to marry. And oh, he only wanted a _few_ children. But…well Hermione knew her best friend better than that. Ron wasn’t his parents, but neither was he just going to stop at one or two children, not if his future wife was agreeable—and if she wasn’t, well, that didn’t make for a quite the happy marriage if they weren’t on the same page. No, he’d have his own little army of children. Maybe not seven, but…four? Five? Hermione could barely picture herself as a mother—it was…something she wanted, sure, someday. But one. Maybe two? Certainly no more than that.

But that wasn’t happening until…well, there was no more war, and her schooling was finished, uni, and she’d a proper career she was satisfied enough with to feel confident in adding a child to the mix. Certainly not with Ron…or Luna, pretty as the blonde was.

…Narcissa Malfoy was a pretty blonde, her brain so kindly reminded her as she lugged the Victrola by its handle, telling her mind to bugger off with that- that _nonsense!_

Narcissa Malfoy was a pretty blonde and that information was nothing more than that—information. Like how many molecules of hydrogen bound to oxygen created water. Or how many miles an hour the earth was hurdling ‘round the sun. It was there, on a level it affected her, but it didn’t have anything to do with her. Water would still be wet without Hermione Granger, and the earth would continue to turn long after she was gone— _she_ could know _it_ , _it_ would never know _her._

Victrola in one hand, glass in the other she set the musical implement on the counter to allow her use of both her hands—Merlin she missed her wand—she topped off the glass with a few more ice cubes and fresh water before returning to the living room.

The older Witch was paying rapt attention as Hermione set the Victrola on the window seat, got it situated nicely—its where it always went, the alcove of windows seemed to help project the sound outward into the rest of the living room so well, she always set it up there for lazy afternoons reading in the window seat, it was…it was always the best spot in the house…even when the music got commandeered by dad wooing mum, pulling her along for a spot of dancing in the middle of the day.

Well, um…it was set up now. Gosh she- she hadn’t quite expected it to make her feel so sick to her stomach…guilt and homesickness even as she stood in her own home.

“Hermione?” Narcissa’s voice was soft at her ear, the older Witch had gotten up from her seat on the couch, her hand on Hermione’s uninjured arm, “Are you…are you quite alright my dear?” she questioned, “Is it your arm? Are you in pain?”

Hermione shook her head, “Oh, no um-“ oh crap. She hadn’t realized- she raised her free arm to wipe at her eyes, she hadn’t expected to be such a baby over this, “I’m fine it isn’t- I um…” her chin was quivering and the older Witch was staring at her expectantly, almost like…was it strange it gave Hermione the impression of a person starting at something they quite expected to explode with calm, observational acceptance? That’s what Narcissa’s stare felt like, assessing and expecting, watching. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid.”

Narcissa was peering very intensely into her eyes momentarily before softly announcing, “You miss your parents.” And then, clearing her throat, “I quite assure you that is far from stupid, Hermione. I…don’t know the circumstances of your relationship, but I am sorry you cannot currently be with them.”

A quiet sob cracked in the back of her throat before she cleared it, and she shook her head, “I’m alright, I just- yeah. I miss them,” she wasn’t sure if it helped or made it worse that Narcissa raised her other hand to rest on her back, rubbing circles as Hermione sniffled, “Dad’s a major dork, he’d…he’d always take the Victrola being out as excuse to dance—by himself or with anyone in reach.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“The best. I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. Mum’s…she’s just brilliant, strong and always knows exactly what she wants. Compassionate but she um…she has to be the mean one—dad just can’t bring himself to do it, not for himself at least. I think I’ve heard him yell once in my entire life.”

“Truly?”

Hermione nodded, “Uh-huh. I think I was…gosh I had to have been ten—I was playing with some neighbor children and I…” when she thought on it now, it might have been something about her magic, “a boy threw a ball at my head really hard, and it…it should have hit me but it didn’t—it looked like it had but it just got right in my face and bounced straight back at him, hit him in the stomach. I felt just awful—I didn’t know what happened, I guess my magic interviened? But I didn’t know about that then and even if I had it wasn’t like it was something I could explain either way, not that he likely would have cared. I was apologizing and checking on him, making sure he wasn’t hurt badly and the moment he caught his breath he pushed me into the dirt and um, well he was going to beat the snot out of me, but he got little more than a hit in before I hear this man just- it was this loud, booming, guttural _no!_ My father had just gotten home from work and he’d been watching us play, and the second he saw I was in trouble he- I’ve never dreamed of my father being a violent person, but just then I was pretty sure I was about to witness a murder. He pulled that boy up by the collar of his shirt, scooped me up in his other arm and pulled me to his chest and just _lost it_ , screaming to high heaven that if he ever hurt a hair on my head ever again he’d find himself with a set of rearranged teeth.” She snorted, “it’s a scary threat from a dentist.”

“Dentist?”

“Mmm you know, like dental charms? They’re the muggle equivalent of that—they clean and care for people’s teeth.”

“…Muggles are incapable of keeping their teeth cleansed?”

“They also help with overall oral health—straightening crooked teeth, pulling rotted ones, wisdom tooth extraction. And everyone…well, everyone without access to magic should go in for a solid cleaning once a year at the very least—plaque and the like build up even with regular brushing-” she stopped, catching herself in the middle of…well, sounding just like her parents, oh gosh, she couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Dental hygiene is so very amusing?”

Hermione shook her head, “No I just- I just started in on one of their lectures, next thing you know I’ll sound just like mum and her ‘full sugar soda is enamels most formidable foe in today’s youths’ rant.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t um…I didn’t mean to get so upset.”

The hand on Hermione’s arm gave her a comforting squeeze, “I…understand missing a father you love dearly—I think of my father every day. Draco has so much of him in him—there are times I swear…he sounds just like him. He…oh he can’t abide me being upset—he’s never manifested notebook breeze to cheer me, but he’s just as quick to cheer me offer comfort. Which has been so familiar, reminded me so much of my father it’s brought me to tears which has only…oh there was once when he was twelve he said something that just broke my heart it was so sweet, struck so close to something my father said before he passed that I burst into tears and it only spurned him onward, made him redouble his efforts, he was rather frantic.”

Awe that…that was strange to hear—Draco being so sweet. But Narcissa had used the words ‘tender hearted’ to describe her son. And she was his mother, of course she thought the best of him. But…maybe there was some truth to it. She’d never seen much kindness from the boy but…she had seen an awful lot of bruised ego, wounded pride. She…yeah if her father was constantly rubbing someone else’s grades in her face and making her feel like dirt for not outshining someone else, she’d probably be hurt enough to at least _want_ to hurt that someone else, cut them down for size. Lobbing insults and making her feel like she didn’t belong was…hurtful, but strategy, not…not necessarily personal, she supposed. Draco could have ratted Harry out when it mattered, sold him out to the Dark Lord and he looked right in Harry’s face, and lied to their captors—that _was_ personal, and it…it was a big tick in the right direction.

“Would it be painful for you to still enjoy what music this can produce?” Narcissa questioned gently.

“Oh! No yeah, um…let’s see, I think I’ve got the perfect thing,” Hermione said—there were a few records stored away in the lid—they usually kept their go-tos there and…a smile spread on her face, “Oh, okay yeah, this’ll work.”

“It certainly better,” Narcissa drawled as Hermione put the record in place, guiding the needle and one of mum’s favorite jazz records filled the air, the low rattle of a snare, piano twanging before the saxophone made it’s swingy debut. The older Witch had the softest smile on her face before she sighed, “Your taste in music is passable.” She met Hermione’s gaze, smirk at her lips, “I trust you’ll find some other way to drive me up the wall.”

That- that wasn’t- she wasn’t-

So. Her mind was officially on time out. That wasn’t…that was hardly what the older woman meant! She was just repeating something she heard, she’d done that a few times already with a few different Muggle-ish sayings, that was all. Like the return of a joke!

Narcissa Malfoy was _not_ flirting with her, and if she _was_ it was just…well, in good fun, being friendly.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Hermione shrugged, going for nonchalant and succeeding she thought. She took several sips of her water when they returned to the couch, to moisten her throat. Narcissa gave her a pleased smile when she sipped at her own water, popped a few careful bites—Narcissa Malfoy could use chopsticks—of chicken and rice from her share of their dinner still resting in a carton on the couch before taking up her notebook again and pushing past whatever had bothered her earlier it seemed like. She didn’t look…very pleased with a great deal of what she was writing. It made Hermione relieved when the woman set her work aside, stretching in her seat and announcing she was in need of a break.

“If you’d like to check out the telly, I won’t mind,” Hermione assured, “I don’t find it particularly distracting.”

She didn’t. Not usually.

Narcissa Malfoy being introduced to television for the first time, however? Was…very distracting.

The woman sat on her side of the couch, crisscross applesauce Chinese all but forgotten in her lap, remote in her hand as she stared, mouth agape, with wide-eyed fascination that started in her the moment the television sparked to life.

“My word,” she breathed, her gaze at the television breaking only so she could examine the remote further before landing on the ones Hermione had informed her would change the channel—there were only eight but she began cycling through them rapid fire, utterly entranced. She settled on NOW, and fiddling with the volume buttons—up down, up down, up down before she eventually tested just how loudly the television would stand being, Hermione flinching a bit at the volume, and the woman blushed, shooting her an apologetic look her way as she hastily lowered the volume to a more reasonable level before she resumed staring at the television—looking on the newscasters intently like she was trying to meet their gaze and hold it.

“Muggles still keep the tradition of the Olympics as well?” Narcissa wondered.

“Hmm?” oh. Oh that was happening now, wasn’t it? Time travel was wild. Hermione lifted her gaze from her notebook to the television screen, “Yeah they-“ her throat went dry, heart plummeting straight to her stomach. “They do.”

“How awful,” Narcissa breathed as she watched. 2 _dead, 111 wounded*_ was not a comforting headline, no.

“I…” that…this didn’t feel right. Oh God. “I didn’t kn-“

Narcissa’s hand was on her knee then. “You never heard of this attack?” she questioned, concerned.

“I…” she stared at the television screen. Merlin. Someone bloody bombed the Olympics! “I haven’t been home since fifth-“ fifth year*, she almost said. Oh crap! She sucked in a breath. Shit. Shit that- she hadn’t meant to-

Narcissa looked horrified for all of a moment before that melted into sympathy, the hand on her knee squeezed, “I was merely endeavoring to gauge if the timeline was altered by our mere double presence. I doubt our appearance altered things in…the America’s is it? the States?”

"Atlanta, Georgia, this year I think. Y-yeah.” And then, “Th-the state, not the country,” she assured.

“The Olympics…they are a sacred thing,” Narcissa said. “Whoever has done this will be punished,” she vowed. Hermione nodded. This was…how had she not- she just…she felt like _dirt._ She hadn’t known. Merlin, mum and dad watched the Olympics religiously and- oh mum would be just a _mess_ over this.

“So they cannot see us?” Narcissa wondered, still staring at the screen.

Oh. That felt like distraction…an appreciated one. Hermione cleared her throat, assuring, “No. Or hear us—their broadcasting to us, not the other way around.”

“How do they capture both visuals and sound and…broadcast it? Without magic?”

“A great deal of technology, it has to do with electrical signals and waves. Picture signals are sent in analog…er…you wouldn’t know what analog is, would you?” Hermione supposed. “I don’t know that I can rightly explain, not very well at least? We can take a trip to the library sometime. There’ll be great books on the subject and er…” well. “I don’t want to overwhelm you but if you find the telly fascinating, I’m curious just how you’ll find the Internet.”

“Internet?”

“Computers—muggle machines that process information, they can be used for a great many things, recording information or reviewing it basically, via computer programs and the internet.”

Narcissa was swift to discern which was the power button, switching the television off. “Can we access this library now?”

“Only if you’d like to commit a few crimes,”…the woman shouldn’t look enticed by the idea—she was Slytherin and party to war crimes but like, still! “We are _not_ breaking into the library afterhours…if I were to commit a crime that’s exactly what it would be,” she supposed, but, “still! No criminal activity, Narcisa Malfoy. That we can help, anyway. The librarys are closed on Sundays, some close over the weekend full stop. But Monday on is fair game. There’s usually space you can have to yourself, I mean…I don’t see why we couldn’t work out of them some days if you care to? Barbican Library on Silk Street is a favorite of mine—and you must absolutely go to Guildhall at least once.”

“Oh must I?” Narcissa wondered looking wholly amused.

“It’s basically the law and we’re dedicating ourselves to being law abiding citizens as much as we can help it with these circumstances.”

That earned her a bit of the woman’s laughter. “I suppose we must then—as it is basically the law,” she shook her head. And then, “You’re aware Blaise Zabini has a terrible crush on you.”

A terrible _who?_ “…excuse me?”

“I do believe I spoke plainly enough. Did my earlier investigation of this thing’s volume leave your hearing addled?”

“Blaise Zabini does _not_ have a crush on me-“

“Oh I beg to differ, Miss Granger. I’ve known the boy the whole of his life—he’s entirely smitten, despite himself. I had wondered why but…you’ve a silly charm to you I suppose.”

Hermione snorted—eloquent, to match the situation, “Okay Blaise has never seen me outside of class and I assure you I’m seen as an insufferable know-it-all then-“

“Oh I assure you, you’re seen as an insufferable know-it-all with your Orwellian conspiracy theories and knowledge of the oh-so-elusive topic of whatever ‘analog’ is.”

“Even if he does I- I’d hardly be interested in someone so bigoted or- well,” she shrugged. Maybe that would help her stop feeling quite so strange about the possible-flirtation—it wasn’t strange with Ginny because she knew Hermione fancied Witches. It didn’t feel like something she was hiding from her friend, there wasn’t the potential there that _if she did know_ she’d be made uncomfortable about it if she ever did find out. So. “…I mean Wizards are fine, I…I’ve fancied a few,” Viktor had…she’d genuinely been attracted to him, he was handsome and kind, had an endearing sweetness—he still wrote her regularly, a few times just to check in on her and absolutely always on holidays and her birthday. “ but certainly not Blaise Zabini. I’m more a Witch girl, myself.”

“Truly? Hmm,” she took a moment of consideration. “I do appreciate the trust you’ve extended in sharing that with me—I assure you your confidence will be kept. I’d a preference for Witches in my youth,” Narcissa supposed, “Well, I mean the attraction is always there. Wizards have their own appeal, of course—and Lucius…” she blanched a bit, “I don’t suppose you’d care to hear, I apologize. He wasn’t…always as he is now.”

“…it’s alright if it’s something you want to talk about,” Hermione gently prompted, “I mean he’s not necessarily _my_ favorite person but neither are you and we’ve been getting on well enough,” she offered teasingly, extending her leg to gently shove at the Pureblood woman’s arm with her foot.

That got her an amusement-laced incredulous look from the older Witch who assured her, “Not for much longer if you dare raise your feet to me again, Miss Granger.”

“Oh my humblest apologies, Lady Malfoy,” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “Go on. Dish about your husband—he wasn’t always lickspittle for evil incarnate?”

“Well…not always, no. Bigotry has always been in him but…well it was ingrained in his upbringing. His father was worse if you can imagine it. He’s been told the whole of his life that blood status is everything, that anything different threatens our very way of life. At the root of it all, is fear. My husband is a coward, of that I am well aware. But he…he _was_ kind, had a sweetness with me. Fierce loyalty to any he called friend. Unfortunately loyalty became worship when he pledged his allegiance to Tom. I…some days I feel he’s galvanized by his own fears, regrets—doubles down because he has committed himself and his family to this cause, he cannot afford to be wrong, you understand? Because that would mean…”

“He’s doomed his family. That his entire way of life is garbage, yeah. I…I can see that,” Hermione supposed.

Narcissa nodded. “Of course he could be a raving lunatic, bigoted through and through I…I wouldn’t know. He puts on a brave face, is so absolutely resolved in his ideals, the most he will speak of it with me is his plans—how he helps the Dark Lord, how our Lord will secure our future, what that future will be.” she shook herself, “I was meant to speak of how he was, I suppose? He was absolutely enamored with me since childhood, and I him. We were betrothed young, you understand and I’ve no illusions our parents would take our say into consideration but I swear to you we were absolutely deadset on marrying before we heard anything about the arrangement. We were gathered for some function, I could not have been more than five—I am one year his senior, you know? And I robbed the cradle blind—I took one look at him, and was struck by just…how beautiful he was, I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d laid eyes on. I walked right up to him and informed him I was to absolutely be his wife.”

Hermione laughed at that, “Really?”

“Oh yes. I’ve always had a fondness for pretty things. I knew well my own beauty of course—with his? Draco was always destined to be the most gorgeous child.”

“I don’t know that he’s the most gorgeous.”

“We were getting along so splendidly, I knew it was only a matter of time before you took advantage of my vows,” she teasingly lamented.

“Advantage? Of the fact you can’t hurt me if you don’t care for my opinions?” Hermione supposed.

“And here you’ve free range to wound me,” she said, rubbing a hand over her breastbone through her sweatshirt as if her heart hurt at the accusation that Draco wasn’t the most perfect being ever to grace the world—wizarding or otherwise. Though that- that didn’t sound-

“Wait, what do you mean?” Hermione asked, sitting up entirely.

Narcissa startled a bit, regarding her with caution. “I…” she gulped, “I thought it was plain, Hermione my- my vows were rather one-sided, you recall?”

Oh. Oh crap, they were. Weren’t they. She’d pledged undying fealty or whatever and Hermione had just said ‘cool’. Ugh.

“Miss Granger?!” Narcissa called after her—she’d pulled herself up over the back of the couch, dropping to the floor and rushing for the kitchen. She’d woken from her nap to find a great many things put away—the kitchens had been entirely unpacked, it was just a matter of figuring out which drawer Narcissa would take it into her head to put…ah!

She dashed back into the living room, albeit more careful with her return to the couch since she’d something that should be handled with caution. Narcissa looked absolutely petrified, only further more even when Hermione held up her hands submissively before bringing one hand before her and using the other, armed with a paring knife from the kitchen, to pierce the skin of her index finger before taking the older witch’s hand “Miss Granger, please-“

Though Narcissa fell silent save for the gasping sound she made once Hermione had finished apologetically but neatly piercing the skin of her index finger, just enough to bring some blood to bear.

“Blood of my blood, bond of my word,” Hermione firmly intoned. “you may pass all thresholds I am welcome, find refuge under my every roof, be seated at any table I preside. From this day forth I pledge to thee my loyalty and fealty true,” crap, she hoped she was getting this right. She met Narcissa’s gaze, looking for some sign of confirmation as she promised, with all sincerity, “no harm will come to you of my hand, no foe may cross you unmet by my wrath. This, I do solemnly swear.”

…she…she was pretty sure she messed up somehow. Narcissa Malfoy was just _staring_ at her, eyes glittering with tears.

“Did…did I do it wrong?” Hermione worried. Oh no! She- she didn’t even have her wand! Of course she wasn’t going to be pleased getting stabbed for zero reason-

“You were practically perfect,” the woman complimented breathlessly, unblinking, and just- _pale._

“I…I’m sorry I didn’t- if I scared you or- or- if I did something wrong-“

“You did nothing wrong,” she assured, even as she got up off the couch and remote clattering to the floor before she set a brisk pace for the stairs, oh crap!

“Obviously that isn’t-“ Hermione tried, “Narcissa!”

The woman stilled at the foot of the stairs, looking haunted, “You did nothing wrong, Miss Granger. That is, in fact the pr-“ Narcissa stopped, mouth working momentarily. “I am tired. And you can no longer cause me harm, so. Good night, Miss Granger.”

Oh. Oh she did feel a press against her magic, felt a compulsion to- it was conflicted. Part of her magic said to go and talk with her, figure this out. but a bigger part, one backed by Narcissa herself said to just give her space. So, “Good…good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *St. Thomas and King’s is a dentistry school in the UK--however now it's simply Kings College (there's a St. Thomas campus), there was some kind of merger in the like. 90's? I looked up dentistry schools in the UK, found a few, the first one I clicked on has only been King's College for a period of time that is definitely post-Hermione's Father's attendance so I found what it would have been called when he was in school. Obvs this is where Hermione's parents met I don't make the rules.  
> *When I googled what date would be exactly 1 week before Draco's Mark ceremony (August 3rd, btw), I got July 27, 1996. One of the major news stories of that day? A bombing at the Olympics, hosted in Atlanta Georgia. Alice Hawthorne and Melih Uzunyol lost their lives in the explosion and its aftermath, and 111 people were injured.
> 
> *for the purposes of both my personal headcanon and this fic, I enjoy the delightful fanon that Hermione actually stopped going home in fifth year and possibly erased her parent's memory then. This comes from the fact that fifth year, Hermione spends winter hols with her friends as opposed to going on a ski trip with her parents (she's asked about this, why she didn't go home for holiday because wasn't she supposed to go on a ski trip? which she just shirks off with minimal explanation), and then any further mention of her break plans, summer or otherwise, are her staying at the Burrow. Arthur Weasley is so tired, more and more children sit at his table and it's fine, he's their father now.
> 
> Next Chapter: Malfoy Managed


	3. Malfoy Managed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the Malfoy's are conflicted and confused and it's fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more chapter. Just one this time but it's pretty long and I hope it's enjoyable? Thank you so much for the Kudos and all the kind comments. Enjoy!

When Hermione Granger made to reciprocate her vows…that was not exactly what Narcissa had thought she’d been about—not at first.

She’d regretted it the moment she said it—that her vows were one sided. She thought…she thought that the girl was choosing that time to strike. Realizing Narcissa could not harm her, but she’d still every power to do so—that she’d risen up to take that act. She’d returned with such a small knife but- but there wasn’t- she couldn’t do anything to defend herself. If Narcissa _tried_ to hit her? Her arms would not move. If she attempted to cast? Her magic would go numb and useless or worse- strike out against herself, pain and punish her for actively attempting to break their word of bond. She knew this well, after years with Lucius. She’d done everything to circumvent it, in their years together, there had been times…where she felt pushed and pressed to her very limits. She _could_ inflict pain upon his person, with his express permission—but only precisely within the realms of his consent which…is how such a thing should work, but when one was endeavoring to work around a word of bond to widow themselves, it was highly inconvenient. The moment she might go too far, or the very intent entered her mind, her muscles, her vows reined her in—she’d once fallen wholly limp from head to toe onto the stone floors before her body convulsed in agony as…well, it became very obvious to her husband her true intent in initiating such rituals that night. He’d punished her, then patted her on the head like he’d found it simply _adorable_ how creative she’d gotten.

She thought the girl had returned with a paring knife because it was the most like her sis- so much like Bellatrix’s. Small, the perfect size for wielding in one hand and craving delicate, intricate forms of torture.

And then the girl wielded it on herself first and foremost. The pierce of blade to Narcissa’s finger? She’d felt more pain from a pinprick, but maybe it had simply been the rush of unadulterated fear she’d just been flooded with, only to come to a crashing halt when she realized-

_Narcissa!_

_You did nothing wrong, Miss Granger. That is, in fact the pr-_

The problem. Narcissa Malfoy found herself lying awake for how long, she was uncertain, only waking when she felt something disturb her magic—momentarily, it passed as swiftly as it came, it almost had her seeking out the younger Witch but she…Merlin.

She’d been about to laude Lucius, as she well should, as his wife. Praise his every previous minute kindness and talk it up like he’d invented compassion, compassion that had been stripped from him systematically when-

Twenty years. _Twenty years._ The _whole_ of this girl’s life, she had been married to this man. And for twenty years he had never _once_ sought to reciprocate her dearest vows to him. He’d pledged to always care for her…financially, guide her magically. They were vows passed down the Malfoy line, they were worded very carefully—as were their counterparts. She looked into his face and vowed to him _everything_ —her protection, her loyalty. That she would _never_ lay harm on him. And his had been…less than reciprocating. And he’d never amended that, nothing in him felt he needed to—it hadn’t even dawned upon him as something that _needed_ mending. Even when she’d made mention of just how long they had been married—that perhaps they should renew their vows…the closest she got was ‘perhaps when victory is ours’ and even that did not speak to _changing_ their vows just…repeating them.

Hermione Granger realized Narcissa sat in a place of inequity, insofar as her ability to harm someone who had free reign to harm her all they cared to and…

…from a girl, despite where her panic had taken her, Narcissa was certain would never raise a hand to harm her. The thought may well _never_ cross a person like Hermione Granger’s mind, the bring harm to someone needlessly, out of meanness or shame or embarrassment or hate (it made her curious just what Draco had done to inspire the girl to strike him—never would she dream of a situation where she found blame lying with her son but she’d seen Miss Granger in the wake of torture, heard tale of childhood altercation where violence had been struck against her and her magic defended her before she did while she moved to comfort the boy who would have gladly seen her hurt, tried to take vengeance on her for his own actions leaving him harmed). The _moment_ she discovered such an inequity existed, she rose up not to strike Narcissa down, but to raise her up. Level the Quidditch Pitch and return her vows almost flawlessly—truly flawless in their intent and their purpose.

What…what was that? Goodness? A compulsion of her morality? Some strange symptom of friendship? True friendship? Or was it something Narcissa simply could not wrap her head around? The latter seemed the closest answer she had—she’d not any clue how- _she’d_ vowed herself out of necessity. It had been imperative, and emergency. If she’d freedom in the moment? She could not imagine a world where she would vow herself to Hermione Granger in such a way. And if roles were reversed? The young Witch vowed to her in this situation, with no such return from Narcissa? Only- only an utter _fool_ would give up the ability to have the upper hand on someone in the tender beginnings of a delicate alliance with someone only until recently considered the enemy-

…and Hermione Granger, who Narcissa was coming to know lived every letter of the title ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age’, was no fool.

So Narcissa was left to feel the fool, grappling with- with herself. With the choices she’d made. It had been nothing short of turmoil, penning the past year to paper, a level of torture. She was stronger than this, wasn’t she? She-

 _You were brave, Narcissa…you are._ _You’re such a powerful Witch._ Once upon a time Narcissa had been absolutely certain of these things, herself. But now she…she couldn’t remember the last time she felt any truth in those words. Certainly not with the level of belief Miss Granger had in them when she spoke them straight to Narcissa’s face—conviction in both her voice and the forefront of her mind, Narcissa…did not feel guilty for the incidental brush of Legilimency that could happen unbidden. That did not mean she didn’t now feel guilty for the few times she had intentionally broached the girl’s privacy intentionally, Merlin, she was never more certain she was such a coward. But in that moment it had been genuinely an accident, merely…Legilimency was a birth power for her. something that came as naturally as her magic had. Narcissa’s first memory, the farthest back she could recall for the whole of her life, was her father’s mind. She wasn’t certain the exact context of his day but in her infancy, she had apparently just…there was the feeling that lingered, that she associated with the rush and thrill of being having run to her father, being hoisted high against his chest— _my beautiful child, light of my heart_. She felt this, and saw the purest glimmer of immeasurable love for her that set the precedent for her love of herself. Or at least, the level of love she once adhered to.

She’d been about to lament Lucius’s compassion being stripped away. When it was _he-_ he, the Dark Lord, before them her own mother, they…they’d all worked together to strip her of that. It had been arrogance and willful ignorance that kept her playing pretend she’d such an adoration for herself, that she lived up to the name her father* gave her. She…she wished she’d half the conviction Miss Granger had, in this regard—belief in Narcissa’s power and bravery.

Ugh. If she were truly brave? They would not be in this mess. Perhaps _Tom_ would not have the power he currently held. Her son would not be _fodder_ for his father’s war.

…she would be capable of leaving this room and facing Miss Granger.

Miss Granger who…turned the hallway light on when Narcissa had so hurriedly passed it in her escape, left it on—Narcissa’s wrist watch said it was three in the morning at one point when she woke, saw the light breaching the room from under her door, casting a glow across a great portion of her floors, let her see the room a bit more clearly than total darkness would have. She’d tentatively risen and stepped into the adjoining bathroom to splash water on her face from the sink, before stepping carefully, quietly to her bedroom door and opening it a crack before lying back down. A crack that went undisturbed even as she smelled…she woke to the fading smell of breakfast. It was nearing eleven in the morning when she drug herself up out of bed, and discovered the scent was so very strong because it came as an offering left to her on a tray at her door—scrambled eggs, bacon, tea. All returned to their freshly made glory with a warming charm. She wasn’t certain if she began picking at the food for hungers sake or out of…was it guilt she felt? That the younger Witch had gone through the trouble to rise and make breakfast for her after her behavior the previous night and it would be poor return to let her kindness go to waste. Perhaps.

She was better than this. She was. Miss Granger had proposed they pick up some necessities today and Narcissa…would see that through, yes. She would stop being so ridiculous, and behave as the witch she was. She removed her eveningwear, and stepped into the bathroom, plied cleansing charms to her body and her clothing she’d left laying on the bathroom floor oh. She would have to pick up after herself. Leaving her things about just wasn’t…well it was habit, but only insofar as her world remained neat and tidy because usually when she dropped things to the floor, they were magicked away to be cleansed and returned to their appropriate shelf or drawer or hanger. She leveled a swift fluoride and freshening charm to her teeth, and then considered how best to move forward fashion wise. She chilled easily and she’d been dressing with the Manor in mind—they had just been coming out of winter, nearing spring when she and Miss Granger stepped out of their time, but it was summer now, was it not? She settled on shifting the jumper she’d fashioned into pale green button up blouse, shifted the slacks into a skirt, high waisted she tucked her blouse into, that tapered to her knees. Her boots were a bit much, but easily transfigured into a more appropriately styled heel.

Heels that clicked quietly down the hall, apprehension in her stomach as she looked about for any sign of Miss Granger—for all the girl couldn’t… _wouldn’t_ …attack her, Narcissa still felt…she wasn’t certain. Just, that the girl could be anywhere, and she felt a need to be absolutely prepared for it. To meet her with…casualness. Yes. That would do—she would behave as if last night did not have her questioning every foundation that made up her life to this point, and Miss Granger would meet her halfway, she was certain.

Or…not at all. She wasn’t in the hall, and she wasn’t downstairs when Narcissa took the task of returning her tray to the kitchen. Huh. Could she be in the yard or the cellar perhaps? It was nearly noon, surely she was awake-

Surely not. Narcissa found Miss Granger’s notebook resting on the couch and it was full—every page front and back. She wasn’t certain if she should read it without the girl’s consent, but she did flip through it to the final page just to verify…well. She’d documented the whole of her time between sixth year and their departure from Malfoy Manor. She must have been up…had she gone to sleep? Not in the evening, Narcissa didn’t think.

Narcissa carefully ascended the stairs and peered into Miss Granger’s room to find it dark, the curtains closed. She’d clearly taken some time to unpack—it seemed everything was in its rightful place, books and knickknacks and the like were atop the chest of drawers, the desk, lining the bookshelf overstuffed with well cared for, but clearly well-used books. There was a nightstand alongside the young Witch’s bed and Narcissa’s gaze went to the picture frame she’d seen fit to fish out of that picture box she stowed…in the cellar, Narcissa supposed now that she’d knowledge that was a place of storage that could be accessed from the back garden. It was an interesting keepsake, a wooden frame with decorative glass along its front—it seemed a proud display that held Miss Granger’s acceptance letter to Hogwarts. She thought it strange the girl would entrust it’s care to a Muggle storage facility, mixed with some strangers photographs, but Narcissa could sense magic in the frame—a charm woven into it that, on diagnosis revealed concealment—what that concealment was, she could not necessarily see, but she supposed that was part of it, it was something meant for Muggles…Muggles who’d no knowledge of Hogwarts—so it was something her parents could still view the unaltered image. Others would merely see…something benign, Narcissa supposed. Huh. It was rather ingenious of the girl, currently fast asleep. There was darkened skin bruising the inner corners of her eyes and the skin around them looked reddened, almost swollen like she’d been _crying._ Narcissa wasn’t certain which was worse—that she was likely the cause, or that her first hope was they were tears of pain or frustration, that the blame could lay with her sister.

So Narcissa…it was not cowardly—the young Witch was exhausted, it wouldn’t do to wake her. She backed out of the room and closed the door softly behind her.

She returned to the domicile’s lower level. While Miss Granger’s abode was not connected to the Floo Network, neither did she need it to be, in point of fact that was…a comfort. No one could come barreling through unannounced. No, a…small benefit having not necessarily been on the side of the Light until most recently, Narcissa’d other methods of communication with fellow Death Eaters, outside the bounds of legality. She’d planned to- she _should have_ done as much yesterday, but she had fallen asleep so swiftly when she laid down to nap and she hadn’t woken until she heard the strange sound Miss Granger had described as her alarm, echoing in the hall. Even then she hadn’t risen until the younger Witch was softly asking for her preference in cuisine. It had…taken an embarrassingly long moment to come to such a decision, for some reason Narcissa’s mind went wholly blank—she could not think of a single type of cuisine to save her very life. Which was ridiculous, she’d been privy to the worlds finest establishments the whole of her life! She knew fine dining with the same proficiency she’d a grasp of the alphabet! She’d gotten nervous, felt like whatever answer she could possibly find, if she found one, would somehow be wrong. But Miss Granger was unphased, she merely offered an encouraging smile and listed a few options—any would be fine with her, she said, and that…helped, left Narcissa more confident to give into the temptation of Chinese takeout. It wasn’t until she was seated on the kitchen counter watching the younger Witch place her order over the phone, that she realized perhaps the inherent issue was,

_"Mmm, yeah—that sounds great, thanks,” Miss Granger assured the person on the other end of the phone, before placing her hand over the portion of the phone she was speaking into, holding it away from her as she look up at Narcissa expectantly, to ask, “What do you want, Narcissa?”_

The words sounded almost foreign to her. She hadn’t…when had she last been asked such a question? And even then, when it came from Lucius, her own mother, the Dark Lord, even Bella, it was asked not for her to voice her opinion—she was meant to say whatever appeased them. Lucius had meant the question earlier in their relationship—when he’d seen fit to pursue her, woo her even though they were already betrothed. It wasn’t until she and Lucius began pursuing the Greengrass’s for a match for Draco—a match Lucius was animate he still live up to, it was far less complicated to produce an heir to the Malfoy line in this way, his father assured him he could have his fill of lovers the way his vows would work, Lucius said they would be similar to his own and Narcissa’s…as would his engagement, apparently. She had not realized it, in her youth, but her father had…

 _What is it_ you _want, my darling?_ Her father had asked her that—always in earnest, always wanting her truth on the matter. He’d asked that of her before she and Lucius were wed. He had…apparently secured her betrothal to Lucius in a manner that gave her a measure of freewill. She could have walked away from it, then and there—she had been romanced because she _had to be_ , she realized. If she’d found her relationship with Lucius wanting, spoken a word to dismiss it—it would have been so. But the price of her freedoms in their betrothal came at the cost of the Malfoy’s having their say in the bindings of their wedding vows—Black Betrothal rituals were complied with so long as, if their wedding came to pass, Malfoy Marriage vows were the ones adhered to. No. The only people who ever asked her such question and meant it, in the way Miss Granger had? Her father, Draco…Andromeda. She wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly—the fact that out of the numerous people in her life, there were a scarce three who would care for her in such a way the whole of her life, loved her or at least _had_ loved her truly, purely. Or the fact that Miss Granger made three into four.

Was this some horrible side effect of being in such close quarters with the single most inquisitive young lady Narcissa had ever known? Never had she been so compelled to question quite literally everything. Now what she wanted was to be about her business, contribute her promised role in these plans—she would contact Severus, and secure their plans, the journals, potion, and a wand for Miss Granger. Several. She would have options. And Severus would pay every Galleon—he would not be permitted to send along tripe, no, Miss Granger- well she deserved _some_ return for all this. Narcissa had never before been in a position where money was not right at her fingertips, she wanted badly to do _something_ to return the girl’s constant- Whatever it was. Kindness. Annoyance. It was kindness but it was steadily- steadily driving Narcissa to her wits end! Perhaps this was it—this was the girl’s chosen method to ‘drive her up the wall’. Surely it must be. Narcissa wanted to repay her somehow. For now, it would be through Severus securing her the upmost _finest_ wand that pleased the young Witch, put a smile on her face and a light in her magic!

Narcissa knelt in the hearth of Miss Granger’s fireplace, and conjured the small pouch of floo powder ever on her person, constantly on hand in a fold of her dress, well, her skirt now, for such an emergency—she would see to it Severus sent more. Then she accio’d- well. That damned knife Miss Granger had taken it into her head to wield—it came zinging from the kitchen, clean and just as sharp as last night. Excellent.

She pulled the pouch open on the hearth—it could be undone in its entirety, to lay flat with the powder in a neat pile at its center—and then she took the knife in her hand and-

This had to be done very, very carefully. She could not think of the- she could not think of Tom, he could not be on her mind in any form there could be absolutely no intent in her to reach out to him. There _wasn’t_ , just…the mere fear of the possibility of signaling the Dark Lord at such a crucial moment, when she was in the middle of betraying him? When it would risk the life of herself, her loved ones, the life of the young woman who had risked everything to secure them this chance at righting the wrongs of the past year and a half? It was not unlike passing through the threshold of a parlay ward—knowing full well you do not have a weapon that would trip the wards into ejecting you violently from the place they protected, and yet you cannot shake the fear that _somehow_ , _someway_ , surely you’ve fooled yourself and you’ll be discovered that you’ve actually brought along an arsenal of illegal wands with a history of Unforgivables in your magical signature in them.

She rolled up her left sleeve to reveal her Dark Mark, occluding fiercely, putting every thought of the monster she swore her allegiance to from her mind. She took the moment to throw herself into her most secure memories, her safest thoughts. Draco—her sweet Dragon, his smile, his laugh. What was it they would have been doing today? Sundays were once perfectly peaceful occasions in the Malfoy Household. He was likely reading to her now—a tradition that had started from the age he’d learned to read, he always insisted upon reading to her once he’d the ability. Sundays they slept in, rose to join one another for an early lunch, just the two of them, splendid little affairs in the midst of Narcissa’s favorite library in their home, the third floor facing the back stretch of their gardens, they could be overlooked from the balcony where they often found themselves dining before Draco would read aloud some passage from whatever book they chose to read in unison. It was…a point of bonding for them, even when Draco returned to Hogwarts, he did so with a book that he and Narcissa would dedicate free time to reading, and further time writing one another on how they enjoyed it, where they were, their thoughts and impressions. In her mind she was her current time’s self, seated over her favorite view with her favorite person and listening to the soft lilt of his voice reading…hmm, if memory served, a work of nonfiction on the history of Charms, a special edition of an advanced Charms tome with a foreword by one of the greatest Charmstresses of the millennia, Tilly Toke, as it held a great deal of her family’s work, an advanced explanation of the innerworkings of her earliest innovations. It was the sort of tome that would not be assigned save perhaps in a college-level magical institution—he’d been rather dead set on reading it…

 _“If Granger can take it on as light reading, then so can I,”_ he’d reasoned when Narcissa wondered at his rather masochistic choice for light summer reading.

 _“Miss Granger has read this?”_ Narcissa had questioned doubtfully.

 _“Pored over it at the end of fourth year, the muddy bookworm,”_ Draco had sneered. _“I didn’t get the title of it until she returned it at the beginning of term—kept it all summer! That’s-! Some sort of favoritism! From either being Potter’s pet mudblood or Madam Pince’s bleeding heart over the poor little Muggleborn, oh shouldn’t we treat her special because she comes from dirt and didn’t know magic from a hole in the ground until she was eleven,”_ he’d scoffed. _“I- I would have read it on my own but…”_ he blushed fiercely, clearly embarrassed, _“I…well I wanted to read it with you mother. I thought you might enjoy it.”_

Mmm. He thought she might _understand_ it, was more likely. It hadn’t been the most thrilling read, but her son grew rather frustrated with the text—it did take talking through it with a wizened Witch to comprehend its contents. He likely had tried the moment he discovered the text his rival had conquered in her fourth year, or the summer between then and their fifth. Miss Granger had truly understood it all on her own? It wasn’t as if her Muggle Parents could have helped her over the summer between fourth and fifth year, the way Draco’s could between his fifth and sixth.

When she opened her eyes she’d done exactly as she’d needed—pierced her Marked flesh and had a nice bit of blood pooling on her forearm to pour over the floo powder, causing it to sizzle, smoke rising up from the fine powder as it shifted from the coat of red from her blood, to a dark, near-black green. She needed no floo connection to do this, only a bit of natural fire, and the hearth gave her the most space to work with. She cast to ignite the empty hearth, there were no logs but neither did she need them, fire sat nicely along the center of wrought iron grate as if there were logs to burn, and she watched it for a moment, gauging its stability before taking her Mark Cursed Foo powder between her fingers, she put Severus’s office in her mind and tossed the powder into the flames as she whispered, “Severus Snape.”

The flames blazed a brilliant green, darker and richer than that of the average Floo fire, and black sand poured out onto the hearth, in the space before the fire and Narcissa raised her wand, wielding it to blaze burning letters in the sand—a message that would vanish as she finished writing, and appear in the hearth of Severus’s office fireplace*, the moment the Wizard was present and alone, he would hear her voice whisper his name, feel a pull on his magic, and black sand would fill his hearth bearing her message for his eyes only before the sand would blow away on its own spelled wind once the message was full and complete in his mind. The sand in her own hearth would vanish in a similar fashion, to alert her that her will was known and her message read.

Narcissa rose up, casting to remove any dust or soot she’d gotten on herself, smooth the wrinkles in her clothing.

She set about pursuing her work further—she’d not quite finished her account of the last year so. She sat down at the kitchen table and set about doing just that, catching up to Miss Granger. Oh. She did catch up to the girl in a different way, initially—not all of the pages of Miss Granger’s notebook had been dedicated to the documentation of the previous year. A single sheet had been neatly torn from it and left for Narcissa to find attached to the refrigerator with the use of some strange, hard glossy image—a picture of…Tower Bridge, Narcissa believed it was. the picture pinned the paper to the refrigerator door. Miss Granger left instruction, as promised—a list of precautions when it came to muggle technology, like the warning not to stick anything—especially nothing metal—into the light sockets, functions of things like ‘smoke detectors’ she described the alarming sound they made and just what that alarm meant, what to do in such a situation, what to do if she smelled gasoline, a list of emergency numbers. An informational one, as well—a number she could dial into the telephone and it would bear her conference with some all-knowing ‘operator’ who would just…give her means to contact any person or place of business she requested? Free of charge? Surely this Oracle would want something in return, it sounded ludicrous to Narcissa to believe otherwise but perhaps there was something about it she didn’t understand. This was…all very thoughtful of the young lady.

When she woke, it would be to a job well done, the relief that Narcissa was holding up her end of their bargain, that she truly was unoffended by the younger Witch’s actions last evening.

…she did get her work done but not without a great deal of distraction. She’d nearly finished last night, it should not have taken her the entirety of the noon hour, half of the next to complete her task but…

Curiosity again. Her gaze kept rising from her work, to peer out at the back garden. There wasn’t anything of much interest to be seen through the doors but…somewhere, along the kitchen wall, was a door to this mysterious cellar Miss Granger had banned and subsequently ‘un-banned’ her from.

She did not wish to press the witch’s trust. So. It began innocently enough—it did! She gave herself a bit of a tour of the house. Investigating the rooms she’d not quite peered in just yet—there was a door along the wall between the stairway and the kitchen, where there lay, apparently, a small bathroom—it held a sink and toilet and…Miss Granger’s toiletries. A brush for cleansing her teeth by hand, a wide toothed comb, her shampoo and conditioner, body soap. A strand of her hair slinking down the drain still caught against the porcelain, like she’d settled on washing her hair in the sink. Merlin. Narcissa would not have kept- she wouldn’t have withheld the girl’s ability to wash herself, she’d no wand! She-

It struck Narcissa then, just what that meant. Her everyday little actions were laced with magic—dressing herself, her hygiene, hair care, warming her breakfast, she- she’d even straightened her bedding before she left the bedroom with a flick of her wand. Miss Granger had been cooking, cleaning up after herself, hoisting things without feather-light charms, she could not _accio_ Narcissa’s bedding to her, she had to find it! Seek it out by hand and then act as- not even a House Elf would struggle in such a way, she’d carried on like some Muggle maid to make Narcissa’s bed up for her while the movers were at work yesterday. Narcissa had never made a bed in her life, save for her time at Hogwarts and even then it had been a quick flick and done. Oh Merlin—cooking! It had her stepping out into the parlor once more to check on her message to Severus which still went…ugh, unread. Just what was he up to?! Did Severus Snape have some social calendar to attend to?! Surely not! He was at Hogwarts—that she knew with certainty, Severus Snape summered in the dungeons! He would be in his office daily! The utter nerve! She’d gone for a more…congenial appeal, worded her message politely—firmly but with upmost respect paid. If she’d known it would take so long for him to set foot in his office she would have sent it more sharply, with a painful pierce to get his attention no matter where he was, have her voice hissing in his ear to get his damned attention and send him straight to his office to check on her word!

She made her way upstairs again, stopping briefly to listen at Miss Granger’s door for any sign that the young Witch might be awake. She heard faint mumbling but it died down almost as swiftly as it started and she moved on with her touring—to the office space across the hall from Miss Granger’s bedchamber. It was a spacious room, big enough for several bookshelves, two desks. The Wilkins must have worked together here then, that was quaint, sweet really that they could work alongside one another. Though maybe that was a situation of circumstance as opposed to desire. Still, the desks could be on opposite walls she supposed but no, they were right alongside one another, and she could only assume that was their original position, so. She settled on ‘sweet muggle couple still dearly in love’. She scanned the bookshelves for familiar titles and found…none. Well. Not anything magical—she knew Austin, Shakespeare and the like, and she saw a copy of that fellow Miss Granger had been on about the other day, Lewis Latimer, his book on lightbulbs.

Well. She’d had a look-around the inside of the home, so. She went downstairs and out the back doors to take a look about the garden. The same as yesterday. Though she realized then why she hadn’t noticed the cellar door—there was a large bush just beside the kitchen doors that the stone benches she’d worked with were before, and the bush did a great deal to cover the small hatch into the cellar beneath the house. The door was just as described—white but the paint was peeling severely and it was rather badly rusted, ugh, she should have gone with Miss Granger last night and cast to open the thing as she did now, surely it was not safe to touch barehanded much less heft open. Merlin and it was _dark_ down there, pitch black—she cast lumos to see by and took ginger steps down the steep stairwell—those light ‘switches’ were at the bottom of the stairs and flipping them caused a bulb in the center of the cellar to pop and then crackle to life, she was almost worried she’d broken the damn thing. But it shone brightly enough to see by and in the clutter of crates and shelving and boxes, she spied the one in particular labeled _pictures,_ and she nox’d her wand light.

And the situation became very much illuminated.

She’d gotten a solid knowledge of Miss Granger’s parents’ faces last night, her aching for them had been raw, at the forefront of her mind, she missed them so fiercely in the wake of her return from the cellar with music they once shared. She’d seen them clearly.

And she saw them clearly now. Picture after picture of the loving couple…

A couple so very obviously in love, but _always_ with a great deal of space between them.

Space enough for a child.

…it was only further confirmed by the few moving portraits in the bunch—school pictures from Hogwarts, portraits that were taken yearly in the Great Hall or the courtyard. This one would have been First-Year, the scene was Hogwart’s courtyard the same as Draco’s. only his bore…him. And this one? Bore swirling leaves and a running fountain and no First Year student in sight.

Well then. Miss Granger understood Tilly Tokes* work rather well. Exceptionally.

That was what was wrong about this situation. It all clicked into place—the Wilkins. These were the Wilkins and _they were the Grangers._ Miss Granger had wiped her very existence from her parent’s timeline and- and what? How had she gotten them to go abroad? Australia, wasn’t it? She’d suspected _something_ of the sort when she mentioned her parents profession and it matched the ‘Wilkins’, but she had been willing to chalk that up to…well the girl had said she’d an affinity for fibbing with the truth. So perhaps it had all been a version of the truth—perhaps her parents had left the country but their daughter required residency on-continent to maintain her schooling, have a place to return to should she need it between school years and- and found the Wilkins through association, knew them through their work, felt comfortable with their daughter renting from them. That…

That was clearly no longer the case. Oh Merlin what had this girl done? Why?

Panic spiked across her magic in the instant before it raced in her blood as she heard—faint, but traveling through two floors would certainly do as much—a blood curling _scream_ Narcissa had only heard in her own nightmares these past few nights was now in the waking world, and,

 _“Please! Please no! AHH!”_ anguish poured up from Miss Granger’s throat and Narcissa had not even put thought to action, one instant she’d been in the Granger’s cellar and the next she was appearing—apparated—in a cloud of black smoke in the midst of the young Witch’s bedroom, the girl shaking and sweating beneath her blankets. “No- no, no!”

“Hermione?! Hermione please,” Narcissa pled, seating herself at the edge of the young woman’s bed, hands ghosting over her shoulder, uncertain if she should shake her awake. She attempted a bit of Muggle magic, plying the charm of a third, “Hermione, darling—wake up!”

Miss Granger shot up like a woman possessed, gasping in air like her lungs were starved for it, eyes wide and feverish with panic as she looked about, gaze landing on Narcissa’s face momentarily before she broke out into _tears._

Narcissa was uncertain if the girl had moved forward first or she had—the next instant, she was holding the younger Witch, one hand rubbing circles on her back as the other cradled the crown of her head, words falling from her lips in reassuring rapid fire, “You are safe, Hermione. I would let none harm you— _no one,_ do you understand? I’ve vowed to release wrath upon any who would dare—you believe me to be a powerful and brave witch?”

“M-hm,” was the offered affirmative, fright making a thief of the girl’s voice, her nod against Narcissa’s shoulder was further evidence of her sincerity.

“Then you must believe I would be that further still for you,” Narcissa intoned, dropping a kiss to the younger Witch’s hair. It was…she supposed it was second nature to comfort in this way—it was a comforting thing! Just as holding her was.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Granger whimpered into Narcissa’s neck.

“Nonsense—you’ve nothing to be sorry for, every…everyone has nightmares from time to time, you’ve more reason than most to have one.”

But the Witch shook her head, sniffling as she pulled from Narcissa’s hold, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands. “N-no I mean, I’m sorry for last night. I didn’t- whatever I did I promise I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to hurt or sc-“

“Hermione,” Narcissa used her name more firmly. “I’m calling you that still, aren’t I? Our friendship is intact, so long as you can forgive me, for my own reaction. I was…it was not your fault. I’ve never…I never expected you to be so swift to reciprocate such vows.”

“It really upset you though,” Hermione fretted, worrying her brow as her hand reached out to take Narcissa’s.

“I was not upset with you, I promise you that. I’ve…never had such an alliance before,” she supposed she could borrow Miss Granger’s use of the truth for misdirection, she’d rather not get into _my twenty years of devotion to my husband has fucked me in more ways than one_ with someone twenty years her junior. “Anyone less kind would have heard the advantage given and taken of it freely.”

“Oh,” Miss Granger sniffled. “So…you weren’t upset with me? Then um…”

“I was upset with those in my life who have far more reason than you to behave in such a way, and haven’t. That is all I care to say on the matter.”

The younger Witch nodded earnestly, “I won’t- sorry I didn’t mean to poke at something that upsets you I just…if you wanted to talk about it, you could. Another friend thing—friends listen.”

“In that spirit then, I counter your offer with one of my own,” Narcissa supposed, “Would you…if you need to talk through your nightmare, I would not press, but I would wish to offer comfort if you’ve need?”

She got a shrug, “I’m alright I- it was just um,” her hand released Narcissa’s to rub at her arm, an action that spoke to it aching as opposed to trying to bring attention to what had been the subject of her nightmare. She swallowed and shook herself, “it’s fine. I’m okay now. I didn’t mean to…oh. I guess I didn’t wake you,” she supposed, truly getting her bearings then and then she gasped as if horrified, oh Merlin what was wrong- “Crap! Crap, I’m so sorry I didn’t set an alarm—I promised to take you out today! And we need to stock up and- oh no—you’ve eaten right? Merlin you must be starving-“

“Hermione, do calm yourself,” Narcissa chided. “I have been meaning to thank you for leaving me breakfast, it was much appreciated. Have you eaten at all today? Since last night?”

“I was up late working and um…and then I couldn’t really sleep and I just- I was up and figured you would be awake soon and I wasn’t sure if I was going to fall asleep or not and,” she shrugged. “I wasn’t very hungry.”

“So you made breakfast for me…and laid down?”

“After a while yeah.”

That- that was entirely unacceptable! Narcissa took a deep breath to swallow a desire to berate the girl, but good heavens! “Have we food still? I could prepare something suitable I’m certain.”

That got a bit of a surprised look from the younger Witch, “You cook?”

“On occasion.” Once. For Lucius. It was her most successful attempt on his life, it was too bad it had been wholly unintentional—some act of romance she’d taken it into her head to perform when they were courting, preparing a meal for him. But she was certain…decently certain she could handle the small variety of breakfast foods. Toast would be manageable, surely?

Miss Granger smiled, shaking her head. “Sorry—we really do need to stock up. Um…you still feel like going out, right? If not I can manage on my own.”

“I’ll gladly join you.” She’d little interest staying indoors and too…well if Narcissa could manage her way through Muggle London fetching their necessary supplies from foreign facilities with unfamiliar currency, she would. _I can manage on my own_ rang a bit hollow from the trembling young Witch who had…very much been doing so, far too much since…since Merlin, her fifth year.

Narcissa was uncertain just how to proceed. No she wasn’t—she knew well she was going to move forward with the task at hand, push on to their next necessity. But she wasn’t certain exactly how she would go about handling the information she’d discovered about the Grangers, but she had time, didn’t she? “Prepare yourself for our departure, I’ll await you in the parlor.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll be down in a minute,” Miss Granger said with a reassuring smile and Narcissa rose from her bed and stepped out into the hall. She listened to ensure the girl wasn’t about to follow, go down to the privy or something, but no she heard her rise from her bed and then some sort of scraping sound, followed by the rustle of paper and clink of coin and then a soft, dull _thunk_ before the sound of the young Witch’s bare feet padding across the hardwood floors, Narcissa stepped back from the door then but the girl didn’t emerge, she must be rummaging in her clothing selection. Wonderful, she would be distracted for a time then.

Narcissa apparated into the cellar once more, looking about to make certain she hadn’t disturbed anything noticeably before turning out the light and making certain the cellar door was closed before popping back up to the parlor to await Miss Granger. Would now be a good time to assure her she’d done as she promised? Contacted Severus, completed her…assignment? Why did this feel like the innate desire to please a professor, be seen as a good student? She wanted Miss Granger to see she was upholding her part in this and…and think she was doing a good job. How utterly absurd.

That did not change the fact that the young lady, upon hearing Narcissa’s explanation for the black sand in her hearth and being shown the now completed version of Narcissa’s previous year, smiled widely, looked up at Narcissa with so much pride that it sent the older Witch’s cheeks pinking and a feeling not unlike sunlight in her soul. It shouldn’t be so very validating, or- or addicting. For a moment Narcissa was overwhelmed trying to decipher just how to get the younger Witch to look at her that way again.

“Am I attired appropriately for our outing?” Narcissa wondered. The young lady’s approval was mixed with a bit of blushing as her gaze swept over the older Witch’s outfit.

“Uh-huh. Oh!” it seemed to only occur to her then…felt like Miss Granger seeing some need and rising to meet it. She gave Narcissa another smile and the assurance, “You look beautiful, Narcissa.”

It wasn’t out of some insecurity she’d asked but, well. It was appreciated, all the same. “Thank you, Hermione. You look…” oh. Beautiful, certainly but she’d not quite given her attire much scrutiny when she descended the stairs. It was…interesting, the young lady’s sense of fashion—not unfashionable just, not entirely what Narcissa had been expecting. She’d apparently chosen to match the caliber of attire Narcissa wore—she forwent trainers for grey suede ankle boots, and ‘jeans’ and jumpers, for a pale lilac button up blouse covered in the unmoving images of white butterflies, carefully tucked into a light grey skirt that tapered to her mid-thigh before it’s hem fell in an inch of wavy frill. The skirt had straps, a sort of suspenders she supposed, that rose up over the swell of her breast, her shoulders, crossed high on her back before resuming the path to meet the back of her skirt. Her shirt was buttoned to the very topmost button though…it must have been some time since she last worn clothing that would have been put into storage between fourth and fifth year, Narcissa realized that explained the oh so revealing nature of her nighttime apparel. Her time in the wilderness left her toned and slender but the skirt was tight at her hips, shirt just a bit tight at her breast, though the buttons remained secure, every one in use all the way to the topmost, secured further still by a matching bowtie of all things. And then there was the smallish rectangular grey and white tartan shoulder bag that rested on her hip. She’d no access to magic just now, she…owned these things. Dressed in this way, this was her sense of style and it was interesting to see. “You look lovely as well.”

Oh. A compliment from Narcissa Malfoy apparently invoked a happy looking hopping motion? The young lady bounced once on her toes as she smiled brightly and said, “Thanks! You ready?”

As she could be. She wasn’t entirely certain just what to do with her wand, she could keep it in her sleeve, could she not? There was a level of concern she had that it might slip out, be dropped during their outing and that wouldn’t do but…neither would she set foot out of this domicile…or anywhere within it for that matter, without it. Miss Granger followed Narcissa’s stare to the implement in hand and she let out a soft, “Oh!” and then, “Just a moment,” before she dashed for the stairway again. Curiosity had Narcissa following after her, ascending the stairs just a moment later and finding Miss Granger’s bedroom door ajar, the girl kneeling on the floor in the far right corner, she looked over her shoulder at Narcissa seeming albeit sheepish as she confessed, “I’ve a bit of a hidey hole—if you ever need money for some reason, this is where I keep larger sums, but there’s always a little something in whatever bag I’m using—I leave it by my door,” she invited, as she faced front and carefully pulled up a single floorboard, reaching into the space beneath and withdrawing something before returning the wood plank to its place and rising up and turning to Narcissa, holding out the object in offering.

…a wand sheath.

“This is my spare…er,” realization flickered in her features, but she shrugged, “I guess this time’s me has one,” and _she’d_ been stripped of her wand and its accoutrement when she was captive at the Manor, “but that’s alright—you can have this one.”

She was perfectly capable of arranging for Severus to send her one, she should have thought of that before writing him, but it escaped her at the time. “I would appreciate you letting me make use of this now but I- I wouldn’t see you go without.”

“Oh no worries,” several worries! The girl should be capable of arming herself once she’d her wand back! “I’ll just make another one.” Oh. “Unless you don’t care for this one-”

“That isn’t it at all, this is…well,” it was just lovely. Dark blue, nearly black dragon skin, if Narcissa wasn’t mistaken—and there was little chance of that. it bore two leather straps with silver clasps, to secure the sheath before one’s wrist, just below the elbow. Silver tacks lined the sides to hold the casing together, it would conceal her wand entirely…she wasn’t quite sure how that would bode when it came time to draw but the young lady was just that—young and this was likely one of her first endeavors at crafting something like this and it was of exceptional quality, Merlin, it- it was inlaid with silvery engraving that Narcissa only _just_ realized were wards made physical, and she wanted to know every last thing that went into their creation! They would protect any wand within the sheath from being _detectable,_ or summoned by another. “It’s exquisite—you made this?”

The young Witch blushed, nodding, “Gosh it’s not- it wasn’t a big thing I just can’t really um…I mean I know I went eleven years just fine without having constant access to my magic but I don’t…” she shrugged, “I don’t like being without it, sheaths are handy for taking wand into spaces they might otherwise be out of place.”

“You are not without access to magic even now—it is-”

“It’s always with me,” Miss Granger said as if the notion was a fond one, biting her lip as she smiled softly, “My father says that too.”

Oh. That was heartening to hear, that even while her parents might be Muggles they had some…understanding, some intuition on how to nurture their magical child. In fact everything…it was curious. Meant to be, perhaps—Magic may well have looked upon these Muggles and seen that for all they were not magical, they would be suitable for bringing as much into the world. They’d given their child a name that fit perfectly with her true nature, brought her up with a respect and thirst for education—she had a clear understanding of harnessing knowledge and using it as power. That her father had thought to imbue in her an idea that was a cornerstone of a magical child’s upbringing in their world. It was one of the first things she endeavored to teach Draco, _Magic is always with you, my heart. Trust it, and it will always guide and guard you._ a litany of lessons cresting soft over her lips as she held her child when he was but a babe, cradling him to her breast as she rocked with him for hours, oh, she could scarcely find it in her to lay him down.

“Kind and wise—you were lucky to be raised by such a man.”

The younger Witch regarded her with delighted surprise, “Narcissa Malfoy thinks it’s _lucky_ a witch was raised by a Muggle?”

“I would say you’re free to take out a page in the Prophet over it but given the circumstances I don’t think it wise.” Miss Granger giggled at that, and Narcissa allowed her amusement before pressing on to say, “What I meant to say is—your magic is always with you. and you are not without access to it. Even as you don’t necessarily have your wand at the moment, you’ve mine. Both insofar as my preparedness to defend you and I would gladly cast to your benefit, whenever the need arises, you need only ask.”

“Thanks that…that helps,” Miss Granger assured, looking rather moved by the offer, eyes glittering with some emotion as she waited patiently for Narcissa to roll up her sleeve. She endeavored to strap the sheath into place…there was a bit of struggle with the straps, it felt a bit like an unintuitive design though that may well be expected.

“Oh here, sorry—left-handed, so it’s made to be worn that way,” she said as if in explanation. “May I?” she offered.

She learned as much as they worked last night, felt a pang of remorse that it was her dominant arm Bellatrix had seen fit to assault…but what struck Narcissa now was, confusion, “I wield my wand left-handed, likewise.” She wasn’t certain what that had to do with- she would holster her wand on her right arm, so she could most easily whisk it from its place with her left, yes?

Miss Granger looked expectantly to Narcissa’s left arm and the woman rolled up that sleeve, adverting her gaze as she bared her Mark, but if the young lady was phased by it, she gave no indication. She merely slipped the sheath on to the underside of Narcissa’s forearm and neatly secured the straps, “Is this too tight?”

“Not at all,” Narcissa assured, meeting Miss Granger’s gaze before going to slip her wand in place, up into the sheath so her handle would be at her wrist but…it…it wouldn’t fit—it did not budge past an inch and Miss Granger said,

“Other way.”

And that was when it clicked into place—both Narcissa’s wand, and the answers to her confusion.

Oh. Oh Merlin she- it was such a simple thing, but it was _brilliant._ Genius. How had anyone- how had _she_ not thought to have such a design, herself? Her wand slid perfectly into place when she inserted it from the top of the sheath so it’s hilt was nearer her elbow. It wasn’t a _mistake_ that the sheath would conceal most wands in their entirety, it was that way by design, intentional and brilliantly so! Because it was meant to be released directly into her wand-hand, it did not need to be drawn, at least in theory.

“The release is magic and instinctive,” Miss Granger explained, “whenever you want your wand, you send magic into the sheath it like you would your wand when you cast. It’s also got an instinctive aspect to it—whenever you’re in danger there’s this feeling you know? Your magic reaching for your wand like raising an arm to defend yourself—when that happens, the sheath will release your wand into your hand automatically.”

A bit of delighted laughter broke from her lips when she did as instructed, and theory became practice—it _worked. Splendidly!_ And the mechanism was so quiet, silent even as she could feel it shift under the leather—there were prongs that tapered into a v at the lower end of the sheath, to hold the wand inside, they snapped straight against the sides of the sheath when triggered and dropped her wand directly into her hand! Just, instantly! She’d never drawn her wand so quickly!

“Miss Granger, this is ingenious! You must absolutely patent this!”

“It’s just something I made for me—the boys aern’t much into it for some reason.”

“I would surmise Misters Potter and Weasly are accustmed to having their wands in hand,” Narcissa drawled drily. It got a mischievous giggle out of the younger Witch who blushed as she continued.

“I- I don’t know, it works well for me, I just…not everyone is so constantly under attack, I’ve always sort of needed to be quick on the draw so I figured out how best to do that whenever I need to also be inconspicuous with my wand.”

“Hermione—that is precisely how aurors live! Nymphadora Tonks cannot go wielding her wand brazenly when she goes to interview potential suspects—but she must be prepare to at a moments notice, this could be the difference between life and death in the field—this is truly remarkable.”

“Maybe, I don’t…necessarily know a lot about that—patents and things. I’ve never thought to pursue it because I worry it would make it available to…well, everyone. Not that I don’t think people should be capable of defending themselves swiftly just, I’d rather there be an advantage in our favor? You needn’t worry about Tonks,” she said, eyes shining with something like pride, like she was so very pleased to see Narcissa…truly did care for her niece, “she went bonkers when she saw mine, so I made one for her…make one for her. She’ll see it soon.”

“I would ask that you sincerely consider it, Miss Granger, this is a field I’m knowledgeable in—business. A patent is not a general announcement to the world at large that such a thing exists—only someone seeking to patent such a thing themselves may come to realize you’ve done so already. Owning that patent would give you control of who may use it, develop such things—you could work directly with the Ministry if you wished for them to have it, or with a private corporation—you could incorporate yourself-“ Narcissa caught herself rambling. “It is a very clever design.”

“Well, maybe I’ll pick your brain on the subject sometime, since you’re so knowledgeable about it,” Miss Granger supposed. “I’m famished—are you? It’s not a problem if you aren’t I can just pick something up for myself wherever,” she shrugged.

The young lady was due a proper meal, and ‘pick something up’ gave the impression that she meant to…eat while on the move which was just unacceptable. “Lunch would be excellent.”

“There’s this really great café in the area we’ll be headed—tea, coffee, sandwiches, chips.”

“That sounds agreeable,” she supposed. She’d trust the girl’s discernment on the matter. She wasn’t terribly hungry and there was something filling about how delighted Miss Granger was at the prospect.

“Great! So—armed and ready?”

Narcissa righted her sleeve, buttoning its cuff as she assured, “Certainly.”

And then she wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

She had not noticed it—she’d not gone out the front door of this abode until this very instant and she almost marched straight back when she realized what was awaiting them there, just why Miss Granger had not put the keyring she pulled from her purse back into it after she closed and locked the door behind them.

An automobile.

This absolutely insane girl expected Narcissa to set foot into an automobile.

“I’ve my license,” Miss Granger promised when Narcissa had stopped still on the stoop while the younger Witch had gone straight to the vehicle, looking at her now, “I wouldn’t drive us if I didn’t believe it would be safe. Um…I mean we can try apparation but it’s a bit risky in more populated places—there’s cameras at the Tesco, inside and out but maybe…” she seemed to be giving it a bit of thought.

“You…know how to work this…thing?”

“And it can carry a lot more shopping than we can,” she saw fit to mention.

“…if this thing kills me Miss Granger I will haunt you most unpleasantly.”

“I promise Narcissa and…I mean I can’t do something that would hurt you, right?” Miss Granger wondered, going to the vehicle and opening a door, before looking to Narcissa and gesturing for her to enter. She did so without difficulty—that did not necessarily mean they would not get themselves killed but…it spoke to Miss Granger’s belief that it was safe—she’d no intention of Narcissa being harmed.

So. She slipped into the horrible Muggle contraption. And she was met with some relief that Miss Granger’s sheath was instinctive—she startled when the door closed, already on edge for the experience, and her wand fell immediately into her hand. She hurriedly sheathed it in the time it took the younger Witch to walk around to the other side of the vehicle and enter to seat herself at Narcissa’s side, before the wheel.

“You’ve got to buckle your seatbelt, like this,” the girl said, pulling some sort of constraint from the side of the vehicle and bring it over her chest and lap toward a clasp meant to hold it, though she left hers undone for the time being as she looked to Narcissa as if gauging if the woman would need assistance with the unfamiliar concept but no, no thank you.

“I will not be restrained!” not in some horrible machine!

“It’s for your safety,” Miss Granger insisted, “It’s the law for passengers to be buckled in—we’ll get pulled over and I could get into trouble for driving without you wearing one. It doesn’t hurt and I promise you’re free to apparate in an emergency, it won’t hold you trapped.”

“How absolutely ridicul-“ the word dried up in her throat as Miss Granger was suddenly very, _very_ close. Directly in Narcissa’s space, her face a mere breath from hers, holding her gaze, and she only just heard the sound of that constraint being pulled, felt it against her chest and hips and heard it _click_ into place, Miss Granger’s voice just above a whisper as she quietly intoned,

“It’s the law.”

Well. It- it wouldn’t do to break the law.

Miss Granger pulled her own seat constraint on, took a deep breath and began fiddling with the small mirror hanging over the front window, looking left and then right before looking to Narcissa, “The sound you’re about to hear is just the engine running—it’s perfectly safe, and I’ll know if something is amiss,” the young Witch promised, keys poised in her hand for…something. She held out her free hand to Narcissa, in offering. She wasn’t certain _why_ and she was mildly embarrassed when she discovered the reason but she did…appreciate it. It was apparently an act of comfort, holding Narcissa’s hand as she inserted the keys into a keyhole in the side of the steering wheel. The initial turn made a _click_ followed by a low hissing sound which was disconcerting but not altogether frightening. However Miss Granger’s hand squeezed hers as she turned the key further still after a moment and the most terrifying sound shook the entire conveyance! A roar, not unlike a dragon! What in heavens name were Muggles _on?_ They _chose_ this method of travel? It was _popular? How?_

“Alright?” Miss Granger checked with her, and Narcissa reluctantly nodded, releasing hold of the young lady’s hand. If the younger Witch was unfazed by this…then so would she be.

"Certainly. Do proceed."

Oh. Oh she thought she might understand the appeal. If only minorly. It was frightening but there was a rush of thrill that came with the vehicle moving forward off of the stone slab meant to hold it in the Grangers’ yard, and into the street. It was not unlike riding a broom…more comfortable, even. And even more like a refreshing fly when Miss Granger informed her she’d leave to ‘roll down the window’ if she wished. There was a crank of sorts and it _lowered the window,_ opened it so fresh air could whisk through the vehicle and Merlin it was _glorious._ There was wind! And sun—warm against Narcissa’s skin, and Miss Granger was…competent, it seemed, at driving, from what Narcissa could tell. She certainly looked confident in the act as she navigated their course through the streets.

…the conveyance could make music. It had a radio and something called a ‘tape player’ and this was the most delightful discovery. Miss Granger gave Narcissa free rein to fiddle with the buttons and dials on what she called the ‘dashboard’. She did hit some horrible little button that summoned a gust of hot air blasting directly into her face, the act sending the younger Witch giggling, and when she brought the vehicle to a stop at some sign that indicated she was to do so, Miss Granger was kind enough to right the situation, push the buttons that commanded the infernal thing to cease its assault.

“Whoops—we can go over what everything does sometime if you’d like. I could teach you to drive if you find yourself interested.”

“…I’ve no such interest presently,” not much at the very least. The task seemed…foreign and challenging in a way that did not inspire a need to meet it, but trepidation in merely attempting. No, for now she was…just barely content with Miss Granger’s aptitude. That would suffice. “I’ll be certain to let you know if that changes.”

Miss Granger nodded, eyes trained on the road ahead, the young lady was very focused, it was almost amusing to watch. She seemed to get…quietly frustrated with the other road’s occupants, huffing softly, brow furrowing. At one point, someone apparently realized they were passing where they wished to turn, and they turned abruptly before them to right that, Miss Granger was immediate to bring them to a halt, her left arm shooting out before Narcissa as if to shield her as she snapped, “Oi! Pay attention! Jesus,” she sighed, eyes fierce and even as she looked to Narcissa, “Are you alright?”

“I’m unharmed,” she assured.

“Sorry—if it gets…if you’re scared you don’t have to stay. You don’t ever have to be somewhere you don’t want to be or do something you don’t feel safe or comfortable doing, that applies to everything in life, including car rides.” That was more allowance she wasn’t certain just what to do with.

“I would hardly abandon you.”

“You’d be taking care of yourself—I can do that same,” Miss Granger assured.

Why did that make her feel like apparating away than the near-collision? It was similar to the feeling that took her last night, had her fleeing to her bedchamber- Mr. and Mrs. Granger’s bedchamber, she supposed…it was absolutely no offense to its owners but she was grateful she’d thoroughly _scourgified_ the mattress and bedding before first finding rest upon them.

The café was pleasant. More so than she’d initially expected. It wasn’t very busy at an odd hour between lunch and dinner on a Sunday afternoon. A portly woman greeted them with as much exuberance someone greeted long lost family, Narcissa imagined, though it was rather unwarranted, wasn’t it? Oh, she seemed to treat the other few of her guests in the same manner. It was vastly different from the polite indifference that usually awaited her when she had the occasional dining experience, she was not certain it was better, but it was not necessarily worse, it was just…different. Enjoyable, still, in its own way. So she sat down in a small ‘booth’ across from Miss Granger and examined the menu. Narcissa felt the toe of a boot tap against her leg and the younger Witch startled a bit, looking up from her menu apologetically, a sheepish smile on her face as she mouthed ‘sorry’. Narcissa was hardly upset over the incident—it was…endearing to realize Miss Granger was swinging her legs as she reviewed the menu. Narcissa settled on a lovely sounding summer salad.

“Ohh, I’ll have that too,” Miss Granger said…and, “Can I have the classic burger with chips, please? And a chocolate milkshake as well?”

“Of course lovey—will that be all then my dears? You sure you don’t want more than a salad? We’ve got some nice veg, side of chips?”

“I’m unfamiliar with chips.”

“…you…you’ve never had…”

“Never heard of.”

Miss Granger had been sympathetic to the few unpleasant things she’d come to learn about Narcissa’s life, but somehow that seemed to multiply—the young woman was staring at her like Narcissa had revealed the greatest tragedy of her life—at the idea that the older Witch hadn’t the context to supply what ‘chips’ were outside of the realm of…gambling chips, but those were not edible. Ice chips?

Miss Granger leveled their host a brilliant smile. “We’ll take another order of chips please,” she said, taking Narcissa’s menu in hand and stacking it with her own before handing it up to the Muggle woman.

“I’ll get your drinks right out to you girls,” she vowed as she left them.

“May I ask what to expect of these ‘chips’?” Narcissa questioned.

“For your whole life to change,” Miss Granger assured her.

“I meant their construction.”

“They’re fried up lengths of potato and they are quite possibly the single most greatest invention of—and I don’t mean to exaggerate, so I shan’t—all time.”

“Miss Granger, I am beginning to suspect they are no such thing and you’ve merely been bought out by some chip company that profits off your praise.”

“Oh, I wish—they could pay me in chips.”

“If they are not as world changing as you describe I will be very annoyed with you.”

“That is a risk I am willing to take.”

It was…not life changing, but a risk worth taking. Narcissa did try them and they were…quite delightful, and she did rather like that sauce, ‘ketchup’, they were apparently customarily dipped in. If anything Miss Granger ended up the annoyed party, utterly flabbergasted at Narcissa’s refusal to touch the food with her fingers—she elected to enjoy her share of chips with the use of a knife and fork—it was visibly greasy! She understood well the concept of finger foods, but they were meant to be cleanly to pick up, were they not?

…apparently not, if Miss Granger’s meal was anything to go by. Her burger was…a rather monstrous looking sandwich that was utterly fascinating to watch the younger Witch work into her mouth. It was almost uncivilized, honestly—the girl licked ‘ketchup’ from her fingers! There were napkins at hand! Parchment ones, not proper cloth, but still! The messiest sounding item she ordered turned out to be the cleanliest one to consume—her shaken milk was a thick beverage comprised of chocolate ice cream and milk, apparently, and she drank it rather neatly from a straw. It was not unlike those frosted butterbeers Narcissa had delighted in treating Draco to on their few outings alone together, Lucius would have found them undignified given, well, if one was not careful there could be consequences to drinking such chilled concoctions.

Narcissa Malfoy got to watch in utter amusement as Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age…suffered brain freeze from being far too eager with her frozen beverage.

“Hey! That’s mean—you aren’t supposed to laugh!” the girl complained, for all she was smiling as she rubbed at her forehead.

“Oh I’m not?” Narcissa wondered, amused.

“Mocking my pain—that hurts my feelings!” she insisted. “Or do we so quickly forget our vows then? Does my devotion mean nothing to you?” she let out a put-upon sigh, “An entire day I’ve given you everything and this is how you repay me!”

“Oh I do pray you forgive me for sullying our…twenty hour anniversary?”

“There is one way I could be persuaded to forgive you…” Miss Granger supposed, hand on her glass as she slid it more toward Narcissa. “Split this with me? I forgot how big these are and I feel badly leaving so much behind—I’m not sure who makes the milkshakes* around here but they are the last person on this planet I ever want to insult because these are absolutely delicious.”

…it was, very delicious she found. Narcissa did not indulge in chocolate often but it was excellent, she could understand why one might drink it down so very eagerly. She did, however, manage to avoid the impulse herself, if only just.

A Tesco was…an interesting experience. Narcissa startled when the doors opened all on their own, Miss Granger had kindly offered the woman her arm when they departed their conveyance and she gave Narcissa’s arm a squeeze as she softly assured, “Muggle magic—there’s a sensor that detects movement—when we stepped before it, it knew to open.”

Ahh. More technology then. Intriguing but Narcissa didn’t think it would do to stand in the doorway and examine it until she understood just how it worked—they were here to shop and she would assist in that, as she could. Which was mostly in the way of company. Miss Granger pushed the ‘trolly’, steering it about the store as they walked the aisles in search of provisions. Another sheet of notebook paper was apparently out of its notebook—Miss Granger had it in her bag and she withdrew it as she walked the store, a list she consulted as they searched, occasionally stopping to ensure there wasn’t anything else in the aisle that caught Narcissa’s eye as a necessity, encouraging her when she picked up one package of shortbreads that appealed, to select a second that struck her fancy, insisting _they’re two for one today_. Though the young lady’s eyes went wide in her head when Narcissa began pulling bottles of wine from the shelves when they came across their selection.

“Um…we’ll be back, you know? You needn’t stock up for the year and er…wow,” she whispered the last word as she looked at the edge of the shelf Narcissa had pulled from, oh, there were prices listed beneath the products on the shelving apparently, how convenient. “M-maybe just…er…how many exactly do you believe you’ll drink in a week?” she wondered, sounding nervous.

…all of them, truth told, she’d only pulled five from the shelves, been reaching for a sixth. She’d taken to drinking more often than not the past year…coming year…whenever. Past year of personal time—it helped her to sleep. It also helped her with being awake. But she’d work to do now, important, she needed her mind sharp—a glass of wine at dinner or before bed would be…well more her norm, it was the absolute most she used to drink, before the Dark Lord was made resident in her home. She supposed she should return to that now, so, she kept two, returning the others to their proper place. Oh. “Do you have a preference in drink, Hermione?”

“More a butterbeer/fire whisky girl myself,” she softly informed her.

“Certainly not together," Narcissa asked, aghast.

“Oh certainly not," she assured, mischievous glint in her eye, "Not in that order. Liquor before beer and all that," she winked.

…well, that was something to keep in mind then—if Severus Snape, Slytherin Socialite ever deigned to get back to her, he could cough up the cost of a nice bottle of Blishen's* finest for Miss Granger; it had some lovely variations that were able to be enjoyed by both magical and non-magical persons, so the brand may be more of an appeal to the Muggleborn girl more than Ogden’s.

Narcissa did _not_ care for the check out process. Merlin above—all that _beeping_ was inane. Miss Granger watched the process carefully, mouthing what looked like calculations as the shop keep she selected to handle their transaction ‘scanned’ their items. She breathed a sigh of relief when the pubescent Muggle boy was finished with the beeping process and informed her the final cost she swiftly paid, smiling her thanks as the young man assisted in hefting their items into their cart. Ugh. He looked rather…smitten. It was wholly ridiculous and entirely unnecessary,

“Many hands make light work but we’ve four between ourselves—you’ve other patrons to tend do you not?” Narcissa dismissed him coolly. Not rudely, she didn’t think though Miss Granger looked albeit confused, but she gave the young man a smile and a nod to affirm Narcissa’s words, looking surprised when Narcissa held true to her word—she could be of assistance! It was a great deal beneath her, under usual circumstance, but…well maybe it wasn’t. She helped to pull bags into their trolly, Merlin they were heavy was the trolly heavy? It’d wheels but still the weight still required pushing. Miss Granger seemed to up her pace in depositing bags into their cart, and politely refused Narcissa’s offer to push it to their vehicle.

“I invited you out, didn’t I?” Miss Granger said when Narcissa complained that she was capable of a bit of manual labor. “So it’s up to me to be a proper gentleman.”

A smile tugged at Narcissa’s lip. Honestly. “Oh, this is an act of chivalry?” she wondered, amused as they approached their automobile.

And Miss Granger opened the passenger side door first and foremost as she brightly assured, “Of course.”

Narcissa did take a seat while the young lady moved to heft their shopping into some compartment in the back of the vehicle. It was fun, the bit of mischief there was to setting a disillusionment to ward their general area from any Muggle notice before casting to raise up their shopping from the cart and guide it into the compartment before Miss Granger could so much as lift a single of their purchases again, earning a playfully reproachful look from the younger Witch when Narcissa caught her reflection in the rearview mirror once she closed the compartment.

Miss Granger fell into the drivers seat, closing the door after herself before she raised her arms overhead, stretching with a bit of a groan before she dropped her hands into her lap with a sigh, leaning her head back against the seat as she rested her eyes momentarily before shaking herself and looking to Narcissa.

“Alright—what’s up next? You’d probably like a few more clothing options—there’s a few places around…I don’t know that I have money for er…what you’re used to but it’ll be better than the single outfit I hope?”

“I’m certain I can make do within the ramifications of your…” what was the word? Ahh. “budget.” Though, “Have you need of new things, Hermione?”

The girl was immediate to shake her head ‘no’. “Oh gosh, I can get by with what I have on hand, most things still fit and I’ll be able to make adjustments once I have a wand.”

“You’ll have one shortly, as soon as possible,” Narcissa assured. She would storm Severus Snape’s sanctuary in the dead of night—wake him and demand he hear her then if he neglects to read her message. “What is our budget exactly?”

She withdrew the remainder of the bills from her purse, counting through them carefully, “I have a hundred and…fifty-three pounds still on me,” she said, handing them out to her, “Would you fancy a girls trip or would you prefer to shop on your own? You can cast stasis over our groceries so they keep fine while we shop, _or_ I can drop you off either someplace you’re familiar with or somewhere I am with, this,” she said digging out a small…rectangular device that looked marked like the remote control for the telly, save for the part sticking out of its top. Oh there were numeral buttons on it, which were apparently for ‘phone numbers’ as Miss Granger elucidated, “it’s a mobile—a mobile phone, you can use it to call the house phone if you need me before I return. It’s up to you.”

There was something that felt…paranoid in her, panicked at the thought of splitting up for all she was considering going off on her own later, that…Miss Granger would not know she left, and she would be going somewhere very familiar and planed to return shortly. This was…different somehow, the younger Witch leaving her, she did not like that in the slightest. She could ward the house, make certain it was secure—Miss Granger dropping her off somewhere while she went to return to the house…anything could happen on her return. She could not abide the risk, the chance that Miss Granger might need her—be in danger, come to harm because Narcissa was not there to defend her.

So ‘girls trip’, it was.

Miss Granger put their vehicle into motion she warned she was going to be ‘backing out’ and promising she was, in fact, skilled at the act. It apparently required reaching out and gripping the shoulder of Narcissa’s seat as she twisted about to look behind her, and her other hand rolled a smooth motion over the wheel to guide it backward and to the right until they were no longer between the lines that marked their ‘parking space’. There was something…she wasn’t certain just what it was about the action but it left Narcissa to conclude was that she must be coming down with some sort of hysteria from the stress of it all, these strange circumstance. Because it felt very…commandeering perhaps? She wasn’t certain, somehow it left Narcissa feeling very safe and that Miss Granger was somehow very powerful? It took no feat of magic, in fact there seemed to be a great many Muggles capable of driving. So why on earth did it leave her feeling the way she did as a schoolgirl watching Lucius master his first Serpensortia?

It was a sort of fun, shopping with company. She’d only ever done so with Andromeda in their teens—they had slipped off to Muggle London for a spot of rebellion and shopping to spend their parents money outrageously both in sum and in the fact that their parents were absolutely livid to have had Muggles profit from their wealth and their daughters out and about where they could have been seen mingling with their lessers. Narcissa alongside Anathema, Lady Parkinson, Lady Greengrass, they’d some ritual in Paris, at least once a year, shopping together, but that was always…well, it wasn’t an act of friendship. It was always a form of competition, and divisiveness. Making subtle, cutting remarks and dangerous gossip, and seeing just who among them could leave with the greatest bill—there could be absolutely none of that, with Miss Granger.

No, it was rather the opposite experience. Miss Granger kept pleasant company, walking arm in arm with Narcissa while she examined different storefronts before settling on entering one to get a closer look at its wares, and she took her time sorting through the different racks—Miss Granger taking point with any Muggle shop keepers that approached them which was…helpful. Narcissa could have managed, but after her blathering on yesterday—her misunderstanding that Muggle flight would take weeks when apparently at most it took a day or so for furthest most distant points had left her sounding strange, explainable, but still, out of the norm and she would prefer…listening, getting a feel for what would sound normal to these Muggles before she endeavored more than pleasantries. Narcissa was just able to focus on the task at hand, select a few necessities. Miss Granger blushed her way through Narcissa dragging her along into a section of the establishment dedicated to lingerie but she was certainly in need of more than a single set of underthings—cleansing charms or no, there was just a level of human decency that came with being able to fully change ones clothing. Though she feared for the girl’s life when she physically _choked_ as Narcissa’s first words to the muggle shopkeep assisting them was,

“What do you have in the way of corsets?” she startled when Miss Granger flinched and that strangled sound came from her throat. Had it been a strange question?

Apparently not, “We’ve a wonderful selection toward the back miss,” the Muggle woman pointed.

“Excellent, thank you,” Narcissa looked to the younger woman, asking quietly, “are you quite alright?”

“Fine! I’m fine just- you wear corsets? Whatever for?”

“Comfort,” Miss Granger’s brow shot up at that, “posture, and to maintain my shapely form, of course.”

“I’ve seen you in a sweatshirt—your form’s shapely enough without crushing your insides!” oh, it sounded like the young lady was speaking from a place of genuine concern for her health.

“I hardly endure organ damage, Miss Granger,” Narcissa assured, “it is just enough to feel secure and my breathing isn’t restricted, I do not wear them for my discomfort. A great many Witches wear them.”

“None that I know,” Miss Granger said, “well, except for you, I suppose.”

“However would you know? Bell-“ ahem. “no one in their right mind wears a corset over their outerwear.” She saw fit to tease, “Miss Granger. Have you been running around seducing all of Witchdom?”

“If one is truly trying to seduce all of Witchdom, discretion is key—a lady never kisses and tells.”

Narcissa chuckled, shaking her head, “Oh certainly not.”

It wasn’t until they were nearly through with their ‘spot of shopping’ when Narcissa offhandedly made some jest when Miss Granger held up a pair of ‘jeans’ she might like, and Narcissa scoffed, refusing them on the grounds that being fashionable was in her ‘genes’ and those were the only ones she needed. And that is when it happened…or at least, when it happened and it was finally understandable to Narcissa’s mind just _what_ was happening.

Hermione Granger threw her head back and laughed, giggling up a storm at her horrid pun. And Narcissa felt a foolish sense of pride at having invoked such a reaction in her and the young Witch was so beautiful when she smiled, warm and rosy in the dying light of day streaming through the storefront windows and-

…a crush.

Narcissa Malfoy…was perhaps experiencing-

No. Absolutely not. Narcissa’s age alone should be enough to be well passed the inane ability to even _have_ ‘crushes’. It was…

She was a beautiful young woman, with quite the magical prowess and intellect to match—there was a level where it was perfectly natural to find her attractive, perhaps even have moments where that attraction resonated with Narcissa. It would be inappropriate to act on any impulse that might come with that—she was twenty years the girl’s senior, had a son that was only a few years younger than her due to magical circumstance! And she was married.

It was wildly inappropriate and to be ignored.

She would certainly try.

She would.

Miss Granger was just- infuriatingly noncooperative.

That was unjust—it was Narcissa’s feelings. But did the younger Witch truly have to- was it necessary to be so extraordinary?

When they returned to the Granger home, Narcissa initially felt outrage at the sight of black sand in the hearth until she realized it wasn’t untouched—it was new. Severus had kindly cleared his evening. Her message had been read, and replaced by his own.

_Of course. unsve nanutifo 1pm. -S_

“Unsve nanutifo?” Miss Granger murmured to herself.

“Code, common among Tom’s people it-“

“Word scramble,” Miss Granger rolled her eyes at the idea before announcing her deduction of, “Venus Fountain?”

“It bears a ‘hidey hole’ of my own,” Narcissa said.

Miss Granger nodded. “I’ll fill up on petrol tomorrow morning then, unless…is it viable to apparate?”

…did she mean to drive all the way to Italy? Oh. There was Salone Square but, “Venus Fountain in Italy, Miss Granger and yes it is perfectly so. Venus Fountain is…my dear girl it is a sacred magical monument,” Heavens, what were they teaching at Hogwarts these days? “Muggles may visit it but it holds many protections against the detection of magic—I can apparate straight there and none will see my arrival save, perhaps, other magical persons. I myself should handle it—it is not my personal hiding place, it is a commonly used Death Eater dead drop. It would not be quite so odd for someone to see me there—it would go unquestioned and unmentioned for fear of jeopardizing whatever mission I might be on for the ‘Dark Lord’—but if we were spotted together, that may well be another story.”

Miss Granger nodded, she did not look like she was necessarily cheered by it, but she accepted it. “Alright,” and then after she sighed, “d’you mind if I wash up upstairs? Your bathroom’s got the shower in it.”

“Certainly,” Narcissa said, “I…I could fashion an entrance to the privy for you—its wall touches your chambers does it not?”

“Uh-huh, yeah that…that’ll work, thanks. You can always spell your door so no one can go into your room through the bathroom. And you can banish the door when you’re in there so I know to just dash downstairs if I need the loo.”

“That is sound.”

It was. Save the moment Narcissa finished erecting such a door—in the space between the corner walls and the sink where…there were ghosts of similar spellwork left behind as if this was how Miss Granger and her parents got by with their only tub being in the upstairs washroom before. She- she’d merely been testing it, making certain that the door did not open up into crawl space between walls, or half way into the sink, her door worked splendidly, it opened toward the wall to her right and she stepped easily through-

And then directly back—directly! She’d heard the shower running of course but she- she hadn’t realized the curtaining hanging from the rod surrounding the tub only shielded the er…side of the tub and not the end opposite the faucet. Thankfully Miss Granger’s back had been to Narcissa and her casting was flawless—the door opened and closed without so much as a squeak but-

Merlin preserve her. Miss Granger called her form shapely? Narcissa did her best to put it from her mind for the whole of the evening.

Morning came with a great many lessons—Miss Granger accepted her assistance while whipping up breakfast, and after a moment of seeing Narcissa’s uncertainty, she just…breezed right on into explaining, showing Narcissa what to do. She did not mock or rebuke her for a lack of knowledge which was…well Narcissa had never been given much opportunity to cook, and she’d certainly never had the need before but still. Part of her expected ridicule—Mother always had a way of doing so, any lack in Narcissa was put on display and needled until it righted itself, and Lucius…some of what used to be her fondest memories she did not feel quite the same about the more time passed, his generous lessons in Wizarding Chess—after years of marriage she had come to realize he’d been mocking her ignorance, belittling her to her face while she smiled and lapped it up, basked in it, felt so very blessed to have such a brilliant and strong wizard guiding her. Miss Granger could…tease, but never ridicule, she wasn’t teaching Narcissa something while thinking she was just some _precious ignorant thing_ , she taught in a way that felt natural, casual, save for the blinding smile she doled out upon Narcissa completing plating their meals as she eyes alight with warmth as she praised,

“It looks amazing Narcissa!” she praised, “Thanks for helping me.”

Narcissa felt more like it was Miss Granger who should be thanked, for all she couldn’t find the words to say as much. Narcissa had been precious little help—she’d all but ruined their eggs if it had not been for the younger witch’s patience, and Narcissa wasn’t certain what to feel about Hermione taking the plate with the toast Narcissa had burned, serving the plate bearing the more appealing amber brown slices to the older Witch as she brought their plates to the kitchen table.

She wasn’t certain what to feel when the young lady opened wide the French doors to allow the sunlight and fresh air in.

She wasn’t certain what to feel as Miss Granger led her in conversation about the physical runes she placed on her wand sheaths, the sort of practice it took to weave magic into _platinum_ —which sounded counterintuitive initially. Silver was more common practice for magical work—it so readily absorbed it, while platinum was a notoriously pure metal, purest of all metals which lent to its use to ward off magic but that was just the point quite literally—there was an applicator of sorts, a silver cone she settled on the tip of her wand she dipped into melted platinum to carefully draw the delicate lines of her runes out onto the leather as she cast through her wand, the cone acting as a conduit to both absorb and then imbue her magic directly into the platinum as she worked. Her magic was locked into the platinum, holding her warding strong to the sheath, while also making them _uncancellable_ —the set platinum would naturally resist any further magic cast upon it! Narcissa could not even transfigure the sheath when she tested that claim—her magic washed right over it. At least until its creator let her in on the line of silver that went down the center of the sheath where the leather made contact with her forearm—that was how her magic was able to enter the sheath to prompt it to release her wand. Merlin it was just brilliant and the young lady talked her through every facet of it she wished to understand without reticence, her every question met with openness and patience and an eagerness to share.

She wasn’t certain what to feel as she talked over every aspect of the plan to approach the dead drop—Miss Granger animate about her care for herself, if something felt wrong, if it didn’t feel safe, they would figure out something else. The younger Witch was meticulous in going over Narcissa’s plans of action, plans of escape and introducing her to the mobile phone—more lessons. Teaching her how to use it to call the home’s telephone, going through the somehow interesting but ludicrous feeling task of having Narcissa use the mobile to call the house phone on her own, Miss Granger answering with a cheery,

“Hallo? Granger residence how may I help you?”

“By ending this ridiculous exercise,” Narcissa drawled into the mobile’s mouthpiece.

The younger Witch’s nose crinkled at that, holding up an index finger, “Just once more. Practice hanging up and trying again. Press the call button twice—it will call the last number dialed automatically,” she instructed.

Narcissa sighed and did precisely as instructed, and the home’s phone began ringing again as last time but…well the mobile was making a strange noise, this urgent sounding _beep beep beep beep beep beep,_ “I don’t know that it’s wor-“ she was saying, overlapped by,

“Hello?” Miss Granger greeted with just as much smarmy cheer that ultimately died the moment she said, “Gr-…”oh Merlin the girl had gone _pale_.

“Hermione?” Narcissa whispered, pressing the button she knew now was the one to end her attempt at calling as she stepped forward, rested a hand on the younger Witch’s arm.

The young lady wouldn’t look at her, she stared straight into the wall piece of the phone as she said, “M-Mrs. Wilkins, how can I help you?”

It was faint but Narcissa was near enough to be able to hear the receiver, “Oh it’s nothing dear, just thought I would check in—Miss Sawyer has been able to help you with any issues with the house, I trust?”

“Oh yes—I haven’t had any trouble at all ma’am, but everyone’s been very welcoming,” Hermione assured.

“That’s great! I…” Mrs…Wilkin’s voice faltered on the other end of the line. “Well I suppose I was just wanting to reach out after the chaos this weekend.” Chaos?

“Oh, I thought of doing the same actually—the bombing was just terrible,” Miss Granger sympathized. Ahh. The bombing.

There was a hemming noise over the phone and then, “You’ve no family in the area, you said, and I suppose it’s…” the woman chuckled a bit, “Well I’ve never been a mother, but I suppose all women have some level of maternal instinct. I worried so I thought I would call, check in on you. Everything’s going well for you love?...Stacie?”

Oh sweet Merlin this woman didn’t even remember that she was a _mother_. Miss Granger looked…rather gutted. So Narcissa did the only thing she could think to, “Stacie?” she prompted, loud enough to be heard by the phone she hoped, “Who is it?”

“Oh! You’ve company! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you,” Mrs. Wilkins apologized.

“Sorry! Yeah I…everything has um…I’m great, Mrs. Wilkins, really. You and…you and Mr. Wilkins—you’re well? Australia’s nice?”

“Oh that’s great to hear! Oh we’re right as rain, though Wendell’s taken it into his head he can surf of all things,” the Muggle woman complained.

That sent Miss Granger gasping, wide eyed, “No! Seriously?” she giggled.

“Oh he insists he’s got perfect balance.”

“He’s got two left feet!” Hermione laughed, and then caught herself, but,

“He does!” the woman on the other end of the phone amusedly agreed, “Wendell—your two left feet are infamous love, oh- do put that snorkel down, honestly! Absolutely not—you’re taking that back!” she sighed, “I’m sorry, I made the mistake of letting him handle the shopping the morning and he took that as by your leave to pop ‘round the sporting goods shop he just got in with his…discoveries.”

“Treasures!” a man could be heard insisting.

“Sounds like he might be in need of adult supervision,” Hermione supposed teasingly. “Um…I really appreciate you reaching out. I hope…you have a great day. Stay safe, maybe avoid the beach for anything other than sunning, yeah?”

“Oh certainly,” Mrs. Wilkins agreed, “You stay safe too dear, enjoy your time with your friend. If you need anything at all…”

“I have Miss Sawyer’s number,” Miss Granger assured.

“Alright. Take care.”

“You too,” the Witch said, waiting just a moment before replacing the phone on the wall.

The kitchen was very quiet then. Gone was the ring of telephones or cheery chatter, and for all it had been a pleasant enough conversation, Miss Granger looked nothing short of shaken, stricken and just forlorn. For the first time…in the entirety of their time together, even at Malfoy Manor, even when she was subject to horrible torment, Miss Granger had never looked quite so _small._ “Are you alright, Hermione?”

She nodded absently. “You’ll- you’ll need money if you’ve an emergency. Um. I’ll just go get that,” the younger Witch excused herself. Merlin. Narcissa remained rooted in the kitchen, she…would not deny the girl a moment to collect herself. She clearly…she did not seem shocked or surprised at the consequences of her memory magic, seemed…prepared to bare them, even as they grieved her. It was unthinkable, she- she wasn’t certain under what circumstance she would forgive Draco conceiving of such a ploy, altering her memories to forget the single most precious position she held in her life? She found so much power and joy and love in being a mother, it was something…it was the only title she bore that ‘Witch’ came second to. She would be stripped of her very magic before she would allow _anyone_ to take her station of mother from her.

Narcissa held her tongue upon the girl’s return, now wasn’t the time and something in the ferocity she felt over the matter melted at…well Miss Granger had tried to wash her face, there was some dampness on the collar of her shirt, from the attempt, tearstains well removed from her cheeks but her eyes were still red, a wet sound in the back of her throat when she opened her mouth and had to clear her throat to speak as she handed Narcissa a few folded up bills. “Here,” she shrugged, “just in case.”

Narcissa nodded. “Who…might I ask, is Miss Sawyer?”

“Hm? Oh! A neighborhood lady—she lives up the street. Being out of the country can make handling anything that might go wrong with the house tricky to handle so she’s sort of a go-between if we’d a plumbing issue or a fire or something but erm…well Magic makes those pretty much non-issues. She’s a sweet lady, I should check in on her just,” she shrugged. “I…gosh I wonder what they did when I wasn’t here to take the call last time around.”

“I’m sure it worried them,” Narcissa said. “You’d…no contact with them in our timeline once you moved in?”

“A call at the beginning of summer—the one we’re in now, I stopped in and called them when the school year was up just to…check in on things before I headed to Ron’s for the summer. They’re really sweet people and I wanted to make certain my lease was secure,” she said. “And then next summer well…it was just better all around that I didn’t reach out to anyone then.”

Narcissa nodded, carefully questioning again, “You rented this abode for…what purpose?”

“Safe keeping,” Miss Granger supposed forthrightly, more lying with the truth before she fibbed…only minorly Narcissa supposed. “Constant vigilance and all that. Secret keepers are great and all but…you know. It’s not entirely a perfect system. Best to have a place I could fall back on with no written connection to me—as far as anyone is concerned on any level, this house is in a muggle neighborhood owned by muggles with zero connection to the Wizarding World. Stacie Greene is just another Muggle. There’s no reason for anyone from the magical side of life to notice this place.”

“I should be going soon, I believe I’m well practiced in the art of your mobile phone…that beeping noise it was making before…”

“Oh—busy signal. If you hear that it means the line you’re calling is currently occupied, but I promise to keep the line clear while you’re out,” she assured.

“Well then. I’ll return shortly.”

Hermione nodded, her worry evident even as she nodded, “Be careful.”

“Of course.”

She wasn’t certain what to do with that either. She’d done…far more perilous tasks under the bidding of the Dark Lord and it had always been with the air that she was disposable, that she should be so honored to _be_ disposable. When last had she seen such worry cross Lucius’s face? Certainly not when she went to task for the Dark Lord. When she was prescribed bedrest, toward the end of her pregnancy with Draco, perhaps—concern for his heir, which sorted, Draco had been her only concern as well, she’d made that much clear to her Healers, that his life was to be preserved over her own should such an issue occur.

She made her departure, disapparating from the Granger household and appearing in Villa Borghese, before Venus Fountain just as the second hand on her wristwatch ticked the hour over to _1pm_ on the dot, within her current timezone. Severus had little inkling of where she was when she messaged him, and too it was the done thing, to timestamp their meetings according to the timezone in which said meetings would be held. Of course this was no meeting—she wasn’t expecting to lay eyes on anyone she knew, just now. She gave the area a cursory glance, none currently present gave her arrival any notice, but 1pm on a Monday afternoon was not exactly the height of Wizarding activity at the font—that was reserved more so for full moons and holy days, always at the Witching hour of course—still, one could never be too careful, it was a common meeting place. Narcissa was armed with disillusionment further still just as a precaution as she stepped up to the fountain and rolled up the sleeve of her dress—on the off chance she was spotted she was wearing the clothing she’d arrived to this time in again, untransfigured as it was her most normal mode of apparel. She bore her Mark to Venus’s gaze and stepped upon the fountain’s the water unhindered, her footfalls finding purchase atop the water’s surface as she walked to it’s center. The moment she was before the statue, her magical signature was detected and Severus’s offerings for her appeared at Venus’s feet. She summoned them to her—a single velvety black pouch the size of her head, an embroidered snake weaving its way across the fabric as a form of defense against any who were not meant to touch it should there be any interference, minimal as those chances were given only the deliverer and the person it was meant to be delivered to could lay eyes on the contents of their dead drops.

She disapparated from the fountain reappearing in Miss Granger’s kitchen to find the girl had set up post, seated on the counter by the phone, her entire expression lit up, relief evident as she said, “You’re back!”

Gryffindor had a penchant for announcing the obvious when recovering from worry, apparently, “I am,” she replied.

“You’re not hurt, you weren’t spotted?”

“It was perfectly safe, Italy was beautiful it is a shame you could not come along,” Narcissa said, going to the kitchen table and setting down Severus’s offerings, and opening the bag. Miss Granger was immediately curious about it, examining the snake working its way around the material before peering inside the bag,

“Oh I had something like this,” she said, “it’s got an undetectable extension charm?” she surmised, smiling when Narcissa nodded, and the older Witch opened her mouth to reply but-

She was an utter _fool,_ she- how had she overlooked the potential for harm? She hadn’t—she’d considered it, that was why she opened the bag, she thought that would dispel any room for defense, so she did not stop Miss Granger from reaching for the bag, and it was then she discovered a horrible, _horrible_ failure in their vows.

Unperceived harm—she could not have the intent to harm if she didn’t realize the harm existed in the first place.

The second Miss Granger’s hand made contact with the bag the embroidered snake became very much real and sank its teeth into the tender flesh between the thumb and index finger of her reaching hand, a horrible gasp escaping her mouth as her eyes blew wide in her head and then she cried out in agony-

And promptly fell back, hitting the floor with a solid thunk as she was promptly Stupefyed.

“Hermione!” Oh Merlin! Narcissa dropped to her knees, mind racing—would the snake continuously Stupefy her even as she revived the young lady or could it _not_ be cast against until its victim- the latter! She remembered this, Merlin, she needed to focus!

“ _Rennervate*!”_ oh come now! Please, please. Red light washed over the younger Witch to no avail. It was dangerous to cast too many times. She counted to twenty and tried once more, _“Reenervate!”_

There was the _thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk_ of the snake’s body resuming its writhing as Miss Granger revived with a half-finished scream rising from her throat, the veins in her neck and forehead protruding, “N-N- Narcissa it’s burning- it burns!” a horrifying trail of light blazing a path from the veins in Miss Granger’s hand and up her arm.

“ _Depulso!”_ Narcissa snapped at the wretched snake, banishing it before reaching for the younger Witch, “Hermione? Darling look at me,” she pled, cupping the side of the young woman’s face as she blinked, eyes glossy with a feverish haze, “does it still burn?”

“It stopped,” she swallowed, taking a deep breath, “did- what- what was that?”

“A defense against interference, I am- Hermione, I am _sorry, please_ forgive me I did not- I thought my opening the bag in invitation to you would allow you access. It is meant to stupefy any who try to interfere in our work, left to be found by us ideally.”

“To be tortured?”

“Questioned. Which sometimes involves…” Narcissa gulped, “it is painful what the Snake does but- it is to be eventually banished, and then the thief is to be questioned as to their purpose and whom they work for.”

“I guess lots of people would spill their guts if you let that thing go at them for more than a minute.”

“It is not the pain of it that causes people to ‘spill their guts’ Hermione it- I will need be mindful of my speech for the next hour at least.”

“…why?” Miss Granger questioned, confused.

“Should I ask you a question, you will be compelled to answer in full truth. I would not wish to invade your privacy.” She’d a great many questions for this girl she wished to have answered forthrightly but this…this was not the way.

“My privacy?” she questioned further still.

Oh _honestly._ “How are you, Hermione?”

“My hand really hurts, my scar stings, my head aches, my throat is sore, I think I have a bruise on my arse, I’m scared and a little confused and I’m worried you’ll think I’m upset with you.”

 _“Are_ you upset with me?” she questioned further.

“Of course not—you didn’t mean for that to happen, you were just as startled as I was, and you can’t intentionally hurt me, and you’ve been so nice and helpful and it’s really brave of you, turning your back on Voldemort and coming with me to the bloody past to right the future and I think you’re the actual most beautiful person in existence—your grasp of magic is just incredible and you’re probably the most brilliant Witch I know and I definitely have a crush on you.” Ahh. Well. She…that was…not inherently obvious but she’d some idea yes.

Narcissa cleared her throat, smiling in a way she hoped came across as kind, “That is very flattering, Hermione. I apologize—I only meant to exemplify-“

“That I’ve been truth serumed big time,” the girl nodded, blushing fiercely but then, “if it’s flattering and not totally put you off talking to me, we could use this to our advantage.”

“Of course it hasn’t,” Narcissa assured, “…our advantage?”

“I have things I need you to know about the coming year and they’re kind of insane, you might not believe me otherwise so—magically induced truth might help with that. Do you need to ask questions for it to work or am I bound to honesty just in my regular speech?” a strange look crossed her face, and she shook her head as if to clear it, “oh wait, that’s dumb, sorry—I can test that myself duh.”

“You may be concussed—Hermione I promise to endeavor to believe whatever it is you must tell me of the future, you needn’t- you’re hurt, you’ve just listed several things that ail you and we’d best right them before moving forward.”

Miss Granger opened her mouth and it worked momentarily, words refusing to rise and then, “I have a headache and I feel a little sick but I felt sick before so it might not be from bashing my head against the kitchen table.”

That bit of truth had Narcissa’s stomach dropping. “You were poorly earlier and didn’t say anything?”

She shrugged! Narcissa could throttle her, honestly! Well. “I was just nervous, I was scared you were going to get caught or hurt, and what good am I if that happens? Merlin, I’d never forgive myself if I got you caught up in all of this only to get you hurt or w-worse.”

“…I may not have had this little misadventure in mind when I was rambling my attempts at comfort in Malfoy Manor but… _I_ am the reason I am here. You did not ‘get me caught up in all of this’. I understand the risks and I am willing to face them—you face them likewise.” Though… “well. I suppose if roles were reversed this afternoon, I would have worried for you. That aside—if something had happened it would be none of it your fault, Hermione. You are never to blame yourself for the actions of others, is that clear?”

“I understand the words you’re saying, and it helps on a level,” she allowed though ultimately assured, “but I’ll still feel like garbage all the same.”

“Hmm…I think I prefer this over your ‘fines’, Miss Granger. You should endeavor to be so forthright in future, it takes much of the guesswork out of-“ caring about you, she almost said, but that felt a touch too honest for some reason, and she was hardly under any such truth curse, “working with you.”

Miss Granger shrugged, “I don’t think anyone would care for someone being brutally honest all of the time.”

Maybe…there was some truth to that. Of course there was, the young Witch currently could not speak anything but the truth and that was what left Narcissa so horribly disturbed. She had known the Dark Lord was depraved but… _Merlin_ , she’d never been privy to _this level_ of utter debauchery.

Horcruxes. Tom Riddle had fashioned himself several, horrifically wrought Horcruxes using _sacred magical artefacts, Merlin above!_

“Damn that incorrigible, irredeemable mongrel _straight_ to _hell!”_ Narcissa seethed, Miss Granger’s gaze following her as she paced the kitchen, from the table to the far wall to stand before the stove she nearly- she had the urge to kick the thing for some reason, an urge she resisted but only just.

She met the younger Witch’s gaze as she ceased her pacing, settling for standing at the kitchen table with her hands on her hips as she huffed, Miss Granger’s eyes were alight with some amusement. “What?!” she snapped.

“ _What?”_ she’d once snapped at Lucius at the height of her outrage over word from Draco that he had been recklessly injured under the guidance of that brute, Rubeus Hagrid. He’d this look, this sneer.

_“Never you worry your precious head, I’ll handle this.”_

Miss Granger ‘hmm’d, chin resting atop her fists as she said, “You’re really pretty when you’re angry, it’s kind of badass.”

…well. That was… “Why thank you, Miss Granger. Now. You said you discovered a great deal of these adulterated artefacts?”

She nodded. “Yes. I think…preparing for the war, taking Voldemort down and getting us back to the Manor for our time jump? I think hunting Horcrux’s will be part of that—but we can make it easier, give Harry and Ron a list to go by. There is one…I think there might be one in um…in B-Bellatrix’s vault,” she blanched.

Yes, Bella’s thoughts had been rather erratic, but Narcissa had seen some concern at the forefront of her sister’s mind, this vein chilling terror her sister had felt, she’d been sick with it—she’d been petrified the Golden Trio had gotten their hands on the genuine Sword of Gryffindor, believed that the sword had been in her vault along with…something else, something important, she’d gotten the vague glimmer of a…chalice? Bellatrix Lestrange feared nothing in this world save for the loss of her Dark Lord.

“Well then, Hermione, we may just be in luck,” Narcissa was albeit pleased to inform her if it was of help, “Andromeda was disowned when she married Teddy Tonks, of course. So when our sister was convicted and sentenced to Azkaban, her affairs and assets were transferred to my care. I’ve access to her vault without issue.”

She was relieved to see Hermione brighten at that, “That would be amazing! I mean it was always going to be risky but…I mean we would have had to sneak in somehow, being able to just walk right in sounds…less complicated.” She raised a hand to massage a the back of her neck, head lulling forward as she breathed a sigh of relief, “Merlin, I’m glad you believe me.”

“I would have believed you otherwise I suppose,” Narcissa was relatively certain, “it just may have taken a bit more convincing. Horcruxes,” she shuddered, “I am sorry you know such things exist.” The younger Witch nodded, though she did not raise her head from where it hang. “You’re starting to feel tired?”

“Yeah, actually. Is that because of the snake?”

“You’ll be rendered unconscious for a time—it is best not to fight it. The sooner you slip under, the sooner you’ll wake. Have I…have I permission to apparate you to your chamber?”

“Oh is it your turn to be chivalrous?” Miss Granger wondered, raising her face enough to smile tiredly at the older witch.

Cheeky girl, honestly. “Perhaps,” Narcissa allowed. “It is a…trick, I suppose. It might swiften your recovery as the snake’s purpose is to stun, pull truth from those seeking to steal from us, and then allow us to dispose of them—if I apparate with you…”

“The magic at play will think you’ve done just that,” Hermione nodded. “Smart. I’m okay with you apparating with me,” she agreed. “Is it alright if I lie on the couch?”

“Certainly,” Narcissa readily agreed, rising to aid her. it would be easier to take hold of her for apparation if she wasn’t seated in a chair with the wall directly behind her or a table directly before her. She rose to aide her, Miss Granger huffing a soft laugh,

“We really do need to stop doing this,” This? ahh. Well, she supposed this was her second time assisting the girl in this way—she would not abide any ‘third time’ with this, no. It wasn’t that she disliked being of assistance, she merely detested the cause of such need. “No offense to the Professor but next time I see him, I’m hexing him where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Do allow me to watch,” Narcissa warmly encouraged as Miss Granger fell onto the couch and sprawled out, eyes blinking sluggishly, as she stared at the ceiling. Narcissa perched herself on the arm of the couch, “Is there anything else I can do for you, darling?”

“Keep talking maybe? I…really out of it, I’ll pass out soon I think but falling into it without something else to focus on makes my magic feel woozy which-“

“Makes you feel as much in return,” Narcissa sympathized. It was only then she realized she’d laced the fingers of her left hand in the younger Witch’s curls when she first sat down, but…well it was an action meant to soothe, she supposed. She just was not certain which of them it was meant to do that for. This was dangerous, she’d not Dromeda’s penchant for healing—there was no stopping the effects of the Spy-Catcher Snake, she would be unconscious soon and that was dangerous—people could fall asleep after being concussed and be rendered comatose. She offered the girl what she asked for. Talk, something benign. “You’ve never been to Venus Fountain?” Narcissa quired.

That got her a soft smile, such a ridiculous thing to set a lump in her throat. “Not the one in Italy,” Miss Granger said.

Narcissa cleared her throat, offering a small smile of her own as she carded a hand through the younger Witch’s hair. “And here I thought we were endeavoring to be law abiding citizens, Miss Granger—that is an utter crime. All young Witches should pilgrimage to Venus’s font, at least once as they come into their power.”

“Really?”

“Really. It is custom to bathe in its waters, leave offerings of flowers, wine, and besiege Venus for her guidance.”

“Maybe when the Wizarding world isn’t on the constant brink of war?”

“On the contrary, Miss Granger, there is no better time than when the world is on the brink of war,” Narcissa saw fit to correct, “Granted the custom did take a shift during the dark ages—Pureblooded families shifted the focus to her paragoning love and fertility, seeking to imbibe their daughters in those attributes—but the tradition was started by the great Witch Morgana le Fey. She bathed in the lakes of Avalon, under the full moon as Venus was rising, appealed to all powers that be that night to pray and prepare for victory against dark forces she and Merlin stood against. Venus was one of the powers that obliged her that night and that was where the tradition was born—it is a victory ritual more so than a…”

“Than a ‘please nice Goddess, make our daughters baby making machines’ one.”

It was a time of…dwindling wizarding numbers the shift occurred in though that did not mean they’d taken into consideration that that need was now behind them when they still pressured young pureblood Witches to subscribe to praying to Venus for fertility that, saving for the rare occasion, they already had in spades. “Precisely.”

“Hmm…” offered, eyes closed.

“Hermione?” Narcissa gently questioned, brushing the hair back from the young lady’s face and gauging her laxed expression, her skin had taken a near porcelain white hue that spoke to living death. Narcissa rose, and took the task of carefully raising the slumbering Witch into her arms. She’d her permission but it was dangerous to apparate with someone unconscious*. Once she was absolutely certain her hold was secure, she disapparated to the second floor of the Granger home, directly into Hermione’s bedroom, and laid her gently on her bed, her color already beginning to return, thank Merlin. She disapparated from her room for good measure, in the case that the curse laid on the girl might detect that her ‘captive’ was through with its victim. She reappeared in the kitchen to fetch water from a pitcher of the stuff Miss Granger had whipped up—she’d sliced lemon, a few sprigs of mint, and dropped it into a pitcher of water she stored in the ‘fridge’. She poured a glass and ascended the stairs, and went to sit vigil at Miss Granger’s bedside. There was a level where she knew there were other things she could be tending, sorting through Severus’s sendings, but she was rightly concerned! And she did summon the bag to her, set it at her feet once she pulled Miss Granger’s desk chair over to seat herself beside the bed. If he’d followed her instructions there would be journals, self-inking quills, floo powder, basic medicinal potions already skillfully prepared by the potions master, proper supplies to have a potions set up of their own should the need arise, and a selection of wands for Miss Granger’s perusal.

Which she did, upon her waking. Thank Merlin, Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief when the young Witch’s eyes fluttered open not ten minutes after falling unconscious. Narcissa had already tested Severus’s supplying skills—accio’d bruising balm and headache draught to much success, they were awaiting on the bedside table. “Hermione?”

“Hey,” the girl whispered, smiling softly, “telly lost its appeal already?”

“You’re concussed Miss Granger, it wouldn’t do to lose your brilliant mind to injury,” Narcissa defended albeit…embarrassment came out as tetchiness. She almost feared her tone was harsh—it had been but,

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you,” Miss Granger apologized, gingerly sitting up.

“Here, drink—headache draught, and then some of that lovely water you made up,” Narcissa tried for pleasant and succeeded—the girl had handled her tone well, that did not mean she meant to repeat the offense. She unstoppered the vial of draught for Miss Granger and handed it off, the girl drank it without question which…spoke to a measure of trust Narcissa was grateful for, she wasn’t certain she could return it—she did not think Miss Granger would dare poison her but she’d sufficiently acquired a level of paranoia that said _everyone_ was capable of such manipulations and betrayal and it was better safe than six feet under. The girl quaffed her potion and looked a bit bemused when Narcissa was immediate to hand her the glass of water.

“Thanks, I really do appreciate all of this,” she said once she finished the glass and set it aside, taking up the jar of bruising balm and uncapping it—that she sniffed at but it seemed like reflex, like how one might smell lotion before swiping up a bit on an index finger and reaching behind her to dab at the bump on the back of her head. “Did you get a chance to look through anything?”

“I thought it prudent to wait for you,” Narcissa offered, casting to levitate the now embroiderless bag onto the bed to settle beside Miss Granger. The young Witch did examine the outside of the bag momentarily but, ever the Gryffindor, she reached into the bag once more and to no ill response, her expression lit up and Narcissa guessed accurately just what brought a smile to her face,

“Journals!” books of all forms apparently delighted the young lady Draco so often scathed was a disgusting bookworm. She sat up straighter, tucking her legs up under herself to sit criss-cross and make room to pull all…ten journals, where she’d requested eight. Ahh. Well then, she supposed the floo powder may still come in handy—she’d thought she wouldn’t need to contact Severus except in emergency, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the means to communicate to the man if need be.

What they ultimately had was six, uniform, black journals, and then twin dark green day planners with silvery _S.S._ engraved in their centers, and two wine red day planners with _Narcissa_ in emblazon in gold in the bottom right hand corners.

There were several long mahogany boxes that came next and Miss Granger was delighted to find they held her wand options—she opened them and tried them each in hand, casting _Lumos_ with each before setting one back in its box and closing shut the lid, casting once more with the remaining three…two…she settled on a wand crafted of ebony wood, which marked the strong conviction of its wielder, that suited for all she seemed uneasy that it was common among Death Eaters—she lost her reticence when Narcissa saw fit to remind her that the Order had a great many Witches and Wizards with ebony wands—it denoted _conviction,_ not the morality of those convictions. It held a dragon heartstring unsurprisingly, but then so did two of her other options Severus sent along.

And then the young lady launched into her work—Narcissa stopped her short of replacing things into the sack for carrying,

“It will return them to Severus,” she explained.

“Oh! Brilliant!” she was happy to declare it, “I was wondering how we’d get everything to him again.”

Hermione gathered up a great many journals in her arms, Narcissa voicing that she would take some as well and delivering the young lady a wry look as the older Witch cast to call her journals to order, stack themselves neatly and levitated them, earning a giggle from her as she led Narcissa downstairs and set her stack down on the dining room table. There was more room to work there than in the kitchen, and they set out each journal, Hermione organizing them the way she wished. Severus had written names within the inside covers of the journals for his students, and she set the matching sets side by side, doing likewise for the day planners—that was a bit of good thinking on the man’s part, spoke to his wish to genuinely be of assistance that he considered that Lucius would be far more eager to garner a peek at a journal of Narcissa’s than he could be bothered with what she might be doing with her day, and she would have an easier time dissuading his interest if he endeavored to look at her planner and found it couldn’t be open by any save for her—it wouldn’t do for her day to day movements to be able to be looked upon by just anyone, surely.

So Narcissa got to sit on the other side of the dining room table and watch Miss Granger work her first bit of real magic with her new wand and Merlin, however did anyone think it was Mister Potter who was solely responsible for thwarting the Dark Lord time and again? Hearing her thoughts and describe her process had been one thing—one stimulating, incredible to hear thing—but watching?

She had the most blasphemous thought that perhaps young Witches should seek to bathe in waters blessed by the most Brilliant Witch of their Age.

She had mastered the _Protean Charm._ It was astounding to watch as delicate incantations dropped softly but certainly from the young Witch’s lips, wand perfectly poised as she dictated Master and Match between each set of books—she and Narcissa would keep the master copies, that they could write instruction in to their allies, and appear in their matches. When she completed them all the way to Severus’s addition of his own communicative planners, she summoned the quills…she’d asked Narcissa to secure them a great many of them, self-inking and charmed to never run out, she’d thought it a bit of pettiness toward Severus, to demand such a quantity of costly things but she proceeded to…repeat her casting with these quills, Master and Match, placing the Master Quills with the Matching books and- oh…oh so their allies could _write back._ The Match Quills would remain with she and Miss Granger, and whenever one of their co-conspirators wrote them, their Master copy of that person’s journal would open, the Matching Quill would fly to it and begin penning their message for them to read. That was- that was just-

Miss Granger looked to Narcissa as she concluded her casting. “Are you quite alright?”

Narcissa startled at that, “Pardon?”

“You look a little out of it. I’m a little looped still myself, dinner’s probably in order soon huh?” and when Narcissa didn’t readily respond to that, the young lady tucked her wand to rest trapped in a lock of hair and nestled behind her ear, as she came around to stand before Narcissa, resting a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look up into the younger Witch’s face, “Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me. Is something wrong?”

“I…” was never quite so glad she was not currently ‘truth serumed’ as the youth among them called it, or she didn’t know just what truth she might start spilling to the younger Witch. Nothing was wrong precisely, save Narcissa’s own foolery. “I’m well, though yes, dinner would be lovely.”

Hermione nodded. “Alright—what would you like for dinner? Do you have a preference?”

“Italian tonight, I think,” was the first cuisine to come to mind when she wracked her brain trying to remember just what cuisine was outside the realm of honey. Somehow Miss Granger’s eyes staring down at her with so much concern, turned cheer had put golden brown of sunlit honey to mind.

“I think we can work with that.”

“I- I will finish our work with the journals, if you would see to dinner.”

Miss Granger merely shrugged, not even a hint of wickedness to her smile as she said an albeit teasing, “Of course, Mistress.” and yet it sent Narcissa’s mind somewhere…less good-natured than honey, but somehow it felt more benign than her minds momentary…though she feared it might be continuous, fascination with the younger Witch’s eyes.

Narcissa Malfoy had a crush and it was just that—crushing her, it felt like. What a foolish affliction to have! She would cease this nonsense!

She would at least focus on the task at hand. Severus had sent along all they needed to secure their match’s journals—he’d previous examinations still saved from his students, and the anti-cheating quills required magic to work, students magic working through them as they wrote, to keep their exam papers clear of all plagiarism or manipulation to garner an undeserved grade, he also sent along a…letter. From him, to Narcissa—bearing his magic imbued in its seal even after she broke it which would suffice for her spellcasting but-

_I pray you’ve some idea just what you are up to mucking with time. No, I have not traced you, though that is not without trying._ The man had written, _but I do so doubt your message was scrawled on my hearth by your own hand as you served me Sunday morning tea._ Oh. He had been over for tea a week before Draco’s Marking, yes. Though the man was exaggerating—Narcissa Malfoy poured tea for no one. She was going to ignore the fact that she’d physically fetched water for Miss Granger no more than an hour ago. _You’ve my assistance, but do be careful—I have secured a Secret Keeper to guard my knowledge of these events, of anything you may contact me with in future, but even that may fail. Never you mind who it is, just know should something dire await me in the coming year you’ve limited fear of my disclosing whatever this is you’re up to to the Dark Lord. I’ve enclosed a sigil stone, should you suffer some medical emergency it will summon our Secret Keeper to your location and they may be of assistance. Return the journals to me post-haste and I will distribute them as soon as possible, I have already prepared the decoy journals for my sixth year students—they will be sent out via Owl Post along with yours so that my students are adequately prepared for their school year. –S_

Heartwarming as ever. Well then, that was…albeit concerning that there was some unknown party out there who knew of their current mission, but it was sound of Severus to seek one and she did trust his discernment. They would be capable of Medical assistance?…Merlin preserve them, the man hadn’t gone to Pomfrey, had he? No no, he wouldn’t…maybe he would. Or perhaps…Severus was Draco’s godfather, he knew well Narcissa’s trust in Healer Marigold. There were diagnostic charms that could detect gender in gestation but they were not wholly fool-proof, and she could not abide Lucius knowing if there was even a chance the child she carried was anything other than a Wizard—they’d no secret keeper between them and the woman had kept Narcissa’s pleas to herself, to guard any confirmation of a birth gender from Lucius until it was absolutely undeniable that she’d delivered him a son, the plans they made for spiriting her babe away from Lucius’s grasp if his first born dared to be a Witch. Thankfully no such thing had been required, but the planning alone would have inspired Lucius’s wrath, and he had nary an inkling of it. Narcissa trusted Healer Marigold implicitly, perhaps she was who Severus had turned to. Wise, regardless, to entrust their secret to someone who could be of assistance in a dire emergency if it couldn’t be made feasible to go to St. Mungos.

Narcissa set about pulling magical signatures and securing them to the match books so that they would only open to their owner’s hand, the master Quills so they would only write under their designated owner’s touch. She grew so focused on the task at hand she did not realize the passage of time until she had completed her work and her first thought was she could smell the most delightful- had their food arrived? She’d not heard the din of the doorbell—though Miss Granger had vowed it would not ring quite so harshly in future, she’d done something to it with ‘magnets’ to ‘keep the plates from connecting so strongly’.

“Oh wow! Narcissa!” she startled again at the girl’s voice as she spoke, praise pouring from her lips, delight in her eyes as she looked over their collective of thoroughly enchanted books and quills. “This is incredible! It’s almost- Merlin it’s not even perceivable with magic,” she complimented as she cast a few diagnostic spells over the lot, “you did it so cleanly it looks like _they_ charmed their own books and quills with their magical signatures, you didn’t leave a trace of yours at all and Merlin is that hard to do!” she said as if speaking from experience.

She felt badly then, she’d been so distracted with her own…self, which was usually a given, earlier that she had not thought to compliment the young lady’s work out loud. “Your Protean Charm was likewise incredible, I assure you.” ‘Incredible’ was all she said, she’d barely returned her compliment and Miss Granger _blushed_.

“Gosh, thanks, but that’s nothing—I was just working with my own magic then,” she argued, “ _this_ is, wow…” she shook her head before smiling up at the older Witch, “this is really _beautifully_ done, Narcissa.”

“As is your mastery of Protean, Hermione. I’ve no such grasp of it myself. We make a marvelous team I suppose.”

“Okay, let’s get the matches back to Professor Snape. Is everything he sent us out? Or does that matter?”

“Proper unpacking will take some time, there are a great many supplies for potions brewing and the like—us returning items to the bag will cause them to appear in one in Severus’s care. It works not entirely unlike your Protean charm—things he deposits in his bag he will lose access to, but they will appear in ours, and vice versa.”

“Really?” Miss Granger looked absolutely elated at that bit of information, “That’s amazing! Can we send just anything?”

“It has its limitations but any non-sentient, inanimate thing can be passed through.”

There was something of a mischievous smile on her face as she wondered, “I wonder just what his face will look like when I send him fresh muffins for his trouble. Or is he more a chocolate-chip biscuit man, do you think?”

“He’s an affinity for all sweets based in citrus.”

“Oooh I’ve got a great recipe for blood orange lemon squares that is just yum,” Miss Granger informed her.

Narcissa scoffed in disbelief. “The man’s Spy-Catcher assaulted you just a few hours ago, and you wish to send him treats?”

“He’s helping us and it’s not like he was thinking ‘oh I’ll get that Granger girl’ when he placed protections on our things—I mean otherwise you’d be on the war path or something right?” Hermione supposed. Oh. She had been prepared to wreak some sort of vengeance upon the man but that…had come entirely from her, she supposed, not her magic compelling her to defend the person she vowed herself to. “And it’s more vindictive than it sounds—killing him with kindness just to make him squirm.”

Oh, it would be a sort of torture, the man receiving a favored treat, he would be entirely embarrassed, even more so if he discovered it was from Hermione Granger of all people. Narcissa offered an amused grin, “Well then, we simply must thank the man for his assistance,” she encouraged as she assisted the younger Witch in picking up the match books and master quills after one final check over, the pair of them casting to ensure they were satisfied with their work before placing them into the bag. Miss Granger was kind enough to let Narcissa hold Draco’s journal just a moment longer, adverting her gaze as Narcissa pressed a kiss to its inside cover. Foolish sentimentality but-

Much would be asked of her son in the coming week—in the coming year. Her brave boy. She did not give a single _care_ how hold he would be when next they saw each other—she was holding him as tightly as possible for as long as she damn well pleased!

“Draco’s a really strong Wizard. And he’s very brave, when it counts. We’ll be helping him, Narcissa, he’s going to be okay,” Miss Granger promised her, resting a hand on Narcissa’s forearm once the woman deposited her son’s journal into Severus’s care. something in her certainty was…comforting. Her son could look in her face and call her Mudblood, bully and belittle her to bring her low in ways Lucius had lauded but even Narcissa had found excessive, cruel, and here she found the grace to assure his mother of his courage and strength. It felt like another one of those things Narcissa had encountered in her time interacting with the Muggle way of life—she did not understand how the phone, or the telly, or Muggle-magicked doors worked, they just _did_. She didn’t understand how deep Miss Granger’s kindness went, how it worked, it just _did._

And then a startled look crossed Miss Granger’s face as she sucked in a gasp and cried, “The garlic bread!”

Narcissa felt her brows shoot up at the…very strange shift in- what? Garlic bread- the younger Witch was dashing off into the kitchen and Narcissa was swift to follow.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” the young woman breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled a tray from the oven and set it atop the stove. Oh, it bore the aforementioned garlic bread, how delightful. Oh she…Miss Granger hadn’t ordered dinner, she’d prepared it. Italian, Narcissa had said and the girl had delivered pasta and bread and when she fetched beverages for them from the refrigerator there was some bowl of confection that looked like Zabaglione—a custard with fresh fruit chilling in the fridge for dessert. “Huh…we swear to Merlin an awful lot but you mentioned something earlier about Morgana le Fey? They fought…alongside each other?” Miss Granger queried as she began pulling plates from a cupboard. Narcissa snapped to attention then.

“Allow me, I can lay table,” Narcissa offered. She’d enough experience seating herself at a set table to know the order everything should go in and the grateful smile she got for her offer felt like reward enough for extending herself in this way. This was utterly ridiculous. “What do you know, exactly, of Morgana le Fey?” she wondered as she took up the plates and cutlery for the…kitchen table tonight, grand as the meal prepared for them seemed, the dining room table was still strewn with master copies of their books.

“Well I’ve heard of her, of course,” Miss Granger said as she took up a platter to begin neatly transferring warm slices of bread from the hot tray onto it with a spatula, “but you know, that she was evil, an enemy of Merlin, ultimately.”

Hmm… “That is one account. The popular one,” Narcissa supposed. “Miss Granger are you familiar with the idea of gender fluidity?”

The younger Witch blinked a bit, head bopping side to side momentarily, “Yes. There’s a student in Ravenclaw’s fifth year…oh, third year now I guess? I tutor them in Arithmancy—they’re genderfluid.”

“They go by neutral pronouns?” that mightn’t be quite the same as gender fluidity if there was nothing fluid in their identity, one could simply be nonconforming or have an identity that stood wide across the spectrum at all times without wavering.

Miss Granger nodded, “Sometimes—for them it changes day-to-day, but they’re comfortable with ‘they/them’ consistently and since I can’t exactly pop over to their place and check how their identity is presenting today, I’ll stick with ‘them’ unless they’re around to tell me if it’s Witch-day or Wizard-day.”

Ahh. So she did understand, excellent. “Hermione, what would you think if I informed you that Morgana le Fay and Merlin of Carmarthen are one in the same?”

“But…but the stories-“

“Separate them. As a means of creating trite propaganda,” Narcissa smirked, “it wouldn’t do for Witches to take it into their heads that they are capable of being the greatest power of all time, now would it?”

A delighted laugh bubbled up from the younger Witch’s throat, “Okay so I’m going to need you to tell me quite literally _everything_.”

* * *

Draco Malfoy was having a hell of a night.

Sunday afternoon, he had tea and a game of Wizards Chess with Severus while mother talked him over the finer points of the last chapter of that damned Charms book Granger had been so obsessed with. Barmy thing—her and the book.

Monday afternoon? Severus apparated unannounced, directly into Draco’s room—the stuff of nightmares, Merlin! Just one moment he was alone reclining on his bed, thankfully just studying, he would never be able to look the man in the face if he’d dropped in on something less decent—and the next, black smoke erupted in the midst of his room and there stood good old Uncle Severus looking dire as ever.

“I am not here,” he announced before thrusting a thick, black leather journal and a large plumed, ebony quill his way. So he sat up and set his Transfigurations text aside, taking the journal and quill in hand. “This is required reading for your sixth year potions you are to guard it and keep it on your person at all times, Mister Malfoy. I suggest you check it regularly this week—starting tonight. You are to write in it only with that specific quill and none other.” Not so much as a hello or goodbye and he was gone in a poof of black smoke, but that wasn’t…well that _was_ the most normal thing about the entire interaction.

“Pleasure as always Severus,” Draco muttered as he looked the potions text over. A journal for…what? And why the devil was his own magic all over it? it was charmed to only open to his hand-

And he felt a wash of magic when he opened its front cover, the ghost of lips pressing a kiss to his cheek that distinctly felt like his mother, her magic brushing against his before it was gone.

“What the fuck?” Draco whispered his confusion.

It was a confusion that would occur multiple times for Draco Malfoy in the coming week.

All because of that damned journal.

It did start later that evening, Draco…left it propped open at his side while he resumed his studying. Until he heard the sound of quill scratching against parchment in swift, delicate strokes and his gaze snapped to the journal.

Oh Merlin.

_Dragon, my sweet. Heed me._

…Mother?

“Jinsey!” Draco bellowed.

The scrawny little thing _popped_ into existence in his chamber, adjusting her sack-cloth uniform as she appeared, the House Elf was trembling as she bowed her head. “Y-y-yes young Master Malfoy? Whatever you is needing, Jinsey is doing!”

“Where is my mother?”

“Mistress Malfoy is in her chambers, Jinsey is to be brushing her hair soon but she can be doing whatever young Master is needing.”

“What is she doing?”

“Mistress Malfoy does not…oh but it is young Master, so Jinsey can be saying—Mistress Malfoy is reading.”

“…what would you have said if I wasn’t _young_ Master?”

“That Mistress Malfoy is reading,” Jinsey supposed, “but this time it is being the truth!”

Huh. Well then. That was likely wise. Father being…father. “Is she reading or writing?” the journal was still scratching away with a message.

“Reading young Master.”

“Would she dislike interruption just now?”

“Oh Mistress is always happiness when she sees young Master!” Jinsey assured.

“Stay here, do not move from this spot until mother calls for you,” he instructed, and the House Elf nodded reverently, her form going rigid to stand stock still.

“Yes, young Master! Jinsey is being still!”

Draco snatched up the journal, holding it in hand with his thumb in its binding to keep it partially open as he strode from his chambers to his parents wing of the Manor, going to their bedroom door and…he considered knocking but if mother was up to something he didn’t want to give her the courtesy that might have her covering her tracks before he could enter, just what was she on about with this journal business-

Mother was lounging on her chaise, in her nightgown but thankfully she’d her favorite robe on, a long silken thing she dropped her book to begin closing the moment the door swung open, startled until she saw, “Oh! Dragon, my sweet,” she smiled warmly, eyes alight as she beckoned him forward. She had truly been just reading when he entered, huh. So what the devil? “To what do I owe the pleasure? Everything is well I hope?” and then concern entered her expression, “Darling? Whatever is it?”

Draco shook himself, “I’m perfectly well, mother,” he assured. “Just brushing up on potions,” he said, taking a quick peak to check…still going, huh. More words being etched on the page as they spoke. He snapped the book closed and held it out to her for her examination. “Uncle Severus…”hadn’t been there, “assigned this.”

Mother regarded the journal with some interest but nothing telling, nothing that said she knew what it was or what it was for. She traced a finger along the cover and attempted to open it, “You wish to keep your thoughts on potions private, Dragon?”

“Knowledge is power and all that,” Draco shrugged.

“Oh, well we can’t let just anyone into that brilliant mind of yours,” his mother supposed, offering the journal back. Well he wasn’t bloody Granger, the big brained bitch, but yeah he…he was brilliant.

His mummy believed as much. Somehow that made him feel better and all the more pathetic—the latter more strongly than the former.

“Sit with me wont you? I could have Jinsey get us some tea—some nice chamomile to send us off?”

Oh Merlin fuck him, he could already see the hurt blooming in her eyes when he met her with uncertainty, when he poised himself to decline her. Ugh. “Of course mother. That sounds wonderful. Though I think I’d prefer some Jasmine tea myself—I’ll be up for a while yet.”

Mother nodded, “So long as you promise you will get your rest, my sweet,” she supposed, “Jinsey!”

Jinsey popped right on in, gasping in air like perhaps she’d begun holding her breath awaiting the call—he’d just told her to stay in one place! She’d freedom to breathe at least! Crazy Elf. “Yes Mistress? What can Jinsey be doing?”

“Tea—chamomile and lavender for myself, and a piping hot Jasmine green for the young Master.”

“Right away Mistress!”

So, Draco had a pleasant time sitting with his mother, chatting and sipping at tea until he felt he’d spent enough time to placate her. He wasn’t about to be the Malfoy putting hurt in her expression but he did have business to be about. So he excused himself, brushing mother’s hair back from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead as he took her saucer and teacup from her to place on the tray for her for Jinsey to whisk away.

“Dragon?” she questioned. Huh. he did usually part ways with her with a kiss to the cheek, he’d gotten strangely sentimental like…for some reason, even as he was seated with her, had been biding his time waiting for the first lull in conversation to excuse himself he- Merlin he felt like he _missed_ her. What utter rot.

“Just missing you already I suppose,” he jested.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she smiled, caressing his cheek, “You joke but I truly do miss you whenever we are apart, light of my heart. Be well and have pleasant dreams.”

“You as well,” he wished her as he headed for the door.

“Darling? You’re forgetting your journal,” she called.

“Ahh, thank you,” he said, returning and taking it in hand. Merlin what was on tonight? He…holding the damn thing made it worse, “I love you, mother.”

“I love you more than my heart can stand it,” she assured him, Merlin. “Darling are you certain nothing is the matter?” she cast quietly, something to secure them he supposed before asking, “Is it a boy?”

Oh. Perish the thought. “No, I’m fine. I guess…perhaps um…Sunday approaching is getting to me. I am ready, excited,” he assured…sort of. He…he would do it, he was…ready to dedicate himself to the Dark Lord. He was. it was a great deal of pressure, surely he wasn’t cracking?

Mother held his gaze momentarily. “You may always speak to me, you know that don’t you?”

“Of course mother,” he cleared his throat, “good night.”

She nodded. “Good night my love. I will have Jinsey deliver you potion, should you need it.”

He offered a grateful smile, nodding before he took his leave, Merlin-cursed journal in hand.

He closed his chamber door and warded it the moment he returned to his room, throwing the journal open at his desk and sat down to read what the devil it said.

It said…a lot. Three entire pages of his mother’s handwriting.

What. The. Fuck.

He wasn’t sure how the hell this was even possible, it felt foolish to even entertain the idea but…Merlin, what was going on?! Someone posing as his mother was writing him through this damnable thing, was it a test? Severus testing him before his Marking ceremony on some lark or for the service of their Dark Lord, testing to make certain Draco truly was dedicated to this by giving him some strange journal that was currently trying to convince him _not_ to go through with taking the Mark. The very thing he had been raised to do since the moment he was bloody born!

The quill…Severus said to only write in this book with it, he was…meant to communicate back? He growled, accioing the stark black quill from where it lay untouched on his bed. “Alright. Okay. You’ve got this, this is…this is a test.”

_I don’t know who you are or why you’re mimicking my mother but you will cease this fraudulence in her name or so help me, Merlin, I will find you and I will mould your idea of pain in her name. I would never decry the Dark Lord. You can go fuck yourself._

_Draco Lucius Cygnus Aurelius Orion Quintus Malfoy!_ Was hashed out in harsh handwriting, still…still his mother’s and then _Mer-lin's balls_ ‘You can go fuck yourself’ bubbled up—suds appearing on the page to wipe his filthy words away before they resumed writing, _I do not care to whom you think you are speaking young man, it is quite clearly a Witch writing you and you will guard your tongue or it will be guarded for you. I raised you better than to befoul your sweet tongue in the presence of a lady. I am who you believe I am, as unbelievable as that may be. You kissed me on my forehead tonight, you interrupted my reading which you did not do before. Your course is already changing._ What the devil did that even mean?! _Dragon, my love, you must_ _believe me. I must be careful with what I say to you but darling you must not take the Mark. Severus will protect you—Potter and his allies will accept your allegiance if you refuse your birth-calling and go to them, we are making certain of that._ We? Who the devil was we? _Harry Potter and Hermione Granger—mister Potter is not reachable but if you agree Dragon, you must be brave, I know you can be. You will be given a portkey to the Weasley home, Hermione Granger will be awaiting you there. Use it, should you be unable to stay within the Manor—it will activate at your hand only so long as you remain unmarked. You’ve less than a week to come to your decision but please, my love, light of my heart—believe me. listen to me. do this._

He slammed the book closed and hurled it across the room what- what utter- he-

He couldn’t breathe, this- something was- had the book cursed him? He couldn’t bloody _breathe!_

Draco had fallen out of his chair, onto his knees, clutching at his chest as he tried to- to suck air into his lungs, any amount of oxygen to his brain would be _fabulous_ right now, Merlin’s _balls_ what was happening?

The door to his bedroom was blown open with a _bang_ and his father strode in—just where had he been all evening? What- his eyes swept over the room, landing on Draco,

“Draco? Were you hit with something? Did you touch something cursed?” his father barked out, hand grabbing at his shoulder to yank him upright, “Narcissa!”

His mother was already there, she’d apparated in just a split second before father blew the door down, “Put him down, Lucius, now!” she commanded, coming and pulling Draco to her as his father released his hold, “Darling?” she asked much more gently, her magic washing over him as she cast diagnostic charms and then, “Darling breathe, I know it might not feel like you can, but you can, Dragon. In and out, match your breathing to my own, in…” she inhaled, holding it momentarily, “and out…that’s a good boy. In…”

“What the devil is wrong with him?”

“A minor hex,” mother fibbed, “Lucius there is potion in my nightstand, it is warded to remain there unless purposely fetched and it cannot be touched by our House Elves to dissuade them from abuse. Do fetch it while I tend him.”

Father grumbled at that, robes flaring as he whipped around and apparated from Draco’s room. “Sweetheart?” mother implored then, quietly, “My darling you’re having a bought of panic. What triggered this?”

“I…” he couldn’t- he didn’t even know where to start. Panic? What nonsense he- “I’m fine, mother-“

“You are absolutely not fine, Draco Lucius Cygnus Aurelius Orion Quintus Malfoy,” mother came just short of snapping at him.

“Draco Lucius Abraxas* Aurelius Orion Quintus Malfoy,” father’s voice said as he reappeared with potion. Mother blanched as she whirled about,

“Of course darling, what did you think I said?” mother wondered innocently, taking potion from him.

“He looks fine to me now,” father said, questioning sharply, “who hexed you? You should deal with them post-haste.”

“Oh I will,” Draco assured, as believably as possible which…was not much but enough to convince father to stop staring at him with that assessing gaze that always left him certain he did not find nearly enough in his son.

…huh. Mother…Father did not know—nor did the world at large but on his birth certificate? His name was Draco Lucius Cygnus, _not_ Draco Lucius Abraxas. Only he himself and his mother knew as much, it…Merlin he was going to be sick, he thought.

Father scoffed, “Well, that’s enough dramatics for one evening,” he supposed. “I’ll be awaiting you in my chambers, Lady Malfoy.”

“I’ve a headache,” mother drily informed him over her shoulder.

“Then I suggest you take potion to right it," father hissed and Draco would be fine if the world opened up and swallowed him whole just now. "I’ve a trying day and I will not be tried further.”

“In a moment, Lucius,” mother said, and father thankfully left them. “You’re certain you’re alright, Dragon?”

“Do you want me to be Marked?” the question burst from his lips before he could so much as even consider asking it or the consequences it might have.

Mother looked at him very hard for a moment. “Of course darling, your father wants nothing more, why do you ask?”

…that…was her ‘hes been hexed, do fetch potion’ voice. Believable, but lying. “I am not asking what father wants. What do _you_ want, mother?”

He almost regretted it, asking such a thing, when it sent his mother so very pale, wan as if he words alone had somehow made her critically ill, eyes glossing over like she might cry and then, very carefully, as if she feared the words themselves as she whispered them, “If…if I could spare you, Dragon, I would. I have…tried. Your father insists and you…” she gulped, “well darling, it is your decision. And he is our Dark Lord. He will not abide…second thoughts,” she cleared her throat. “But darling there is nothing in this world that would keep me from protecting you. Nothing. I would go to the ends of the very Earth, conquer time and the Fates themselves if they meant to lay harm on you.”

Draco nodded slowly. “Um…you…you don’t have to go to him. The hex…could linger still, be more serious than you initially thought?”

Mother offered him a wavering smile, “Oh darling, thank you, but no. It is my duty. Put all thought of such things from your mind. Though if you’ve true need of me, you need only call, yes?” she questioned, smiling more brightly when he nodded and popping up on her toes to press a kiss to his forehead, “Get some rest now, have the sweetest of dreams, my heart.”

And then she was gone. And Draco was alone. He, and that damn journal.

He strode to it uncertainly, and then carefully picked it up.

_Alright mother, my apologies. What would you have me do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the 'naming children after constellations' tradition may come from the Blacks, but who better to break that than Cygnus himself? It's my personal headcanon that Narcissa Black is a major daddy's girl because her father loved her, possibly named her Narcissa to imbue a sense of self-love he felt certain his wife might destroy with her special brand of mothering he has seen her use on their two eldest children.  
> *in canon there is a floo connection in Severus Snape's office.  
> *Tilly Tokes is a famous Wizard found on chocolate frog cards. Her family is famous for their contributions to the development of a great many Charms, Tilly in particular for memory charms as she is famous for causing an entire town of Muggles to forget the revelation of magic when disaster struck their town from Dark Wizards while she and her family were summering there and defended them, and Tilly cleared their memories of the entire exchange. I found her on a list of famous HP Witches and Wizards and when I saw her story thought 'yup, this is def an event/someone Hermione researched before memory wiping her parents'.  
> *if 'Milkshake' was a 90s song and not created in the year of our lord 2004, this line would have read "I'm not sure who makes the milkshakes around here but they definitely bring me to the yard". Alas, baring time magic, t'was not meant to be.  
> *Blishen's makes a cinnamon flavored FireWhisky that can be safely consumed by Muggles as opposed to other kinds of FireWhisky.  
> *The OG spell for un-stupefying people was Ennerveate, but J.K. Rowling discovered that actually translates closer to "to weaken", so she changed it to "Reenerveate" which means "to energize", I see 'ennerveate' in most fic which is entirely fair, it is that way in earlier books. I thought I'd clarify in case there's any confusion.  
> *flooing is technically safer/meant for transporting people who are injured/unconcious, apparation is supposedly dangerous because all the moving parts involved but people also hold each other while apparating side-along so...that seems counter-intuitive so, in this instance, I'm going with 'it's safe as long as she's holding her securely'.  
> *Narcissa's father's name is Cygnus, Lucius's is Abraxas, he for sure wanted Draco's extra middle names to reflect his lineage and Narcissa pulled the biggest fast one ever.
> 
> Next Chapter: tentatively named 'Always Bet on Black' but that depends on the contents as it is a chapter plotted out as part of my 'pre-writting this' plan. There might be a chapter between this one and that one, only time (and perhaps time-travelers) will tell.


	4. Malfoy Managed pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events leading up to Draco's Marking Ceremony and it's immediate aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry! This is long and I have no chill when it comes to this ship apparently. Thank you so much for reading and for all the lovely comments and kudos! 🖤

Narcissa Malfoy was having the strangest evening.

For instance, she’d only just donned her nightgown when she was so rudely intruded upon.

“Good evening.”

Narcissa startled, wand in hand as she reached blindly for her robe and whirled about to face- Severus Snape, Merlin’s own wand! He just apparated directly into her bedchamber without so much as a by your leave! His eyes were downward cast toward the floor as he extended a wine red book to her, a golden quill trapped neatly in the book’s quill keeper, her name emblazon on its cover made it obvious enough that, “This is yours. Do keep an eye on it,” he sternly intoned. Who was he to take such a tone with her in her own home?! She snatched the items away and opened her mouth to question just what the devil he thought he was on but, “And for future reference, Narcissa—you are an utter annoyance,” he informed her before disapparating without further preamble.

_She_ was an utter annoyance?!

What a curious thing. The book—a day planner, apparently—bore her magical signature. Both in the literal signature of her own magic being imbued in its bindings and the fact that while there was no secondary trace of it, she could tell this was…this was her own casting. _She_ had spelled this planner, she and…someone else, there was further magic in its pages, each and every page painstakingly spelled for some purpose she just wasn’t certain _what_. The quill was much the same. What…how was this possible? She’d never seen this book before and yet she’d cast upon it, charmed it so only she could open it. To what end? And more importantly—when? When had she done this?

“Jinsey—tea. Darjeeling, piping hot,” Narcissa ordered as she donned her robe and settled on her chaise, strange day planner in hand.

“Here Mistress!” Jinsey announced as she popped into the room, a saucer and tea cup clattering in her hand as she came to set it on the end table alongside the chaise, “Jinsey is bringing you tea! Piping piping hot hot hot! Is Mistress needing for anything else?”

“That is all,” Narcissa dismissed her.

“Of course Mistress!” Jinsey chirped cheerily before vanishing from sight. Narcissa sipped at her tea and focused. What was the meaning of this? Why had she been given such a book—how had Severus come to have it in his possession and why was he the one who delivered it to her? Was it…something she’d enchanted under order of the Dark Lord? It was not common but occasionally they were set to task and then their memories were wiped clean of just what they’d done in the name of their Lord. No…no there was something…the magic woven into the pages, into the Quill it was like _light_ in its most pure, literal sense, no darkness to be found in any part of it. It felt like something beautiful and…there was the ghost of something mesmerizing about it all, coasting along her magic, like an emotion that was _hers,_ but _she_ hadn’t felt it. There was none in their ranks, no one they associated with for outside assistance that had magic like this, and no one with this sort of magic would deign assist a plot for the Dark Lord.

Her search for answers only led to more questions and _that_ was an utter annoyance. So, perhaps Severus was right.

“Jinsey! Clear this away—is Master Malfoy returned from his meeting?”

“Jinsey is clearing right away Mistress! Jinsey is not sensing Master Malfoy in the house. Young Master is being studying very very hard for when he returns to school!” she announced with excited pride. It was…quaint, the adoration the House Elf had for her Dragon. Darling boy, he did precious little with his summers but studied and trained for the coming year of Quidditch. He pushed himself far too hard, Lucius’s doing. It ached her, to her core that no matter what, even if Draco came home with perfect marks, captain of the Quidditch team, foremost in every arena Hogwarts had to offer? Lucius would still look for some fault in him, and if he could not find it, he would make one to keep his son in line. He pushed Draco so hard to give him the skill set he would need to run the Malfoy home in future—and punished him so to keep that future at bay, make Draco compliant and kept low, until Lucius was willing to give up the reins. Oh, she could- she couldn’t, but she _wished_ to throttle her husband when Draco came home this summer with an _ulcer_ of all things to spell away. He suffered it for Merlin knew how long! What were they paying that school, that none of his Professors realized he was ill?! It took all of a single look at her son when he arrived home for summer holiday for Narcissa to feel something was amiss—in less than an hour she had Healer Marigold in to examine him to discover he’d a _hole_ burning through the lining of his stomach! She’d been an utter annoyance to Severus then—a never ending string of Hexlers* had plagued his office for a week courtesy of Narcissa Malfoy’s outrage! He was Draco’s _godfather and Head of House!_ He was to guard and guide Draco in the way Narcissa herself would when he was away at school! How her child had gotten so stretched thin under his watch was unforgivable!

“Do alert me to Master Malfoy’s return—and offer the young Master a gentle reminder as to the time when it nears the witching hour that it is an hour best used in the service of beauty rest or rituals of bestial sacrifice and precious little else—do not allow him to keep himself up late studying unchecked and alert me at once if the hour comes to pass and he remains as he is, you are to wake me and I will right it.”

“Of course Mistress! Jinsey will be doing everything Mistress is saying, Jinsey will be bringing the Young Master anything he asks and taking care of the Young Master, yes she will!” the Elf eagerly assured. And then she saw fit to remind Narcissa, “It is nearing nine in the evening, is Jinsey to be being brushing Mistress’s hair?”

Magic thrummed through the book in her grasp and when she flipped back to the first day’s page, she saw…her plan for the rest of the evening, was scrawling a path across the page. Well. Not a scrawl—very neat, precise handwriting that was…it was just on the edge of her mind, she could feel it, it was familiar somehow, like she had seen it before she just couldn’t quite pinpoint as to _where._

“Not for some while yet,” she said, waving Jinsey off, “I’ve a bit more reading to do tonight.”

A bit more became a great deal more.

_Hi. So, there isn’t much time but there are things that are about to happen that desperately need to be avoided. Draco is about to accept his Dark Mark and I know for a fact that is not what you want for your son. You don’t want it so badly you’ve actually done the most impossible thing you could do to stop this from happening. Before you panic—I’m an ally. I know you and I’m working with you. I can’t explicitly say how but I understand if you need assurances. You can deny not wanting Draco to go through with this, but there are other things I know, benign things. You need glasses to read, you insist corsets are comfortable (which I honestly doubt but I’ll take your word for it), and_ there was a pause, like the writer had taken a quick moment to think or…or convene with- with someone…because the next thing they wrote? _There is a peony bush on your estate dedicated to the memory of Blaise Zabini’s Muggle aunt—Jenny Barnes. She passed of a blood disorder, and Blaise wasn’t allowed to attend her funeral so you planted the flowers he meant for her and when he leaves her things, you take care of them. You save them in a memory box, and you’ve arranged in your will for someone to take charge of the box upon your passing and continue the tradition, that someone will always care for that bush, and anything Blaise leaves it will always be secured and kept safe and eventually buried beneath it upon Blaise’s passing. God that’s so sweet! Sorry, anyway—yeah I know you. I know in your heart, you don’t want this for Draco and all I’m asking is that you listen to me in the coming year and help us make some things right before they go wrong. Right now I’m not asking you to do anything too insane—tonight I’m just asking that you consider being honest with Draco about your feelings insofar as his being Marked and dedicating himself to the Dark Lord’s use._

Merlin preserve her she knew this writing—Hermione Granger. _Merlin_. She’d only seen the girl’s every major exam and essay for the last five years when Lucius would come home with copies in hand, waving them in Narcissa’s face and demanding to know just what she thought they should do about their son—how could he possibly be so inferior to this blighted Mudblood spawn of a Muggle sow? And she…

Something like panic rose in her magic, like she was testing something that should be left alone—she entertained the thought for a fleeting moment and then banished it, she could know it without thinking about it, thinking about it would be dangerous but…she was with her. Miss Granger was somewhere…with her, some version of her. Merlin had she somehow managed time travel? Bent the laws of the universe to save her son from joining forces with-

…that was believable enough, honestly. She would do such a thing if this decision led Draco to destruction. Oh Merlin was- was he _dead?_ Had he perished for his father’s cause? Or had he just sunk himself to utter ruin? She was just about to call for Jinsey to update her on his well being now, if he was well, if he was still working, verification that her precious child was well in this time she had with him now but-

As if her thoughts had called him, the door burst open and she was interrupted for a second time that evening without so much as a knock, though this time it was far from unappreciated. It was not necessarily polite but neither was it entirely necessary, he was her son. He did startle her to the point she dropped the book and it snapped close with a crisp, forceful sound like it had been spelled to be closed when not in her grasp and she relaxed when she saw her darling,

“Oh! Dragon, my sweet,” her smile came as easy as breathing, for this boy, “To what do I owe the pleasure? Everything is well I hope?” she couldn’t help but question after having such horrific thoughts of the future and…and then her child, Merlin he looked just pale and stressed, looking at her as if he was seeking out some danger that might be at hand. “Darling? Whatever is it?”

The boy shook himself, “I’m perfectly well, mother,” he assured. A lie on some level—he did not appear physically harmed, and he was intentionally hiding something. She would find out what—she was his mother, she could read him like… “Just brushing up on potions,” …an open book. He had one in hand though he snapped it closed and held it out for her examination, gaze assessing as if trying to gauge her reaction to it. Why? “Uncle Severus…assigned this.”

She did not need that last sentence to verify her suspicions—the moment the journal was in hand she felt…Draco’s magic, but _saw_ her wand work and…what she could only assume was Miss Granger’s magic imbued in its pages—she could not open the book for further examination but along the edges of the journal’s parchment whatever magic Miss Granger laid upon it was clear. She kept her expression…neutral to a degree, but interested, like she would be in any of Draco’s school materials. “You wish to keep your thoughts on potions private, Dragon?” she asked innocently. Would he be forthright?

“Knowledge is power and all that,” Draco shrugged.

…apparently not but he was only Slytherin. Was…was Miss Granger writing him likewise- oh. she thought it had been a trace of her left over spellwork—that she miscalculated and left a glance of her own magical signature behind but no it…there was a ghost of a kiss left on this tome, she had to press against the cover to feel the thrum of it _inside_ its confines. She’d sent her son a journal and a kiss- more uncomfortable tugging at her magic, she ceased thinking of it and merely basked in the relief that perhaps it was _she_ who was writing her son.

“Oh, well we can’t let just anyone into that brilliant mind of yours,” she supposed, offering the journal back. Oh, her heart panged at the bit of disbelief in his eyes at her praise. This was all…strange and confusing and she needed more information—and whatever else, Draco needed assurance that he could come to her. Both goals could be met with more time. “Sit with me won’t you? I could have Jinsey get us some tea—some nice chamomile to send us off?”

He seemed like he might refuse her and she let the bit of sting she felt be laid open for him to see—he could not abide her hurt and that suited just now. He relented immediately, “Of course mother. That sounds wonderful. Though I think I’d prefer some Jasmine tea myself—I’ll be up for a while yet.”

She nodded, “So long as you promise you will get your rest, my sweet. Jinsey!”

Jinsey appeared in rather exaggerated fashion, Merlin, just what had she been doing? She was gasping in air like perhaps she’d begun holding her breath for some time. “Yes Mistress? What can Jinsey be doing?”

“Tea—chamomile and lavender for myself, and a piping hot Jasmine green for the young Master.”

“Right away Mistress!”

So, she led her son in pleasant conversation, mere chatting and a spot of tea. His gaze kept dropping to the tome he’d brought and she wondered if he’d left his writer to wait while he investigated his mother's goings on, which verified that he _thought_ it was her, and had come to her chambers in the hopes of catching her in the act. All too soon, he excused himself, reaching for her saucer of tea and leaning in to kiss her on the che-

He brushed her hair back from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Dragon?” she questioned, that had been a shade more affectionate than usual.

“Just missing you already I suppose,” he offered like a jest, but the truth of it was reflected in his eyes, they were almost misting over, glistening a bit with some emotion he was keeping in check.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she smiled, caressing his cheek, “You joke but I truly do miss you whenever we are apart, light of my heart. Be well and have pleasant dreams.”

“You as well,” he wished her as he headed for the door. Oh dear, he abandoned his journal on her chaise which…might be dangerous if he was in the middle of receiving some warning…warning not to go through with his ceremony, perhaps.

“Darling? You’re forgetting your journal,” she called.

He stopped still, startling and whirling back around immediately to rectify that, “Ahh, thank you,” he said, returning and taking it in hand. And then he looked at her, and she thought- oh Merlin she thought he might cry. “I love you, mother.”

“I love you more than my heart can stand it,” she assured him, her own chest constricting. “Darling are you certain nothing is the matter?” she cast then to secure their privacy—it was dangerous to speak freely in the chambers she shared with Lucius—if Lucius felt the remnants of her casting later and made question of it, well, she would just deal with that. Oh how could she convince this boy to talk to her? Let him know he was free to speak of anything? She could tell him, but just outright doing so might strike up suspicion that she was aware of whatever plot was afoot. So she chose words that invited that sentiment in a different regard, “Is it a boy?”

His cheeks pinked at that and he waved her off. “No, I’m fine. I guess…perhaps um…Sunday approaching is getting to me. I am ready, excited,” he assured…falsely. He was always so brazen with his proclamations in front of Lucius she’d little room to question them but this…was the first time they’d brought it up just between them. And that was on Narcissa, wasn’t it? She…

Oh Merlin she truly didn’t want him to be Marked. So much so she’d never dared speak of it privately with him for fear of betraying herself, revealing too much only to be met with giving Draco a situation where he would have to inform his father or the Dark Lord that she had doubts about his joining their cause and that would only spell danger for them all. But he…oh there was some part of him, it was clear now, he did not…he did not want this.

She held her son’s gaze just one moment more, thankful their conversation had worked naturally to, “You may always speak to me, you know that don’t you?”

He seemed to consider it at the very least, “Of course mother,” he cleared his throat, “good night.”

She nodded. “Good night my love. I will have Jinsey deliver you potion, should you need it.”

He offered a grateful smile, nodding before he took his leave, journal in hand.

_…you love Teddy Tonks, you’re happy that your sister has a love like his. You’ll be sad wh-_ the ‘wh’ was suddenly furiously scribbled out, _if something happens to him._ Oh Merlin above—was her sister in danger? Was her sweet husband? What- _Blaise Zabini spends a lot of time in Malfoy Manor—he had a horrible crush on you growing up. Now he’s a crush on me, apparently which is, disturbing, given his political beliefs._

Hermione Granger was writing her endeavoring to convince her to…be honest, she said. About her feelings surrounding his taking the Mark. Was she…likewise duplicated in time? Or had Narcissa found some way to do so and for some inane reason sought a Muggleborn Witch’s aid? The poor girl seemed to be rambling now, afraid Narcissa wasn’t believing her, that they were working toward this goal together, that she could sincerely know Narcissa’s heart on the matter.

…she’d been given a quill with this day planner. She was meant to write back, yes? She took up the quill full of Miss Granger’s magic, and on the next available line. _Read and registered. I will consider it. Is my sister and her family in current danger?_

“Mistress?” Jinsey’s voice sounded and Narcissa glanced up at the Elf only barely, “Master Malfoy is being returning. He just apparated into the foyer and is wanting dinner—Slingy is preparing it!” she informed.

…he was wanting dinner? Oh dear. His meeting with the Board of Governors must have gone poorly then. Successful ventures always resulted in his inviting them out for some victorious feast of fine dining, a way of further extending the ego stroking high of the encounter as opposed to…immediately returning home to lick his wounds. It was no matter, she’d more important things that had her focus just now. “Very good Jinsey, thank you,” she said dismissively.

“Of course!” Jinsey chirped, blinking from the room as Narcissa returned her gaze to the book, catching up with Miss Granger’s writing.

_Oh gosh, no, not at all! Sorry if I worried you this is tricky. I’m still getting a feel for what I can and can’t say. I’m decently sure as long as I don't outright tell you the future but offer guidance on how to handle the now, and it is me interacting with you/acting as a go-between, the fabric of space and time should hold up well on. You’ve been discrete with Draco so I’m trying to be discrete with you in case that’s what this situation needs. Do you have any questions? I’ll be up for a while yet, feel free to reach out through the planner any time, and I’ll get back with you as quickly as possible. The planner is charmed to allow us to communicate but it is also private—it will close on its own if you aren’t actively engaged with it in some way, either by holding it or by having your eyes on it. You’re the only one who can open it. And if someone were to catch you with it open, came up behind and peered at it over your shoulder or something? The letters are made to scramble, multiply, and disappear as needed to form benign sentences that will just look like normal planners ent-_ there was a pause again, for a minute or so and Narcissa’s heart went still in her chest, had…had they been discovered? Where were they doing this from? Had they been caught unawares? How would _she_ and Draco be implicated in this? But then the writing resumed unbothered, _ries. Like “lunch date with Anathema Zabini” or “Charity ball organizational meeting”, etc. So you needn’t worry about anything like that—if somehow someone broke the wards on the journal, that would keep them from reading its actual contents—everything we’ve written previously will be completely wiped and the day planner entries will be permanent, real, so they can’t be manipulated to reveal what was once there—if that happens we’ll just get you a replacement, no worries._ Goodness. Well, that was very clever. …brightest Witch of her age may well be accurate.

_I will write as questions arise. I will consider what you have said. Good evening._

She’d all but gotten her sentence punctuated when her heart stuttered in her chest and an alarm pulled and panicked her magic and she was immediate to quite literally drop every last thing she was doing and followed the pull to apparate to Draco’s side. Oh her child!

Her damnable husband! He had his hands on their son, shaking him roughly and barking questions like petulant demands—that was hardly the way to handle someone in the midst of a panic attack!

But neither would Lucius abide actually acknowledging that _his son_ , product of his line, could have such an aberration in his design that he would fall victim to something like a panic attack.

So she placated him, gave him something to keep him busy and get him away while she took her child in her arms and talked him through his panic, placated Lucius and gave him something to keep him busy, get him away while she sought the reason her son was so upset, though she’d a feeling it’d something to do with the journal he’d seemingly hurled at the wall in the pique of his frustration-triggered panic.

“You are absolutely not fine, Draco Lucius Cygnus Aurelius Orion Quintus Malfoy,” she criticized, though she could kick herself, she’d not heard Lucius return!

“Draco Lucius Abraxas Aurelius Orion Quintus Malfoy,” he corrected in cool, deadly tones.

“Of course darling, what did you think I said?” she wondered innocently, taking potion from him. Calming draught that she took from time to time, to help her sleep—it would do likewise for Draco.

“He looks fine to me now,” her husband said, questioning sharply, “who hexed you? You should deal with them post-haste.”

“Oh I will,” Draco assured.

Lucius scoffed, “Well, that’s enough dramatics for one evening,” he supposed. “I’ll be awaiting you in my chambers, Lady Malfoy.”

“I’ve a headache,” Narcissa offered dismissively, honestly—Draco had just had an upset, he may well still need comfort, and she’d hardly any interest in their bedroom activities if Lucius was in a mood. It would not be a thing of passion or mutual benefit when he was seeking to fulfill some self gratification _somewhere_ , he’d not found it at his precious meeting so he would find it here, it would not be dissimilar to him taking care of himself which Narcissa would honestly prefer—he would delight where his hand would find little in their ministrations and she could save herself a genuine headache.

“Then I suggest you take potion to right it," Lucius hissed. "I’ve a trying day and I will not be tried further.” Ahh. She would be incapable of denying him tonight. Well then.

“In a moment, Lucius,” she offered in quiet submission, her tone would get her at least that much—it did, he left and she could at least see to it Draco was well. “You’re certain you’re alright, Dragon?”

He stared at her the way he had earlier, like he was assessing a threat. “Do you want me to be Marked?” the question burst from his lips and his eyes went wide like he regretted asking instantly, that he…despite Miss Granger’s warnings her son…he did not want her honest answer, how could he?

“Of course darling, your father wants nothing more, why do you ask?” something in her felt a sense of warning. Miss Granger…at her behest…had warned her to be forthright but if she was not careful she could get herself—more importantly her son—killed, or worse.

With the Dark Lord there could always be worse.

But then her child looked her in her eyes, and something in his gaze spoke to his resolve, what courage he could muster helped him form his next words, “I am not asking what father wants. What do _you_ want, mother?”

And Narcissa Malfoy would always be brave, for her son. That did not mean it came out without trepidation. “If…if I could spare you, Dragon, I would. I have…tried.” _Oh,_ had she tried. _Everything._ “Your father insists and you…” she gulped, “well darling, it is your decision. And he is our Dark Lord. He will not abide…second thoughts,” she cautioned him, praying he would heed the warning—that if some version of herself was imploring him to refuse the Dark Lord, and he went through with it, there would be consequences. She cleared her throat. “But darling there is nothing in this world that would keep me from protecting you. Nothing. I would go to the ends of the very Earth, conquer time and the Fates themselves if they meant to lay harm on you.” She’d always thought as much and now…she’d some strange tome that proved it beyond measure.

Draco nodded slowly. “Um…you…you don’t have to go to him. The hex…could linger still, be more serious than you initially thought?”

Oh her sweet boy. She offered him what smile she could. “Oh darling, thank you, but no. It is my duty. Put all thought of such things from your mind. Though if you’ve true need of me, you need only call, yes?” she questioned, smiling more brightly when he nodded and rose up on her toes to press a kiss to his forehead, something aching in her heart that once upon a time it had been the other way around—her child rising on tiptoe as she knelt to dole out such sweet kisses. She loved this boy immensely—immeasurably. “Get some rest now, have the sweetest of dreams, my heart.”

* * *

“Harry, Ron…” there was an impatient sigh. “Harry! Ronald! Wake up! Oh wake up this instant—he added another text!”

Harry heard Ron’s ‘huh?’ overlapping his own “Huh- wha-?” he startled awake, snorting up a snore as he shot up, more at the urgency in Hermione’s voice than at her words he just- best friend, panic, screaming—what was wrong and who did he have to blast about it?

…might…might have to blast Hermione about it. Love her. Die for her. But damn it wasn’t even noon on a…whatever day it was. Friday? Saturday? Merlin, he must be exhausted, he didn’t hear himself mumble out his complaint that it was the _weekend_ during _summer hols_.

Hermione Granger was seated at the foot of Ron’s bed, staring across at Harry incredulously, “It’s _Tuesday_ , Harry.”

“Its _Summer_ , Hermione. The passage of time is meaningless—I don’t ask the sun to rise, it doesn’t ask me, it’s a mutual agreement we’ve got going on and I’d ask you to respect that.”

“Professor Snape’s assigned another book at the last minute!”

“You want me to what? I mean I’ll kill him, if that’s what you’re asking, but that’ll definitely get us expelled, or at least suspended.”

“Might be worth it mate,” Ron mumbled from his bed. “Not another of those bloody boring supplemental materials. Last year's made me want to put my own head through a wall.”

“ _I_ read last year’s supplemental materials and _told you_ what you needed to know for exams because you lot put it off until the very last minute we were walking to class!” Hermione snapped at him.

“Well yeah, s’why we love you. Big sexy brain of yours.”

…pretty sure Hermione’s hair physically elevated like stray magic coursing through it causing it to rise, shooting through her hair instead of outward expressing itself at Ron’s expense though that didn’t help with Hermione raising her arms overhead, three book-sized brown paper packages stacked neatly in her hands and prepared to be brought down on Ron’s legs.

“Wha-ho there, Granger-Danger,” Harry called and she halted her attack, looking back over her shoulder at him, “drop the blunt object and step away from the best friend.”

She let out a frustrated growl at that, haughty and huffy as she rose from Ron’s bed after she carefully set the packaged tagged _Ronald Weasley_ on his covers and came to Harry, seating herself at the end of his bed and pointedly keeping her back to Ron as she handed Harry the package marked _Harry Potter_ . Hers was tagged with _Miss Granger_ he noticed, huh. He shrugged and began unwrapping his book, hissing and shaking out his hand, sticking the underside of his index finger in his mouth to suck at the papercut it earned him and Hermione rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she quietly cast to unwrap…all three of their books with a single spell holy hell, where had she picked that up?

“It’s blank,” Ron said with some relief before he visibly shrank, slumping over with a groan, “oh bloody hell. Bastard probably wants us to fill this up with all sorts of extra work. Is that all Professors do all summer long? Dream up new methods of torture? Oi Hermione—that Geneva convention thing cover this?”

“Only during times of war and the Ministry of Magic did not have a representative at the Geneva Convention that made themselves known on our behalf, anyway,” Hermione absently rattled off, looking…focused, concerned actually, at the first page of her journal.

“’mione?” Harry asked softly. There was writing, her handwriting, not Snape’s jagged scrawl, but if Ron’s was blank why wasn’t hers and who else would have written in it other than Snape? In Hermione's handwriting no less? Oh shit. _Miss Granger_ , was that…was he up to something? If that arsehole sent her something full of threats made to look like she'd written them to herself or…something groady Harry didn’t care how expelled killing a professor would make him. He opened his own to check-see—if Snape was doling out insults he probably left some for Harry, right?

… “Mione…” he said again, to get her attention and only just catching it as she dragged her gaze up from her own text. He showed her the first page of his journal, familiar handwriting filling the entire page and she didn’t look away from it as she spoke over her shoulder.

“Ronald your mother slaved over a hot stove for hours this morning to make breakfast. Rasher’s and plenty of scrambled eggs left over—maybe bring something back for Harry.”

“Oh sweet yeah,” Ron readily agreed, swinging out of bed with the mission of food, he only halted when he realized…Harry wasn’t certain he caught on that Hermione was sending him away…nope. “You want anything? You’ve eaten, yeah?” mmm yeah. In the Weasley house, ‘have you eaten?’ means ‘I love you’. And ‘are you parched, dear?’ or ‘you’re warm enough, right?’ or ‘owl me when you get settled’ and ‘I love you’ also meant I love you. Merlin the Weasleys were…dunno, usually hit Harry in his heart with the warm fuzzies, made him feel loved in a way that ached, made him squirm a bit because there was always something in the back of his mind that told him he didn’t deserve it, wasn’t meant to be loved like that…either the whole ‘orphaned in infancy’ or the ‘spending his formative years having that drilled into it’ thing. Both. Probably both.

Hermione nodded absently, “M-hm, I ate.”

Ron smiled real soft, the way he did at Hermione, something warm and wistful. Poor bloke had it bad. “Bring you back a cuppa,” he went ahead and promised, “Mum make fresh scones?”

“Always does,” she shrugged, still staring at the journal like…well Merlin she looked a little haunted, honestly.

Ron nodded, mouthing ‘cream and jam’ to remind himself that’s how…his ‘not his girl’ liked her scones, and then he left them to set about getting just that. Merlin bless him.

“I take it you didn’t wri-“

“Harry…if you don't want time doing something absolutely bonkers and irreparable…do not show me your journal again,” Hermione gravely intoned, and then she hyperventilated a little, “Oh Merlin- Merlin! Crap crap crap how- wh- why-“

“Hey, hey hey hey—it’s cool it’s cool,” he soothed, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I won’t- yeah shit uhh…you think it’s-“ time travel, he was going to say but she nodded immediately, cut him off yup. Holy shit. Holy shit. Okay. He gulped, Hermione was…here in front of him…and somewhere else…and she’d written him through Snape’s new assignment… “You think this is something for the Order?” he wondered.

Hermione shook her head ‘no’, “Definitely going off book for this one, I think.” Harry snorted at her pun and she looked up from her own journal, the direness in her expression lightening a bit as she realize she’d _made_ a pun. “I don’t know who the hell is writing in mine but she isn’t me which is likely wise.” And then she reached out and-

“Ow!” Harry yelped, bit much for how light the smack to the back of his head was, but still! “What did _I_ do?!”

“ _Obviously_ something so _horrendous_ we came back from the future to stop it!”

“Oi! S’not my handwriting in that thing, is it?” he defended, half-wondering, and when she shook her head, “It's yours, so maybe it’s got nothing to do with me—you’re the one, you know,” time traveling, “how do you know you didn’t do…” she just stared at him and that was…fair, honestly. “Okay yeah. You’re probably cleaning up some kind of mess we’ve made. Sorry in advance?”

“Apology accepted in advance, what is… _she,”_ she tested the word in reference to herself, as if taking a tentative step into the unknown of just how to circumvent time being a major bitch about duplicates of people running around, “telling you?”

_"You_ read it.”

“ _She_ spelled it,” Hermione said. “I recognize it as my doing because it's my- her- our? Our magic and if I focus I can sort of challenge it since I have the magic that made it, I can vaguely see er, _her_ handwriting but it's just barely perceivable. It just looks like you've begun filling your journal with bad potions notes. No offense.”

It was probably supposed to look like he took them, so. “None taken,” he assured, turning his attention to his journal. _Harry it’s me. If you’re reading this I’ve probably woken you up freaking out about Snape assigning a last minute addition to our text list…_

He uh…kind of felt like his eyes were going to fall out of his head. “…Draco Malfoy’s defecting and we’re supposed to welcome him with open arms.” Well, _be nice, don’t turn him away_ and _keep him safe._

“…mine says pretty much the same…” Hermione said, squinting at the text, cheeks pinking a bit.

“What?”

“I think she might be flirting with me?” she said it like a question that brought her utter confusion.

“She?”

Hermione shrugged, “Just looks like a woman’s handwriting—it’s not me-” she stopped, cleared her throat, and started again, “it’s not. So it must be someone…else. She’s proving that she’s with…her,” other Hermione—Merlin, how did two Hermione’s existing in the same timeline alone not completely break the balance of things? “Making fun of my usual dine out order at the café between…” she paled a bit. “Oh Merlin we’re at…” and then she caught herself, like she’d been about to say too much, looking up at Harry a bit wide eyed before she ducked her head again, “…a loss here, aren’t we? I mean…Draco Malfoy defects? Is that…has he been going to,” oh, she looked a bit wrecked at the notion that just occurred to her, “Merlin, you don’t think he’s died or something do you?”

…yeah that might be a bit much but, “He’s been nothing but an absolute bastard to you since day one at Hogwarts!”

“So?! Being an insufferable prick and calling me Mudblood doesn’t mean he deserves-“ her last four words were shakey, faltering as a look washed over her face, her expression losing its fierceness and she swayed a bit, swallowing like she’d just about sicked up, oh shit.

“’mione?” Harry reached out, hand on her arm to steady her, keep her on the bed at the very least, ready to pull her away from the edge if she was about to fall or something, Merlin. “What’s wrong?”

“I- I don’t know,” she shook her head as if to clear it, “Sorry I just got a bit light headed, is all-“

“Mione?” oh, hell. Ron was back, Harry realized that’d been the door opening he’d heard when he reached to secure Hermione. Bloke had a tray he immediately set aside on the cluttered dresser, sending odds and ends crashing to the floor as he came to kneel alongside Harry’s bed, “I thought you said you ate? Is something wrong, are you feeling poorly? You want me to get mum?”

She shook her head again, looking confused, “N-no I’m fine I think I just…I dunno, got a bit woozy in my magic when I said Mudbloo-“ oh _fuck,_ she lost all color that time and looked like she might be in _pain._

“I’m getting mum-“ Ron decided.

“It’s fine Ronald-“

“Don’t you ‘Ronald’ me! Not about this! Hermione, something’s wrong!”

“Is it just an er…anxiety thing, you think?” Harry offered carefully. Hermione could get like that sometimes, work herself up so much, stretch herself too thin, and just have a miserable time of things, panic attacks—there’d been one night last year they made her see Pomphrey because they thought she was having a bloody _stroke_ , she’d had this tingling in her arms and legs for hours she only thought to mention when Ron wondered at her dropping her quill for a third time in five minutes. Medi-Witch said it was severe, but a symptom of Anxiety, and uh…

Well Harry and Ron didn’t hit the library for much, outside the Restricted Section. But they’d holed up in there the rest of the weekend reading up on every last thing Hogwarts had to offer about anxiety disorders, and shooing Hermione away—Pomphrey bloody _told her_ to take the weekend off and get some rest!

Being called a slur just for existing could have a lot of negative shit tacked onto it, even when you’re just saying it yourself with zero malevolence. Maybe it was a er…what was it called? Trigger?

“Maybe,” she softly supposed…didn’t sound entirely convincing, like she’d already had some other theory as to what it really might be.

“Why are you saying that nasty word anyway?” was what Ron wanted to know, reaching up to tuck a curl of Hermione’s hair behind her ear, “’mione…hell you aren’t er…don’t talk about yourself like that, okay? Blood-status is utter rot, you’re _the_ brightest witch of our age, it doesn’t matter you come from Muggles—hell that’s even more incredible! You’ve come so far and done so much and you _do_ belong here, at Hogwarts, in the Wizarding World.”

Hermione smiled a bit, looking to Ron, “I wasn’t being self-deprecating, Ron. I was just talking about…” she looked to Harry as if uncertain they should drop the whole _we fucked up so bad we time traveled to stop it and now we’re getting messages from our future selves or at least future-Hermione and some strange lady possibly flirting with her_ thing. “…the coming school year,” she settled on for now and Harry nodded.

“Oh. You’re worried about Pureblood supremacist bullshite?” Ron supposed. “No one’s been picking on you this summer, have they? You’ve been getting a lot of letters.”

Hermione shook her head, “No those are er…Luna, Susan Bones.” Uh huh. Yeah they were. “Mostly Aiden—they’ve got some Summer Arithmancy homework that’s a real bear.”

Ron nodded. “Alright. Someone’s messing with you though you tell me, got it?”

“You’re not the boss of me Ronald Weasley—I can take care of myself.”

Ron patted her on the shoulder, smiling wide, “That’s my girl.” He grunted as he pushed to his feet and went to retrieve the tray, “Alright, we got bangers, few rashers of bacon, eggs, scones, tea all ‘round.”

Harry and Hermione were quick to set their journals and quills aside, as they spread out on the bed, Ron sitting across from Hermione at the foot of the bed while they dug into their spread, Hermione sipping every cup of tea, eating every morsel Ron determinedly plied her with like he could ‘comfort food’ whatever ills were ailing her.

Somehow Harry didn’t think Molly Weasley’s love laced scones would fix the future…but stranger things had happened.

Like unfamiliar handwriting, not Hermione's, on the next clean line of Harry's Journal, reading the urgent warning: _do not_ _ever_ _permit the use of that horrible slur in Miss Granger's presence again!_

* * *

“Excellent work, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said as she reclined further on her side of the couch, elbow on the arm rest as she rested her head against her fist, eyes closing as she sighed tiredly. “My memory of last year is already beginning to alter, I believe.”

“Are you okay?” Hermione worried. It was getting late and they’d been talking plan of action for hours before actually writing the present’s Narcissa and Draco, it was reasonable to be tired but they weren’t certain the implications of changing time in such a way, maybe memories shifting was… “Do you have a headache?”

“Hmm?” Narcissa hummed, opening her eyes to look Hermione’s way, “apparently,” she drawled like it was something amusing?

“I can set your master copy for Draco to alert you if he writes in the night—you should get some rest.”

“I believe I’ll be writing you with questions later this evening it is…a point of focus for my presents self.”

“I’ll wake you if I need you but it should be fine, I mean you believe its me and you believe I’m trying to help, right?” Narcissa nodded. “Alright, upstairs missy—lets go,” Hermione insisted, rising up off the couch and holding out her hands to the older Witch.

Narcissa’s brow shot up at that, “I _do_ beg your pardon?”

“Upstairs—bed, now. Is it a sharp pain or spasmic?”

Narcissa regarded her with some hesitation before confessing, “Both. Sharp behind my eyes,” she said, massaging at the back of her neck.

Well that sounded like a lovely combination. “Uh huh. So, you’re going to go lie down,” she’d still smelled like her cleansing charms so, “Are you…” afraid of might not be the right words, or er…too right, “unfamiliar with the bath?”

“What is it, it’s made of?”

“Fiberglass, I think? Don’t…don’t quote me on that though. It’s perfectly safe, um if…” Hermione sighed when that didn’t seem to quell any concerns Narcissa had with their amenities, “you know what, come on—you’re going to lie down.”

“I am?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Very well. You…you will spell my journal to raise alarm if Draco writes?”

Hermione pulled her wand from where it rested behind her ear. Their Master copies were on the coffee table, Draco’s still laid open with Narcissa’s quill resting in the crease of the binding, and Hermione cast on it and then knelt before Narcissa, slipping her wand over the older Witch’s shoulder to rest its tip against the back of the woman’s ear. “There. No one else will be able to hear it but when Draco writes and you’re not attending the book, you’ll hear a quiet chiming in your left ear, it will thrum in your magic a bit, so you know for certain it’s specifically that happening.” And then as an afterthought…well she supposed it wouldn’t hurt, she tapped her wand to the back of her own ear. “There—if you are ever just super out of it or don’t wake up or something I’m your backup—if you don’t get up to check it, know that I will—help accordingly by either assuring him you’ll be up to answer him soon or answering myself or going to get you if it’s an emergency.”

“You…added yourself to this charm, to answer my son if he calls?”

“Yeah. I mean I wouldn’t invade your privacy—if you’re not answering I’ll always check in on you first and go from there, but even if I did read something personal I’d…dunno. Ally-to-Ally confidentiality? I wouldn’t hold it over either of you if, you know. He just needs his mum,” she shrugged.

Narcissa stared at her very hard, in a way that made Hermione more than nervous, it…was the same sort of stare she’d gotten the night she returned their vows to the older Witch, just before she dashed up the stairs like the devil was chasing her, so…it wasn’t exactly a comforting look. She softly cleared her throat, “Thank you, Hermione.”

“Of course. Now—you, bed, let’s go,” Hermione rose and held out her hands again, this time Narcissa accepted them and their help in pulling her to her feet.

“If you wish to join me Miss Granger I do assure you I require a touch more wooing than barking orders.”

Mer- _lin._ “If I was trying to get into bed with you, Mistress Malfoy, you’d know it,” Hermione shot back, “I’m just making sure you make it okay and I’ll be slipping into the upstairs bathroom if you don’t mind.”

The amusement in Narcissa’s expression evaporated there was something somehow both forthright and guarded in her face as she said, “Of course, Hermione.”

It was nice to be the person offering their arm for the walk upstairs instead of being the one getting dragged about, half-carried…er, full-carried, but that had been with apparation though. She walked Narcissa to her room and the older Witch waved her on through, granting permission to enter the room to use her door to the bathroom but,

“I’ll be just a moment—I’ll use my door, thanks. You go ahead and get comfortable, okay?”

She found what she needed in the landscaping out front, a few round, smooth stones, and then she dashed into the kitchen and put the kettle on, prepped the teapot so the water would…do its thing once it was heated up, begin pouring through the tea leaves in the infuser and into the pot before she cast between it and a teacup—if she got it right, it should conjure the finished product into the teacup at just the right level.

If she got it wrong she hoped it glitched in the ‘no tea at all’ appeared way and not the ‘the entire pot spilled into a single cup and got all over everything’ way.

Armed with stones and a teacup laden saucer, she ascended the stairs and entered the bathroom through the door Narcissa had been kind enough to replace in her room, and she set about her business. She hoped her spreading charms worked better on this than Harry and Ron’s dress robes—honestly! The boys were- no girl would ever dream a set of robes from fourth year would still fit nearly two years later! And they shot up like _weeds!_ But no, Bill and Fleur threw a bit of a party over the summer when she first moved in to the Burrow in the wake of their engagement and Hermione’d had to stretch the boys’ robes to their very limits to be anywhere near a decent length—and the night ended in Molly Weasley weeping buckets into Hermione’s shoulder _begging_ her not to take her Ronny away like Fleur…currently living in their home _with Bill_ …was with her eldest, as she watched Harry and Ron back their ways to the stairs because they’d _both_ managed to tear their robes right over their asses.

To be fair, Ron split his robes being an idiot and getting into a spot of roughhousing with the twins. Harry split his in an act of solidarity.

Oh Merlin she missed them.

But, she didn’t miss a single inch of the tub, she didn’t think, as she carefully examined her wandwork once more, drug a hand along every bit of surface space to ensure it was sturdy and smooth, it was kind of pretty, the smooth glossy white-streaked grey stone. She stopped up the drain and ran the bath, thanking Morgana that it seemed to be working splendidly! The bath filled without issue, and she…wasn’t certain if it would be appreciated or not but she’d give the woman some forewarning and leave a hole in her spellwork so it could be tugged away and easily broken if Narcissa wasn’t comfortable with it—the calming charm she cast over the warm bathwater. She was rewarded with the sound of the teacup filling—stopping! Without spilling over! Success all around!

She rapped her knuckles against Narcissa’s bathroom door and after a moment the woman softly offered, “Yes?” and Hermione went ahead and banished the door between her own room and the bathroom, tea saucer in hand as she stepped into Narcissa’s room. The older Witch was lying down atop her covers, arm draped over her eyes, her bedroom door open the barest crack to let some light in.

Hermione set her saucer down on the nightstand, offering quietly, “Here,” Narcissa’s arm raised to her forehead as she peeked up at her curiously, “Green tea. Just a little caffeine, sometimes that helps with headaches, ginger too. Ran the bath—having a bit of a wash up always makes me feel better and the warm water will do you some good.”

“…do me some good?”

“For your headache?”

“Have you some need of me this evening?” Narcissa questioned as if suspicious.

“No," Hermione said, shaking her head as she settled a journal on the nightstand, "I brought up Draco’s book in case he calls for you. If you need anything um,” huh…patronus was out of the question, but…she wondered. There were a few privacy wards Narcissa had put down on the room which was her prerogative, of course—she watched with close curiosity as Hermione examined the wards, paled like…oh she hadn’t meant to make the woman nervous, did she think Hermione would dislike or distrust her putting up such wards? “Your spellwork is always just gorgeous, Narcissa, you did a really amazing job warding this room without compromising the integrity of the wiring or electricity,” she complimented and the woman relaxed. “I’m just tacking on a little something of my own if that’s okay? I need your permission to do it—it won’t work otherwise. Do I have you permission to hear if you call for me?”

“…of course…?” she said it like a question, like she hadn’t quite caught on what Hermione meant. It would work, her permission, and Hermione would undo it in a heartbeat at Narcissa’s request.

So she cast, her wards weaving their way to interlock and twine in the bare spaces of Narcissa’s wards, a clear winding vine-esque circle in the spellwork around the room. “If you need anything just call for me, alright?”

“You…so you…you just…”

“Just what, Narcissa?”

The woman gulped, gaze tumultuous as she questioned, "Why?”

“Um…you have a headache? And I mean you never know, there could just be an emergency of some sort, and it might be more convenient too—if Draco does ever write you and you need to consult with me on something you can just call me-“

“I have a headache…you wish to rid me of…because it ails me.”

“That's how that works, right? Are you okay? Is- do headaches…they can really distract me sometimes, do they make you confused or something or is something else the matter?” Hermione worried, stowing her wand behind her ear and drawing nearer to rest the back of her hand against Narcissa’s cheek—the woman removed her arm from her forehead which was the real goal, honestly, she felt at the older Witch’s forehead for fever.

Narcissa shook her head, and then gingerly sat up, just kind of staring at her again. “I’m fine—I apologize perhaps I am out of sorts; the development of new memories is disorienting.”

“Is it…I mean is it something upsetting you? Are they bad memories or something?”

“Not a great many of my memories could be termed as good, Miss Granger.”

“Well what about Draco?” Hermione offered gently.

“Oh, that boy makes most of my best memories. But I gave him rather the fright tonight,” Narcissa said, oh- oh Merlin her chin quivered a bit and Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed, taking hold of her hand, thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand. “He couldn’t _breathe_ and Lucius was nothing short of harsh with him and-“

“He had a panic attack?” Hermione asked aghast, oh. That was- she did feel badly for him. “Narcissa it…it’s scary what we’re asking of him, but this situation is Tom Riddle’s doing—at the base of it all it isn’t your fault he’s got reason to panic. It’s understandable he’d have some struggle with it. And yeah maybe your conversation triggered it but… _you,_ Narcissa I don’t need to view your memories in a pensive to know you were there to comfort him. And gosh, that’s all that matters, you know? Panic attacks are rough, scary I- I’ve had my fair share. I don’t know what I’d do if my parents hadn’t been so incredible or if I didn’t have Ron or Harry.”

“…should you find yourself under such a circumstance, I hope you know you would have my aid, whatever comfort that may be.”

“You know for the Ice Queen of Malfoy Manor, you’re actually pretty great at the whole comforting thing. Are you sure you weren’t sorted into Hufflepuff?”

“Perish the thought.”

Hermione smiled, laughing a bit though, “Um…that’s upsetting, Draco getting so upset. Are you okay? Is um…is there anything else? If you need to talk I’m all ears. I’m an insufferably good listener just ask Snape. He says that my class notes are bloody transcriptions.” They were. For Harry. So Snape could just deal.

Narcissa smiled softly, though there was that look in her eyes again like…and up close it felt like being put directly under a microscope, being measured for something. “I had a headache.”

“Your presents self?”

Narcissa nodded. “Thank you for the tea, Hermione. I will bathe. Would…I’m uncertain how to ward your sheath from water damage, would it be ill advised to keep it near the tub?”

Hermione shrugged. “You can keep it in the tub, really. It’s made for battle, Narcissa, attack. That can happen anywhere and anything can result from it, so, I figured it would be prudent to make it so it and my wand remain resistant to water. That’s why er…”

“That’s why?” Narcissa prompted.

Hermione smiled sheepishly, tapping her own left forearm to prompt the other Witch to roll up her sleeve. She did so to reveal the wand sheath, “it’s why the runes are drawn up one direction, and down the other—anti-summoning protections go up, toward your elbow with their sharp corners they form as they criss cross along the length of the sheath. Anti-detection are drawn with these sort of half circles that arch downward from elbow to wrist, and they cross over the anti-summoning runes in a way that-“

“That forms drops of water within their design you- you used two protections to make a third.”

“And fourth, actually,” Hermione softly admitted, but if Narcissa was going to be using her sheath for good, it was best she had the facts, “it’s a double affect—it waterproofs in water, and fireproofs in um, the case of extreme heat.”

“…all the more clever. As was your- is that an adaptation to protean, or a separate spell? I did not see you cast more than Protean on the journals but you inlayed them with securities you did not discuss with me.”

“Oh sorry, yeah I- was that a problem? I should have discussed it with you, I promise to run all my ideas by you before acting in future.”

“It was hardly a problem, Hermione you…you do realize the word I’ve heard you say most is ‘sorry’. Often for nothing of any offense.”

“Oh!” Hermione chirped, yeah. She did apologize a lot sometimes, didn’t she. “Sorry-“ well that wasn’t- nope. “I do. I’ll work on it?”

“Please do, it is senseless to apologize needlessly you- you need not apologize for merely speaking or having thoughts of your own.” Didn’t she? Most people found them insufferable. Even Harry and Ron had their limits with her rambling. “Your thoughts more often than not are brilliant and potentially life saving.”

“It’s all part of the Protean charm. I guess it’s an adaptation? Its something woven into it to…yeah protect against spying or compromise, telling the letters how to react to different sets of eyes on them, to truly change into something benign if your wards get broken so someone other than their owner can open them,” She spoke aloud as she wrote to the present Narcissa, so the other Witch could stop or correct her if she was saying something that wouldn’t sit right with her, and Narcissa had had a moment, gasped and questioned _will it truly?_ When Hermione talked about the security measures she’d taken—Narcissa had advised that they be so guarded with their identities, not put down their names to paper but simply offer up facts that would allow their conspirators to deduce to whom they were speaking, as a form of precaution should an utter stranger ever lay eyes on their correspondence. Hermione shrugged. “I’ve learned a lot since fifth year.”

Narcissa nodded. “I believe I will enjoy a bath.”

“I can warm it again if you’d like? Oh there’s um…I put a super light calming charm in the water but it’s totally reversab-“

“Miss Granger…I appreciate what you have done, I’ll undo your charm if I find it too much,” Narcissa was speaking very quickly like…like maybe their conversation was too much, she sounded almost panicked, though she reined it in to say, “I would appreciate…I would like to be alone now.” Oh!

“Of course, I’m sorry—a valid apology, for overstaying my welcome when you don’t feel good,” gosh, the vows were supposed to warn her right? When she was doing something that was hurting Narcissa? Maybe she hadn’t gotten them quite right? “I’ll let you relax. Just call if you need me, okay?”

“Certainly, Hermione. Good night.”

“Good night,” Hermione returned, rising up and taking her leave.

She didn’t hear from Narcissa for the rest of the evening, in fact it almost felt like the other Witch had cast further privacy spells—if Hermione didn’t think about the woman…it felt like she _forgot_ there was another bedroom in this house altogether. And she didn’t hear from the current time’s Narcissa save for once—after she finished writing her first entry for Harry, she wondered what Narcissa would write her, her mind drifting to the older Witch staying _somewhere_ in her house, she thought to write the woman’s present self since she’d not written her any questions in the night, so Hermione jotted down a quick _I hope you’re alright._ and then before she fell asleep she checked the book in time to see the simple, neat, _Thank you._ That was the last bit of memory she had of the woman before slipping off to sleep.

She was only reminded when she woke to the smell of something burning and coffee. She…wasn’t sure what was happening but burning was concerning so she took up her wand, bleary eyed from lingering sleep as she stumbled into the hall and down the stairs, into the kitchen.

“…I will set the standard by which you measure pain,” Narcissa Malfoy was _hissing._ At the toaster. So that tracked. The other Witch whirled about rather frantically when Hermione giggled at her intimidations. Gasping and wide eyed, “Oh! Miss Grang- Hermione, you’re…” she seemed to lose the word she’d meant to end her sentence on as she looked her up and down, was her hair super crazy or something? It felt like it was definitely doing its own thing this fine morning. But then she managed to get it back, “…awake. Wh- what is…is this what you plan to wear today?” Huh? Oh. It’d been a bit warm last night and she really had forgotten she wasn’t the only one in the house so, that meant she took up one of dad’s old grey t-shirts, slept in that.

“I thought…uh…” she didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings, it seemed like she was…trying to do something sweet, making breakfast. “Smelled breakfast, and I guess just auto piloted right down. I don’t normally dress for breakfast anyway—well I mean except for Hogwarts or the Burrow I suppose. When I’m home it’s just…” my family, she almost said, “me. So,” she shrugged.

“Oh.”

“I can run up and change really qu-“

“Oh well I wouldn’t wish to disregard your personal traditions,” Narcissa interrupted, “By all means, Hermione, there is…little need for formality. So long as you’re comfortable I’ve no complaints,” Narcissa shrugged as she returned her attention to her attempts at breakfast, sounding…very casual in a way that made her feel like she should be suspicious, she just wasn’t sure of _what._

“Oookay. Um. Would you like any help?”

“No no, no, that- that is hardly necessary I- sit. Please, I’ve nearly finished every- oh damn it straight to Salazar’s _pit!”_ she half-roared along with the active fire going in a hot pan on the stove as whatever was in it caught flame. Narcissa’s wand was in hand in the same moment Hermione was in motion, taking the hand towel ever hanging on the oven handle for handling hot things and using it to guard her hand as she took hold of the pan to pull it from the fire-lit eye and slamming its lid over it to suffocate the flames. “I- I _was_ trying to. Merlin I’ve messed this up spectacularly I-”

“Narcissa, hey—it’s okay to need help.”

“I- you-” the woman struggled for her words.

“Narcissa?”

“You laid down stone in the bath!”

“…yeah?”

“And you insisted I lie down, Charmed my son’s book so I would not miss his call, so I could rest without worry I would miss his call—armed yourself to be prepared to take his call in an emergency, to guard and protect him if I should fail to answer—made me tea and- and prepared me a bath in the most literal of senses because…why?”

“…because you’re my friend and you didn’t feel well. And you love your son, worry for him, and he’s kind of in the middle of something genuinely dangerous and if I can make that a little easier on you both, why wouldn’t I? And you’re in the middle of a lot of strangeness for you, someplace completely unfamiliar and nothing like what you’re used to.”

Narcissa huffed a bitter sounding laugh, “Oh, it is certainly nothing like I am used to.”

“We don’t exactly have marble lying around, I had to use stones from the landscaping out front but- well I had to do something. I dunno, you’ve been using cleansing charms instead of bathing, and you were clearly uncomfortable with the unfamiliar materials the tub's made of so I…I mean I know its not perfect, but I tried-"

"I was hardly-" Narcissa sighed, as if frustrated, more so with herself than Hermione, apparently. "I am not complaining about the materials so much as the act itsel- I- I would not wish to complain at all, I'm not certain why I am outside of the realm- no one just does something for nothing."

"It wasn't for _nothing_ , Narcissa, it was for _you."_

More of that staring, Narcissa's mouth working momentarily before she shot out, "…me?" 

"Yeah. Maybe you're not used to people doing things for you purely 'because', but that's sort of the point, really. You _don't_ have a lot of familiar things around just now, so if I could make something a little more familiar for you, make it so you feel more comfortable,” she shrugged, “of course I'd do that. It’s a drop of familiarity in a bucket of ‘what the hell is a fridge, why the hell do Muggles ride around in automobiles, and where the hell _is_ this milk sourced from if not unicorns?’ foreignness.” And then, “Are you…you’re upset because you were…you felt like you needed to do something nice in return?”

Narcissa’s face flamed she blushed so fiercely, “Well I- yes. I was _trying,_ at least.”

“That’s so sweet but- I mean yeah there’s a level of friendship where everyone needs to pull some weight, but I mean…it’s a multifaceted thing. There’s another level where…it isn’t an ‘you owe me’ thing. It’s helping each other when we need help and maybe the occasional considerate thing just because—not to lord it over or expecting something in return or to even make you feel like you owe me something. I didn’t do all that so you’d work yourself up into breakfast martyrdom, I helped you just to help you.”

“That is decidedly not the sort of friendship I am familiar with,” Narcissa assured.

“But at least you can soak in a familiar-ish tub at the end of the day,” Hermione cheerily supposed, “Now…would you like some help?”

Narcissa sighed, “…if your expertise in the realm of preparing bacon could be brought to bear.”

“Sure thing,” that was easy enough. The pan was no longer a fire hazard so she scraped the extra-extra crispy meat onto the empty plate next to the stove awaiting it. She almost offered to make eggs but um…oh Merlin. There was a bowl of fully cooked, not too bad looking scrambled eggs cooling by the kitchen sink. “I better be quick about it—everything smells amazing.”

“Warming charms defeat that logic, as does half the toast and bacon smelling like a house fire,” Narcissa complained, growling at the toaster. Like. A small sound, but it was definitely a growl as she moved, wand released from its sheath and poised to banish the offending food.

“Oh! Don’t throw it out—I’ll eat it,” Hermione assured.

“Miss Granger do you enjoy eating charcoal or is it some inane effort to placate me? I can withstand the reasonable criticism that lies in refusing to eat the charred remains of my first foray into cooking on my own in twenty years.”

Hermione smiled as she began laying slices of bacon in the hot pan. “I’m not super picky. Mum can’t stand burnt food, so any time there’s a few pieces of bacon or toast too charred for her liking, dad always took those pieces for her. And _I_ , grubby little growing girl that I was, always took full advantage of the fact my father can deny me literally nothing. I usually pilfer some of his food, so,” she shrugged. “Now it’s what I like. Plus I mean there’s no point in wasting perfectly good food.”

“I suppose I am used to nothing turning out undesirable, under the care of House Elves. Too, anything could be discarded without risk of detriment…how dire is this budgeted life we’re leading?”

Eh… “If things don’t have to go to waste, they shouldn’t, but it’s not going to pauper us or something. Things like rent and utilities have…there’s an account that those expenses are automatically pulled from,” and it needed to last until…well until she could get her parents back. She didn’t want to risk someone swooping in and offering to buy the house or…or her parents putting it up for sale or having to evict some poor people when they made their return, so. “I can pull from that account in a dire emergency. But I’ve a good bit of cash on hand and I’ve run numbers pretty thoroughly, we’ll be just fine on necessities,” at least for a while and she…she just needed to pop by and see Mr. Whitaker, but she’d do that soon. They weren’t going to run out of funding as long as they stuck to necessities and the occasional non-essential purchase or bit of spending. “If something comes up and there’s a need, just let me know.”

“So no diamonds or evenings at the opera,” Narcissa supposed.

“Diamonds are overrated, and I mean we can’t make it a regular thing but if there is a show or something you’re aching to see that can count as ‘a need’—give me some advanced notice and I’ll make it happen.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at that, something utterly amused in her expression as she assured, “Well then. If I’ve a need…I’ll let you know.”

Breakfast went without incident and they discussed what Hermione had written for Harry, what Narcissa had written Hermione, for them to find once Professor Snape got ‘round to getting she and Harry their journals.

“You may choose to be more forthright with Mister Potter if you’re uncertain he would be quick on the uptake as to your identity, but I find…” Narcissa grinned, eyes alight with amusement, “I find myself curious just how long it will take for you to figure out with whom you speak.”

Oh, that felt like a fun bit of challenge Hermione was somehow determined her…self would win. “You’re on. I say I figure out exactly where we are and with whom I’m speaking before the week is out.”

“And I say you would never in your wildest dreams imagine yourself forming alliance with Narcissa Malfoy—I doubt you’ll make the discovery unaided, and it will certainly take longer than a week.”

“That’s an awful lot of smack talk for someone who supposedly can’t hurt me,” Hermione laughed, “What do I get if I win?”

“The right to gloat.”

“Oh obviously, that’s a given. I mean what else?”

“Are you negotiating with me Miss Granger?”

“Mmmm…I don’t know if you’re much into gambling but that’s how placing bets works.”

“I’m very much into _winning,”_ Narcissa assured, and then after a moment’s consideration. “When I win…you're to craft me another of these lovely sheaths…" her voice trailed off at the look on Hermione's face. "Miss Granger?"

"It wouldn't be very fair, I don't think, to let you um…ask for something I was already planning to do…I mean you want one for Draco, right, that's why you're choosing that? Harry and Ron aren't much into them but they'll be more than necessary come seventh year, I've been planning on outfitting everyone with them. So. You'll get it whether you win or not, if you'd care for something else."

Sweet Merlin more of that staring. And then Narcissa cleared her throat, "Well then. When I win, you’re to teach me your adaptation to Protean.”

Done. So. “ _If_ you win, sure. If _I_ win though…” she thought it over. “You have to teach me something fun—from old Black family magic. There’s all sorts of books from the Black line in the restricted section, I know there must be something worthwhile in them.”

Narcissa regarded her with a measure of caution, “I’ve no objection save perhaps a condition—on the off chance you do win…I’m uncertain what ideas you have about our magic or what you’ve seen in the Restricted Section—you’ll have to tell me just what the Golden Girl of Gryffandor was doing, snooping around in there—but I’ll not teach you just anything from our linages spellwork. I’ll give you a selection to choose from, things I deem safe to share, and you’re to trust that.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“So we have a deal then, Miss Granger?”

“We have a deal, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Excellent.”

It was silly, a bit of fun—usually Harry and Ronald were the ones making up ridiculous bets with one another. She wondered…how they were doing today, if things had been set in motion or not-

Thought of which prompted her memories. It felt not unlike thinking two things at once—there were overlapping ideas of how this day went. One…the original way, where Hermione calmly finished her breakfast and played a spot of Wizards chess with Mister Weasley when he decided to come home for his lunch break—her father hadn’t been one for Wizard’s chess but regular chess was a thing they enjoyed, he’d been rather animate she learn at a young age. Playing with the sweet head of the Weasley house had made her miss her father something fierce.

_“Oh lovey, mercy me I nearly forgot—you’ve a bit of post waiting for you, just came in earlier this morning. For you and the boys.” Mrs. Weasley said._

_“The three of us?” Hermione wondered, looking to- oh. there was a small stack of parchment wrapped books on the kitchen counter, lost in a sea of dishes, pots and pans, huh._

_"Yes dear, Hogwarts Owl delivered it, from Professor Snape.”_

_Oh crap! Crap crap! There’s barely a month of summer hols left! And she’d already wrapped up her Summer Homework—what if she had to redo it all, Potions at least, just because she’d been missing a component of it?! And Merlin have mercy on Harry and Ron, ugh. She jumped up to rinse her plate off in the sink but the Weasley Matirach was quick to cluck at her and snatch up her dirty dish, shooing her off, “Thanks Mrs. Weasley—breakfast was great,” Hermione said, pressing a kiss to the older Witch’s cheek and going to snatch up the packages, heading for the stairs to wake the boys._

_“Ahh Hermione! Good to see you, good to see you my girl!” Mister Weasley greeted as he stepped out of the Floo._

_“Hallo Mister Weasley!” she greeted hurriedly as she dashed up the stairs._

Awe. Good—the sooner the better, but it was a shame to miss out on a good game of chess.

“Hermione?” Narcissa asked, stressing her name as if she'd been seeking her attention.

“Hmm? Oh sorry, were you speaking?”

“Being ignored, which I assure you I so rarely tolerate.”

“Sorry—what were you saying? I promise I wasn’t intentionally ignoring you. I…we have the journals now I think. I just remembered getting them, anyway.”

“Oh. Oh excellent, Severus is actually inspiring some confidence,” Narcissa supposed.

“It’s so weird, I can remember…I remember both? The way it happened for me and the way it’s happening for me, if that makes sense?”

Narcissa nodded. “It’s genuinely disconcerting.”

“I can see why it gave you a headache.”

“Are you entertaining as much now?” Narcissa questioned with quiet concern.

“It’s…weird, the sensation but so far not doing anything painful. I think it's because I'm used to it, actually—it’s how I’ve always been able to use the Turner for my studies without forgetting what I learned in class. I thought…directly changing the course of events would leave our memories of those events completely altered without a trace of the old left in our minds.”

"Perhaps our memories will always bear this duality, or the old will fade with time, or disappear from our minds once this timeline is made concrete," Narcissa supposed, "either way, it is prudent we've made a certain, untouchable record of the previous year. And we'll take account of our new ones, which should help with keeping them organized."

Hermione nodded. "Um…you needed something before, right?" she asked, teasing, "You were upset I was ignoring you?"

“Ah. Yes. I was discussing with you that I’d plans to unpack the rest of Severus’s offerings, I just wished to run _where_ to unpack them by you first. The office space may well be big enough to suffice but I’m concerned for the safety of your pa-” Narcissa seemed to catch herself or, oh. No she’d just gotten something caught in her throat, pepper or something—she coughed politely into her hand, “I do beg pardon,” she cleared her throat, “I’m concerned for the safety of your perfectly lovely library. Too much exposure to moisture and fumes may damage their bindings and parchment. The cellar would be more viable, I think—there would be no risk of fumes spreading to the rest of the house, it’s a contained space is it not? I can work a wizards space into it for more room, unless you think there's too much storage clutter.”

…a lot of boxes but that was laziness mostly—there was unused shelving, most of everything down there could be put along the front wall. And there was always, “There’s an attic things from the cellar can be moved to—or vice versa if you find it more appealing but I agree, the cellar is pretty contained, and we can safely ventilate with the doorway down there as needed without risking anything leaking into the house.”

_“Wha-ho there Granger-Danger, drop the blunt object and step away from the best friend,”_ Harry’s voice rang in her head…unsettling. Poor Ron.

“There is an attic?”

“Uh-huh—if you look up in the hall there’s a pull string that brings down the ladder.”

“May I examine it?”

“Certainly-“ she meant to get up and lead her upstairs but the other Witch evaporated in a puff of black smoke, gone for all of an instant before returning much the same.

“Alright. You’re comfortable with the contents of the cellar moving to the attic?”

“Yeah. I’ll get started once we clean up breakfast—you can start unpacking and sorting things if you’d like.”

“Miss Granger are you saying you would carry the entirety of the cellar’s contents through the house and up the stairs—up that quaint little ladder?”

“How else do you propose I do it?”

“Have you some fetish for manual labor?” Narcissa wondered.

“More into spanking, but that isn't likely to get this particular job done.”

“Miss _Granger!”_ Narcissa laughed, shaking her head and looking caught somewhere between appalled and amused. “Honestly. While yes some actions are better done by the labors of our hands…we are Witches, Hermione.” Her wand was in hand then, swishing and flicking in a smooth, swift motion, and there was the sound of weight gently settling overhead. Then a few swishes more and their dishes and utensils, cooking mess was cleared and everything back in its proper place. “Done. Shall we see about the cellar?”

They were Witches, so Hermione cast to summon the bag of Professor Snape’s sendings, earning a nod of approval from Narcissa before they made their way outside. Hermione showed her how best to cast on the door to open it, figuring that would be how best the other Witch would wish to open the door, leading the way down the stairs, leaving the door propped open so they had a bit of sunlight and fresh air—it made it all the easier to spread a quick dusting charm to clear the space of dirt, whisking it out the door. Merlin, it was wild to see the cellar completely empty.

“Do we need tables and things?"

“Only if Severus is just simply living to invite my wrath,” Narcissa supposed. “No, everything should be in the bag.”

Oh. It was—there were a few shrunken workbenches they were able to summon from the bag and they cast together to raise them to proper size once they settled on their placement. They worked together to empty out the bag of cauldrons and beakers, flasks, test tubes, ringstands and the like.

She’d been passing Narcissa box of watchglasses when white-hot burning pain erupted in her scarred arm and radiated in jagged harsh spikes across the whole of her magic. She caught a yelp in her throat, curling in on her arm as she examined it- _Merlin_ it was enflamed, the skin around it burning red and blood pooling in the letters in her skin.

“Hermione?! Oh damn Bella straight to-“ Narcissa let out a growl as she took Hermione’s left wrist in hand-

Neither of them had quite expected the frightened _scream_ that broke from Hermione’s lips at the bit of contact, least of all Hermione, but it happened. “D-d-don’t touch me!” She screamed and wrenched her arm from- Bellatrix? No- no, Narcissa’s grasp, it was Narcissa, obviously but her brain was screaming at her to get back and away, so she did, scrambling back until she was against the cellar wall, sliding down, knees curled to her chest and then she was gasping in pain as a second wave hit her, less…less sharp than before, but it left her stomach rolling. There were footfalls, someone approaching as she leaned to the side, heaving while trying very much _not_ to spill her guts on the cellar floor, swallowing painfully as she pled, _“Please_ I- I can’t- don’t-“

“Shhh, it is- Hermione-“ Narcissa’s voice, soft and soothing as she knelt before Hermione, though she switched to barking, “Accio Potter’s journal!” and after the solid _ziiiiip_ of the book flying into Narcissa’s awaiting hand, Hermione could hear her scribbling something down…cellar floor under her—stone not wood. The sound of quill scratching parchment not knife carving flesh. The atmospheric smell of magic from broken, charmed watchglasses, not the sour heat of Bellatrix Lestrange’s breath. _Narcissa Malfoy_ , not her sister. She wasn’t trapped in Malfoy Manor subject of her captor’s torture. She was safe in her own home in a suburb of Muggle London. “Hermione? I’ve- I apologize for my interference with your work to Mister Potter but I merely passed along warning that none should speak your Curse Scar’s trigger-word in your present self’s presence.” Who would say Mudblood in- oh. Herself, apparently. She remembered now—it made her present self a little sick too, huh. Weird. But it was a curse scar, magical in nature, so.

Hermione softly snorted, “Mmm, and we _just_ said to welcome Draco Malfoy in with open arms. That’s going to be all sorts of sexy fun,” she drawled sarcastically. And then she sighed, "Sorry. Tetchy. I promise don't regret helping Draco, I won't even if it means _this,"_ she nodded to her scarred arm, "happens from time to time."

“He would not dare speak ill of an ally, not to their face—there’s hardly any tact in that. Too I- I will ensure he says nothing of the sort, I promise, Miss Granger. I am- I am sorry.”

“Weren’t you the one lecturing me on needless apologies?”

“I frightened you with my manhandling, just a moment ago. Too I…feel sympathy and remorse for your injury.”

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t- I don’t know why I- I didn’t mean to get so freaked out,” she settled on. “I know you weren’t going to hurt me just…my brain wasn’t quite on the same page for some reason I just, felt a hand on my wrist and-“ felt it being pinned to the hardwood floor for Bellatrix’s pleasure.

“I understand, Hermione it isn’t…it is not easy, what you have endured. It was a trauma, one that can be, unfortunately, reignited. I do promise I will endeavor to do my best to ease its hold on you—I don’t know that I am capable of healing it to completion but…I do understand the magic involved in making your scar. I _will_ try. That is the most I can promise—but it is a promise.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you poorly still? Sick or in pain? I can complete our task on my own, you should lie down.”

Hermione felt a smile tug at her lips, “What? So then _I_ owe _you_ lunch—is that it? I see your game Narcissa Malfoy.”

The woman arched a brow at that. “Oh you certainly do owe me lunch unless you wish a second meal of burnt toast in one day.”

Hermione did smile then, shaking her head as she held out her hands to the other Witch and Narcissa took hold of them carefully before rising and pulling Hermione up with her. “I’m okay. It sucked but its over now, I don’t feel badly,” she promised. “Let’s get a proper potions set up, maybe brew a few essentials, and I…think I’ll order in for lunch, if that’s alright with you.” Brewing always put her off the idea of cooking—it felt like doing it on repeat, too much of an ‘okay’ thing and she wasn’t feeling sick anymore but she’d definitely be down for a nap later and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t accidentally poison them if she was put in charge of the noon meal.

“Certainly,” Narcissa supposed. “Though Miss Granger, if we’re to be brewing I recommend you attire yourself a bit more securely,” she advised, and she seemed to be fighting the smallest of smiles, “lovely, as the foliage on your underthings are. Daffodils, if I'm not mistaken?”

How had- how did sh- yeah she…forgot she was just in dad’s shirt and uh…curling up into the fetal position was- oh Merlin.

So if Bellatrix’s scar could like, kill her now or something, that’d be grand. 

* * *

It took all of three days for Miss Granger to deduce exactly to whom she was speaking. No preamble, no hinting, Narcissa truly had not seen it coming—just the third morning of their exchange in correspondence began with, _Good Morning Mrs. Malfoy. Did you sleep well?_ and their game was over.

It was almost inane, hearing the very same when she descended the stairs for breakfast, save for the fact her Hermione—her time's Hermione—greeted her, “Good morning, Narcissa. Sleep well?”

“…I’ve already answered as much,” she drawled. Ugh, she did so hate losing.

She…found she did not hate how very…interesting it was how, dare she say…adorable, cute, the expression of confusion looked on Hermione Granger’s face. Somehow even more so when Narcissa’s words were able to replace that confusion with a brilliant smile, made her light up with utter delight at the prospect that, “Your disgustingly intelligent present's self has in fact concluded my identity.”

_“Yes!”_ she cheered, “I knew I could do it!”

“Oh yes, may they laude your brilliance into the next age,” Narcissa mused, shaking her head. “What is it, that gave me away?”

“Hmm,” the younger Witch took it under consideration as she returned her attention to…a bowl of liquid something, a light cream-colored concoction she was whisking together carefully as she contemplated. “Oh! Draco. I mean no offense but it’s not like he’s any great concern of mine, usually? I would feel badly if he died, sympathy, remorse, compassion, but not compulsion to go throwing myself through time to circumvent it. And I definitely don’t feel compelled to go back with the only motivation involved being to circumvent his taking his Mark alone. And I mean it isn’t—my motivations are to help Harry and Ron with the Horcruxes and better prepare ourselves for the War. So…the concerns for Draco…”

“Must come from your ally.”

“And no one loves someone fiercely enough to move time and space, to better their lives, quite like a mother.”

“Oh, are you a mother, Miss Granger? I’d no idea, how very scandalous.”

Hermione raised a brow at that. “If you’d seen me in school you would realize I’ve basically been single handedly raising Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley since First Year. You think between Molly’s brood pulling her literally seven different direction and the sort of people Harry’s had to come up around, that those two would have any sense whatsoever without my nagging and pestering and making sure they eat their vegetables and wash up after themselves and entertain basic manners? Harry used to eat all of his food with his _hands_ and Ron wasn’t much better,” she giggled. “If it wasn’t for me they’d be filthy, wild mannered, malnourished from a diet comprised solely of sweets, and still trying to wear their clothes and robes from First Year…no offense to them, but quite possibly repeating their First Year, Merlin knows they didn’t start studying until I came along. I take care of my friends, you know? I’m the mom-friend. So,” she waved her whisk about, declaring, “Mom-friend to the rescue! Would you care to guess what my heroic feat of the day is?” she wondered, indicating the contents of her bowl.

“Gruel?” Narcissa ventured drily.

…never in her life did Narcissa Malfoy believe she would _ever_ entertain the act of someone placing mess on her and living to tell the tale, nor would she think she would feel anything at such an act other than pure, unadulterated outrage.

But Hermione Granger, t-shirt clad, wild haired, wand tucked in a curl and behind the shell of her ear, smiled up at Narcissa Malfoy, swiping a single traitorous index finger and raising the horrible etching of _mudblood_ to her vision in the barest moment before that finger was tapping Narcissa on the tip of her nose and leaving behind a single glop of what she termed with delighted enthusiasm,

“Pancakes!”

… “Miss Granger. You are in point of fact, very lucky I am incapable of causing you bodily harm of any sort. I know the most terrible hexes,” Narcissa…Merlin was it a half-hearted threat? It wasn’t hearted at all, she felt not the slightest bit of warning in her magic that she was testing her word of bond—threats did not break her word but genuine ones gave her warning of sorts, that she may be about to dearly toe the line and be forced to stop. No, it was not menace she felt but…amusement? Bemusement more likely. And some strange bit of…pleasure, that the act of mischief had set something so warm in the younger Witch’s demeanor.

Somehow she felt that compilation of emotions more disgusting than the mess on the end of her nose—it did not seem nearly as easily dealt with, in point of fact it only worsened as Miss Granger sheepishly raised a soft cotton cloth and gingerly wiped at her nose, clearing it of her crime as she announced,

“And now you might just teach me one,” she cheerily supposed, though she continued with some caution, “Though I might not have an interest in anything too nasty.” Oh certainly not. She’d…there was precious little Black Family magic Miss Granger would be capable of casting—not for lack of power or understanding, even her bloodstatus…she’d more than proven old ideas about blood purity were utter tripe. No, it was merely…most of their spells were Dark in nature, and while not _all_ Dark magic meant ‘evil’, Dark was a classification that usually meant…hidden, hard to know. Things were often hidden, however, for a reason—most Black Family Magic fell under that realm of the Dark spectrum, hidden away both for secrecy and safety sake. Because for a larger part, their magic was as vile and evil as Miss Granger was pure and good.

For now, they’d other business to attend. Breakfast. “Would you like to help?” Miss Granger was wondering then, “...and do you enjoy chocolate chips?”

Ahh, at last. _Those_ were a form of chip Narcissa was familiar with. “I find both prospects delightful.”

And so their days fell into a similar rhythm. They rose early and Miss Granger imparted her worldly knowledge of cooking, and they discussed the nights progress, the day’s work. Then they chose some place to hole up and begin their writing—either taking record of occurring changes, or writing their conspirators, examining everything at their disposal, working tirelessly. For all Miss Granger was a ‘mom-friend’ she was no such friend to herself—it was Narcissa who had to remind her that she required sustenance, rest, and it was almost infuriating that her initial efforts of _Hermione, you must be hungry_ and _it’s getting late_ were met with quiet, distracted nods and little else, but _I’m feeling rather peckish_ and perfectly executed yawns followed by _Oh my. Well. You’re still at it yes? Then so shall I be._ were met with immediacy of Miss Granger abandoning work to set about getting them meals or agreeing it was late afterall and they should get some rest—as she spent her day poring over every word of the start of each of their records of the year they experienced, over every change they could possibly document, and she ran these…simulations Hermione called them, looking at how time played out before—how actions affected their timeline, and then mirroring that in their current timeline, trying to consider how different actions might change things based on circumstance and their understanding of the people involved.

This effort came to a halt when Draco finally came through with his decision. Friday evening—the eve of his Marking Ceremony, he wrote to confirm,

_I won’t be Marked, I promise. But I_ _am_ _attending ceremony. I’ll have the portkey with me and Uncle Severus promises to cover me but I have thought this through several different ways. If I just abandon ship, switch sides now it will look like I just lost my nerve before my ceremony and that’s how the Dark Lord, Father, will spin it—that I’m weak and they don’t need that, that only the weak-willed would turn their back on this cause. People will think I’m a coward. You know well I detest being seen as anything other than devilishly handsome. No, all pride aside, there are others in Slytherin—in other Houses—Purebloods under the same pressure I am. I want to set an example for them, I want to look the Dark Lord in the face and tell him where he can stick his Mark, denounce his cause, denounce my allegiance to him, and make clear my convictions. It’s a blow that will wound their pride—it will be harder to paint me a coward and there will be little hiding the events of my ceremony from his inner circle and through them, their children. It’ll be harder to keep quiet like my slipping away in the night before hand._

Friday morning he wrote that, and Miss Granger disappeared for hours before Narcissa—who spent that time beseeching her son, ensuring he was certain of this, listening to his insistence on this plan even as she tried to- she knew outright refuting the plan would only make him cling to it that much further still but Heavens above she wished that she could find something, anything that might sway him to take a less directly dangerous exit strategy. Food appeared at Narcissa's side on two occasions without her beckoning it, a plate bearing a turkey sandwich cut into four finger-sandwich-esque pieces, crisps, and tea, and then later a platter of fruit and a glass of water. Even as she was apparently mindful of mealtimes, Miss Granger wasn’t to be seen for this time and that set a type of outrage in Narcissa, she- ugh. Well. Draco was certainly not her child, he wasn’t even her friend. But she- she expected the girl…she’d come to expect the young woman’s kindness. But perhaps that was merely building herself up for bitter disappointment. Hermione Granger couldn’t be damned if Draco got himself killed for their cause, of course she was off doing Merlin knows what-

After hours of futile work that left her son unwavering in his plan, Narcissa Malfoy found Miss Granger. Because she decided if her son was doing this he had best damn well be prepared. So as night fell, she went to the cellar, a list of potions brewing in her mind as she tried to parcel through, organize her thoughts, decide which was of the upmost importance, what would be most vital-

…to find the cellar, doors open wide, and well occupied. Miss Granger, sweat shining on her temples, robes for their endeavors in potions secured tightly around her, wand in hand and spindly glass stirring rod in the other, was huddled over a boiling cauldron, several vials of potions filled to the brim, blazing brilliant hues of expertly crafted medicinal draughts—things for ridding the effects of hexes, mending flesh, repairing bone, headache draught…ingredients sitting in the wings for what looked like quantities to make several vials of calming potion, dreamless sleep.

“May I be of assistance, Miss Granger?” Narcissa gently questioned, careful not to startle the young lady who was paying rapt attention to her brewing.

“Would you check the bag please? We secured the portkey from the Old Crowd—I remember that happening this morning. Severus should have it by now, I asked him to send it along to us first before delivering it to Draco.”

She felt something like a snap build up in her throat at the delay in getting the portkey to her son, but- she…she had already doubted the girl enough this evening. Merlin, she wasn’t certain _what_ she’d expected the young lady to have been doing this whole time, but brewing potions to secure her son’s life had not been at the top of her list. So, an albeit stressed sounding, “To what end?” crossed her lips.

“Securing it. I…I can articulate how but I’m…the final stages of this and it’s a little tricky to get the charming just right, takes focus. I’m nearly finished with what I’m doing. Sorry, I’m almost done,” she promised. Narcissa nodded, which felt foolish—the young lady wasn’t looking at her—but she moved to the shelf where they kept the Supplies Sack and…Merlin, it was convenient, but her stomach plummeted at the fact she could _accio_ the portkey from its confines. That was only a reminder it could be summoned _away_ from her son if it was discovered. And there were anti portkey wards, ways of destroying-

Ways of securing.

Hermione gave the portkey a look—it was a marble. A single, small, swirling blue and green glass, child’s toy, with a small hole drilled through its center. And she asked, “Did he send the rest?”

“You expect Draco to slip into his ceremony with a set of marbles jangling in his pockets?

“No the rest of the suppl- oh. Sorry,” she shook her head as if to clear it, “Skele-gro fumes always make my brain a bit fuzzy. It would probably help if I explained first,” she said, digging into the bag and pulling from it fresh bundles of bandaging from Hogwarts infirmary, and then a few pieces of pitch-black Dragon skin leather, two small jars of silvery shavings, black cording, and…

A small, silver cone, that looked not unlike a sharpened thimble, meant to rest on the tip of a wand.

So Narcissa took up the task of brewing Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draughts, and when her cauldron did not require her upmost attention, she got to watch as Miss Granger sat down at an empty workbench, and began carefully working her materials together, creating a leather pouch, small, that fit like a second skin around the marble, cutting the leather and then engraving it. Inside with thin lines of silver, outside with a single line of silver Draco was to be instructed he keep in contact with his skin. The rest of the leather casing’s outside markings were platinum she cast into to, drawing small, intricate runes that would keep anyone from summoning his portkey, allow it to circumvent anti-portkeying wards, protect it from malevolent casting. The marble was completely encased in this, though Miss Granger had left faint marks in the leather to denote the holes on either side—she took a great needle and strung the thin black cording on it, pulling it through the marble’s center. It would be worn as a discrete necklace, it would slip under his shirt unnoticed, silver vein making contact with his skin so the moment he was ready to apparate to safety he need only give his magic that intent and appear in the next instant in the Burrow.

“What does this denote?” Narcissa wondered at a strange multi-humped shape she placed on the very bottom of the marble, it looked vaguely like a ball of cotton or perhaps a…cloud?

Hermione shrugged, “Soft landing,” she informed her rather simply as if it wasn’t something that should strike her like the singlemost thoughtful thing, heaving a small, tired sigh as she carefully examined her work for any sign of misstep, absently tucking a wild curl behind her ear.

She…she made certain Narcissa would never miss an entry from Draco, instilled herself with the same ability to come at his call should he need something, vowed in genuineness not to hold anything she might see over her son, was earnest in her attempts to convince Mister Potter to be of aid to Draco, help Narcissa convince the present’s Hermione likewise. She read what her son meant to do, accepted it, and moved right into helping him do it with success and as much safety as could be offered. And she did this all without prompting.

And there was precious little room for this to be…the results of some crush on her son. So it was one thing more that left Narcissa baffled. She had allies before, some of which she had since childhood, in the ranks of Voldemort’s sycophants. But that had been…everyone had something in it for themselves, they were their own primary concern. This was something altogether different. Miss Granger worked from concern for Narcissa, and her son, she’d little to benefit save Narcissa’s compliance but even that…she did not have to go to the lengths she did to secure that. _Narcissa_ could look after her son’s safety on her own, without Miss Granger’s assistance. What assistance was offered was given…freely. Like there was no other course of action that existed to Hermione’s mind—Draco was choosing a brazen path and he would need a secure escape and possibly medical assistance afterward, she was his ally, so he would have that. And if he never got around to returning the favor, if there was nothing more in the world Narcissa deigned to do for this young lady? She wouldn’t hold it over them, come calling in future demanding something in return—it felt to her like something she was supposed to do and for that alone, she would do it and it was utterly baffling and-

Under pale moonlight streaming in from the open cellar door, cheeks flushed from her exertion, Miss Granger raised twinkling, tired tawny eyes, stress bitten pink lips smiling before parting to voice “I think we did it.”

…Narcissa was struck both with the relief that yes, they’d a sizeable enough medicinal aid kit to have Severus render to the Weasley’s, and Draco’s now thoroughly protected portkey, and the realization that she…for just the barest of moments, had a flash of feeling not unlike…

Not unlike the desire to kiss Miss Granger senseless. And what sense was there in such a feeling? In such an action! What a wildly inappropriate- it was just- wildly inappropriate!

“Narcissa?”

“You did it, I believe you mean.”

“Narcissa you checked my spellwork and brewing—and your calming draughts and Dreamless Sleep turned out brilliant!” Hermione insisted as she moved to begin putting their finished work into the supply bag for Severus to dole out, Narcissa joined in her work.

“Would…would you care for some, darling? Dreamless Sleep at the very least,” Narcissa tentatively questioned, “If we’ve not more ingredients for as much, I can see to it Severus sends them post-haste.”

Hermione shook her head, “You don’t have to do that, but thanks. It’s really late, we should rest up, for tomorrow.”

Narcissa nodded. “Well…if you’ve no interest in potion, perhaps I could interest you in taking a nightcap with me?”

“A nightcap?” Miss Granger seemed amused at the prospect.

“The Muggle’s wine is pleasant, and there is still plenty.” She’d still a bottle left. Miss Granger’d no objections to her having a glass with dinner, though Narcissa had taken to sipping at a glass before bed most of their evenings. “It will assist in falling asleep, at least. If you’d like.”

“Sure,” Hermione softly agreed as she took up Draco’s portkey and looked to Narcissa, handing it to her, for her to place in the sack. “He’s going to be okay,” she promised.

Narcissa swallowed the lump in her throat. Morgana herself watch over her son. She dropped the portkey into the sack and sealed it closed.

And then Miss Granger was kind enough to exhibit her abilities to uncork a bottle of wine, with a…wine opener, she called it—it looked like an implement meant for torture, but Narcissa felt at ease with it in the hands of the younger Witch withdrew it from a kitchen drawer while she summoned her bottle of wine. Narcissa had intended to…well there were several quick charms that could remove the cork from the bottle and too, spells that conjured the wine from the bottle regardless of its corked state, to appear in their glasses perfectly aerated and ready to be sipped. But she admitted some fascination at what Miss Granger was about—using the small retractable serrated blade on one end of the implement to slice the foil seal embossed with the Winemaker’s mark cleanly from the very top of the bottle before plying the corkscrew, pulling the cork from the bottle in a smooth motion that ended in a _pop_.

“Well done, Miss Granger,” Narcissa lauded as she conjured their glasses that Hermione began pouring…accurate enough proportions into, before Narcissa raised her wand to set about casting a quick airing charm, in lieu of allowing it to sit breathing the muggle way which required time. “For all you are not much ‘into’ wine, you’ve the ability to open it without magic?” she questioned—the girl had claimed as much before, or at least close enough, insisting she hadn’t much interest in the beverage.

For some reason the question sent the girl blushing and something nostalgic settling in her gaze even as she looked suddenly shy as she set the bottle down on the countertop. “Um…I…” she offered a soft smile, “when I first told my parents I um, fancy Witches, my dad decided he needed to impart all his knowledge on how one should treat a lady…how to impress a girl on a date—he claimed mum was _wowed_ by his expertise—being able to cook her a meal and open a nice bottle of wine without issue,” her smile grew mischievous as she reported, “though the way mum tells it, he burned everything horribly, and mixed up his salt with his sugar, and just about took _her_ eye out uncorking the wine,” she laughed as she took up a glass she handed to Narcissa before taking up her own and abandoning the kitchen for a more comfortable place by the dying fire Narcissa neatly revived with a flick of her wand.

“Good of him to spare you of his misfortunes then,” Narcissa supposed as she was seated. That was…relief, to hear. “Your parents responded well, then?”

Hermione nodded, “They’ve never been very…traditional people. They aren’t very religious. My father was raised Catholic and my mother was…uhh…the closest she’s ever been to religion was the free love, anti-war movement of the 60s*, mum doesn’t really talk about the commune days much,” Narcissa wasn’t certain what either ‘Catholic’ or this ‘free love movement’ denoted but she supposed if she found it of some import she might look into them, “Dad was pretty much over Catholicism in his teens, abandoned all practice in college except for like, the occasional thing to appease his parents—the occasional Mass attendance as a family, and I was baptized…sort of. I mean not ‘sort of’, I _was_ , just not entirely traditionally.”

“What is considered traditional?”

“I mean usually parents in the Catholic faith have their children baptized as babies but dad didn’t care for doing something like that _for me_ , he wanted me to make my own decision. I was…maybe four or five when I decided I was pretty well sick of all the arguing between my grandparents and mum and dad at holidays. I announced I would be baptized and they brought me along to Mass and er…” oh Miss Granger was blushing rather fiercely. “Well when the Father asked me if I was ready to be baptized, checking to see that I understood what it was, that I believed in God and I informed him ‘I don’t very well believe in _anything_ that can’t be proven, but I _do believe_ my grandparents will stop _bitching_ if you slap me with some holy water and call it a day!’.”

“Miss Granger!” Narcissa reprimanded in delight.

“Oh everyone was so _embarrassed_ —especially mum, oh she _swears_ I didn’t pick it up from her, but _I do believe_ I’d heard her complain to father more than once how she wished he’d stop inviting his parents ‘round for holiday if all they were going to do is go on and on with their incessant baptism bitching. Which I mean is fair—you wouldn’t much care for it if Lucius’s parents came over all the time and told you your son was going to go to hell if he died.” Oh good Heavens. She would decimate them the moment they darkened her doorstep! “We had to try again next Mass with a bit of coaching, I learned what to say and my grandparents were placated.”

“…Draco was…two, I believe, when Lucius had the Board of Governors and their spouses over for dinner for the first time—I swear to you in full honesty it was not I he learned this word from, it absolutely must have been Lucius, I’ve always guarded my tongue around my child’s tender ears—but Lucius had me bring Draco out, for him to hold and boast about his heir before we settled for dinner, and he asked if Draco had anything to say to the nice gentlemen and their lovely wives and Draco, oh sweet cherub babe that he was, rosy cheeked, and smile wide as he declared: Fuck!”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open at that, eyes alight with mirth, “Ohhhh my gosh. Oh my gosh! I would pay actual money to see that! Awe…you know he’s not been very pleasant in school or anything but I’ve always assumed he must have been an absolutely adorable baby.”

“Oh I do wish I’d pictures to show you,” Narcissa assured. “I do—just not on my person. But the next available opportunity, if you’d still an interest and you could be sworn to secrecy not to tell my son I’ve shown you such a thing, I would be more than pleased to have you-“ …she wasn’t sure if she herself could bare to set foot in Malfoy Manor again after this, “out to tea, allow you to see a few choice pictures of Draco in his youth.”

…oh sweet Merlin she was-

“It’s a deal!” Miss Granger giggled.

…she was making future plans with this young lady. She…wasn’t certain what that meant. A part of her assumed they would have a sort of friendship erected on the basis of their mission and deconstructed at its end, but did Miss Granger have other plans? To just…maintain their candor even after all of this? It both baffled and…brightened something, in Narcissa. She…well she admittedly wasn’t wholly displeased at the notion of adding Miss Granger to her social calendar—the occasional outing for a spot of shopping or tea or dinner or…well anything the young Witch cared to partake of with her, she supposed. She certainly wasn’t about to get her hopes up but…if such a thing came to be…yes, she would not hate that.

Hermione shook her head as she got back to the topic at hand, “Anyway, they’ve always been free thinkers about things, so, they were generally cool. Threw mum for a loop for a hot minute—a protective thing, really, not a ‘hating gays’ thing. She was just scared for me given um…the not quite-so-positive in general political climate. And it sort of broke her heart, the idea I might be absolutely in love with someone someday and we wouldn’t have the same rights that differing-sex partners would have.”

“Rights?” Narcissa wondered.

“Marriage isn’t legal for same sex partners, raising children together is all the more complicated, and there’s…it’s a lot,” she summarized with a shrug, “that and the statistics for crimes, attacks on queer people, accounts of discrimination from doctors or in the work force—she read them all night on their work computer, she spent the next day trying to convince me of otherwise, and when she accepted that wasn’t happening, she made sure I was prepared, you know, for consequences, armed with information.”

Ahh. That was understandable. Narcissa would want to protect Draco likewise—she did even, when she’d some concern Lucius would find their son’s lack of interest in women an issue in the realms of it being traditional in Pureblood circles to conceive naturally or with spells that merely encouraged the natural, inspired perfectly timed thorough conceptions, assured the potency of seed and viability of spore. The sort of spells required between two Witches or Wizards, however was a different Pitch—it required magic to _create_ a life, and there were old, likely bias-laced wives tales that when magic was plied to producing life, the payment for that life was any magic that would have existed in the child—that their own natural born magic was used to form their very life and it would leave them a Squib. Trite propaganda, but the fear was enough to make it so most Purebloods adhered to arranged marriages of differing sexes that did not necessarily need to be bonds of love—producing heirs to continue the line was the purpose of their marriages. Lucius had thankfully been agreeable enough—Draco had never felt compelled to inform them of his preferences, but it was…clear enough. When it became as much to Lucius he merely made it clear to Draco that he could have freedom in his marriage for any dalliances he cared for so long as he took a wife and she bore a child.

Narcissa nodded. “I do understand it isn’t…pleasant, on the Muggle side of things. The bonds of marriage are even deni-?“ her brow furrowed at that. What a horrible thing. “I quite assure you there has never been such a restriction in the Wizarding World, Hermione. Bonds of love are sacred, as natural as magic, it has always been considered as much.”

Hermione smiled at that, “Yeah, mum was so relieved about that. I think it made it a little easier, on a level too like…I really was always meant to be part of the Wizarding World, or at least it’s lucky that I was—they used to be scared to lose me to it, you know? That someday I’ll just stop being involved in the Muggle world full stop. But considering everything, it’s a place I’m blessed to be part of. I mean yeah, not everyone is fond of Muggle-borns but that’s just tough toenails for them. I’ll never have to be afraid of what someone might do _because_ I’m holding my _wife’s_ hand walking through Diagon Alley like I might on Abbey Road.”

“I’m…I am pleased you can consider the Wizarding World a blessing. You do…have every right to it, Hermione.”

“Yeah, being Muggle born doesn’t matter,” she said as if that was…something she expected Narcissa to say. What nonsense? “Ron says that too.”

Oh _heavens_ that was even worse, “I would thank you not to put words—especially those of a _Weasley_ sprog—in my mouth. It most absolutely does matter,” Narcissa said. “It is a fundamental facet of your identity in our world, you’ll face unjustness and cruelty for it, to say as much ignores that. It matters even so, to your magical ability—that you are capable of catching up with and surpassing your peers? That’s remarkable. Draco has been imbued in magical teachings from infancy, for you to come in at age eleven without so much as a single idea that magic even existed before your acceptance to Hogwarts? What an absolutely foolish thing to say.”

Hermione blinked at her momentarily as if dazed and then, “Oh. Y-yeah I mean- yeah. That’s kind of why it’s always bothered me when people say that. Ron insists that’s not what he means by it-“

“Then he should say precisely what it is he means. Because the denial that one sees blood purity is stating the denial in seeing the pertinent things that surround it—the good and the bad. And at the end of the day it simply is not true—so long as someone is aware of your blood status will always be, on some level, a part of what makes up their perception of you.”

Miss Granger nodded, sipping at her wine. “This is…a really weird conversation.”

“We’ve covered quite the array of topics,” Narcissa supposed, shaking her head.

“I dunno. No offense to you I just never expected you…I mean I know you have a love of Teddy Tonks, so you’re not…entirely bigoted. I mean does blood status…do you really not hold to those ideals at all?” she wondered.

“I used to, whole heartedly in my youth—but have we not just discussed that all children repeat the things they are taught in tender youth? Often with conviction. But I’ve a mind of my own, eyes in my head—Hogwarts was my first ever exposure to non-Pureblooded children and while it only redoubled many of my Pureblood peers determination to adhere to their parents rhetoric, I…saw. I saw half-bloods and muggle-borns excelling and failing at the same rates as their pureblood counterparts. Lily Evans was the child of Muggles and she…her magic, her love of her son—it was _she_ who brought low the Dark Lord,” _Merlin_ , she’d been so _young._ Gryffindor brave to the very end, bless her soul, may she be at peace knowing she guarded her son’s life, she and her husband await his joining them in his own time in peace and prosperity. That had been…a time she prayed for a departure from their standing, that Lucius would withdraw their loyalty to the Dark Lord. She’d wondered at leaving Wiltshire—leaving England altogether and starting anew somewhere…somewhere they would not be immediately within the Dark Lord’s vicinity should he ever be returned—Lucius insisted he could not be dead, that he would return, she’d quietly hoped he was dead and his cause and the War with him, but should her husband’s fanatical ramblings of his unbeatable Lord gave her such fear to flee. He’d gone after a _child_ sought to lay an Unforgiveable on a _babe in his crib—his magic successfully producing such a spell with a baby in its intent!_ For fear of the threat he _might_ grow into. It made her hold her own son that much more tightly—Draco did not know his cradle nor she her own bed for _days_ after the Potters’ deaths, she remained in his nursery and he was always in her arms, resting on her chest as she sat awake and worrying.

Much like she was tonight. Though she’d no ability to hold her son. Either of her selves. Presently she was attending her husband in…celebration of the coming Marking Ceremony. She and miss Granger drained the remainder of the bottle together…well, Miss Granger had a glass and a half before she was pink-cheeked and giggly—offering Narcissa the remainder of her glass if she cared for it, and she had. She drained Miss Granger’s glass and cast on the bottle to transport it back to her quarters before she and Hermione rose up off the couch and the younger Witch entertained a quick shower, Narcissa listening for her while she imbibed another glass, to ensure the young lady did not slip and fall or go tripping from the tub—she’d seemed steady on her feet but Merlin she was…well Narcissa hadn’t truly known what to expect from a drunken Miss Granger. Tipsy Hermione appeared to be pleasant enough, she smiled and giggled and babbled away—she was talking even now…oh. She was _singing._ Something…melodious and…pleasant enough to the ears. It sounded almost worshipful, in Latin, Narcissa thought, but she could not quite catch the words, but whatever it was…Miss Granger sang with both abandon and conviction. Was she…was she aware Narcissa had not warded the bathroom for privacy? There were wards that dampened er…unseemly sounds that could be involved with trips to the lavatory, but voices, the sound of water running were permitted on the off chance something should happen and too…there _had_ already been a horrific incident some days ago where she’d nearly boiled the poor girl alive. She’d found herself in need of the facilities while Miss Granger showered, and proceeded to the downstairs bath to rectify that. Just a moment after she cast to toggle the toilet’s lever to flush, she heard the most alarming scream of pain from overhead followed by…well she thought it a cry for help, but it had apparently been one of complaint,

_“Narcissa!”_

_She apparated into the upstairs bathroom in an instant, wand at the ready, eyes meeting the wide cast eyes of Hermione Granger as the shower ceased running and the younger Witch pulled the shower’s curtain aside partially to allow her head out, her face red from anger, Narcissa assumed._

_“What is the matter?” was she…entertaining some sort of hysteria? Her mind giving her some sort of fright that caused her to cry out in such a way?_

_“Did you just flush the toilet?”_

_“I_ do _beg your pardon!” That- that is none of her business!_

_“Everyone Poops, Narcissa,” Miss Granger said with that ridiculous little smirk at her lips that spoke to her referencing something that amused her._

_“They most decidedly do not!” they certainly did not talk about it. Even as there was, apparently, some horrible publication by that name—‘Everyone Poops’. Miss Granger had a copy from childhood that she left on Narcissa’s pillow in a bit of mischief. A children’s publication! How very vulgar!_

_“You can’t flush the toilet when someone else is in the shower, Narcissa—the way the plumbing works, the toilet uses up the cold water momentarily and it leaves the water running in the shower scalding hot without the cold to temper it.”_

_She- she- she- oh good heavens! “I_ scalded _you?! Accio Burn Healing Paste!” bellowed, hand ghosting before Hermione’s still clutching the edge of the shower curtain._

_But Hermione smiled reassuringly, speaking the same, “I’m fine, Narcissa—it wasn’t the most pleasant thing in life, I’m just a little red is all, it mostly just startled me more than anything. It’s just something to be considerate of, in future.”_

Lucius once railed for hours about her incompetence when she startled when he crept around the library chair to grip her shoulder, perhaps he’d meant to massage at it but she hadn’t heard him enter, she’d a cup of tea in her hand, she’d been raising it to her lips and instead sent it spilling all over her shoulder, his hand and the sleeve of his robes. It had stung, burned the skin on the back of his hand.

Miss Granger’s face was not…red from anger. She’d merely been doused head to toe in scalding water and…voiced complaint, but merely corrected. She had not yelled or even made Narcissa feel stupid for not knowing something that was apparently common knowledge in the Muggle world, or badly for having unintentionally hurt her. Her skin was still rosy when she appeared on the couch next to Narcissa later, reading her latest message from Mister Potter, and Narcissa did spy orange paste over the younger Witch’s breastbone, dipping lower beneath the V’d collar of her t-shirt. She’d felt a bit of guilt at that and…perhaps- ugh, she had a split-second thought that it was unfortunate that the girl hadn’t allowed Narcissa to help her—in the realm that it was unfortunate the girl didn’t think she should ask for help! Not- certainly not the placement of said help upon her person.

Hermione’s singing ceased a short moment before the shower stopped its flow, the sound of the rings that held up the shower’s curtain scraping across the shower rod, Miss Granger humming quietly to herself and then a startled squeak and a giggle laced, “whoops!”

“Hermione?”

The bathroom door swung open immediately, Miss Granger stepping through it, eyes assessing as she asked, “Is there a problem?”

…yes but only in that the younger Witch had decided Narcissa’s call required exiting the bathroom with such immediacy she’d only…a towel. Wrapped around her person, tucked under her arms and exposing a great deal of glistening cleavage, her legs almost wholly exposed- Salazar take her straight to the pit. There was a towel wrapped…somehow, atop her head—how did she do that? Why? There was a single ringlet of hair left uncaptured by the fluffy white material, it hang damp along her cheek, ahh. She must not ply drying charms out of habit. Narcissa…found herself focusing on that to avoid focusing on anything else.

“It-“ Narcissa cleared her throat—why had she called? Oh, “It sounded like you were having some difficulty, I thought you might have fallen in your drunken stupor.”

The younger Witch snorted, “I’m hardly drunk, Narcissa, oh Merlin I’d be just-” she blushed fiercely, “I- I don’t get drunk often but I’m er…a bit…messy?” And when Narcissa’s brow raised at that, “I don’t much plan on getting drunk while we’re in the middle of, you know. Saving the future.”

Well, that made one of them. Both in that Narcissa was certain if she was to get anything resembling sleep tonight she may well require being at least verging on drunk. And the young Witch’s vagueness—outright bashfulness—made her admittedly curious just what ‘messy’ meant. But that Hermione was of a mindset for prioritizing sobriety during this venture was, “Likely wise.”

“So you didn’t need anything then?” Hermione checked.

Ahh. The warding—so Miss Granger would come at her call if she’d need of something. “Not at all.”

Miss Granger nodded, about to retreat into the bathroom—leaning backward so she could close the door, but she leaned forward again, looking to Narcissa, “Everything’s going to be alright. We’ve prepared everything we can, Draco will have every advantage possible, and I swear to you—Molly Weasley will absolutely love your son as much as she does everyone in her house, Harry and myself are on his side—we’re nervous but, you know. We’re on his side—so, so is Ron.”

He would be remaining in a place likened to a ‘Burrow’, until September. Merlin help her son…Merlin help the Weasleys as he acclimates. But oh her heart ached with the reassurance that- that there would be another Witch, a matron who would love her son in…not in her place but in her stead. Molly Weasley had…made different life choices than Narcissa but…

Well. The woman was happy in her Burrow with her Muggle-obsessed husband she married purely of love and their seven spawn and counting. So perhaps she was onto something.

“Thank you, Hermione. Rest well.”

The younger Witch nodded, slipping back into the bathroom and rapping gently on Narcissa’s bathroom door to announce her departure into her own bedroom.

Narcissa drained the remainder of her glass and poured another to take for her bath—there was truly nothing like a warm bath with a nice glass of wine and this Muggle concoction was passable.

There was also nothing quite like a quiet cry in the bath with a glass of wine. She wasn’t certain if perhaps it was the stress of the coming day or a buildup of things—her past few years of personal experience, having her son Marked, fearing for his life, having Voldemort invade her home, her every living moment encroached upon by that fact. Her home becoming a prison not just for herself but for others—Luna Lovegood had never said or done a single thing in the whole of her life to hurt another person, that was plain enough, the poor girl was pureness and light clear through, she did not deserve a single part of being held captive for the Dark Lord’s plots. Witnessing the fall of her sister’s sanity while there was not a thing Narcissa herself could do to halt or hinder it’s decline. And being propelled into the past, while there lay the hope for the future it felt like a near-impossible task set before them, there were so many dangers and unknowns—what if she got her son killed-?!

A particularly harsh sob cracking off the bathroom walls reminded her to cast, oh Merlin. She hardly wanted Miss Granger discovering her in such a state.

She…she didn’t…

She felt she would never confess such a thing, but when she drained the bath and donned her robe, laid in the dark of her room, casting to close the door against even the light in the hall to lay in the dark with her fear and the weight of dread crushing her chest…she was reluctantly glad of the soft rap at her bedroom door, the gentle call of,

“Narcissa?”

She did debate momentarily. She felt…shame at carrying on, fear to be seen. But there was some small part of her that allowed her to convince herself that she should answer the girl’s call, if only for the fear that Hermione had need of Narcissa, it wouldn’t do to send her away if that were the case, would it? “Yes?”

Hermione opened the door wide enough to poke her head in, looking to her for all of a moment before deciding to come in, leaving the door ajar to allow the hall light in as she approached and said, “Scoot.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a left-side-of-the-bed girl, you look like a right-side woman anyway. Trust me, I’ve got a great radar for this, it’s a gift,” she assured motioning for Narcissa to move.

She wasn’t certain what a ‘radar’ was…she _did_ sleep on the right-hand portion of the bed she shared with Lucius. He slept nearer the window, and she the door, so she’d done the same in this room—slept nearer the door as this room’s set up was quite a bit different.

She did not _scoot_ but she did shift over to the right side of the bed to…well she hadn’t been entirely certain what was happening until Hermione climbed into bed, settling over the covers and reclining against the pillows with a sigh, clad in an Gryffindor red jumper with a large golden _H_ in its center…it was overly large, and Narcissa had thought she’d seen it before, and it hadn’t been nearly quite so large.

“You cast so you could sleep in your jumper from Molly Weasley?” Narcissa questioned benignly. Somehow she was afraid to ask just why the girl was here.

“Hmm?” she cracked open an eye to look at her, “Oh. This one’s technically Harry’s. But Molly keeps us rolling in sweaters, and it’s got an ‘H’ on it so. Our sweaters are interchangeable—it’s not my fault he so rarely chooses to wear the ones my size.”

“…rarely?”

Miss Granger turned her head in Narcissa’s direction, smiling with a bit of mischief, “Oh, he tried mine out on a gas…first day back after Fifth year winter hols he comes strutting down the stairs into the Common Room wearing my sweater because I nabbed his,” she giggled, “Merlin it was skin tight, the sleeves only hit him about here,” she brushed an index finger along the middle of her forearm. “He stretched it out something awful, but it was hilarious.”

…Hermione had confessed _some_ inclination toward the masculine sex, “Are you in some sort of entanglement with Mister Potter?” she wondered.

“Entanglement?” Miss Granger questioned, confused. And then she guffawed, “Gosh no—Harry likes men more than I do. He’s more a…’who the person is’ than a ‘what they look like’ bloke.” Truly? That did not sound like any man Narcissa knew but she did not necessarily know Mister Potter, so. Perhaps he set a different standard.

Oh. “So you exchange clothing as friends?”

“You’ve borrowed my clothes—it’s a thing friends do.”

“Ahh. Another facet I was previously unfamiliar with,” Narcissa supposed. And then, “May I ask as to your intrusion this evening?”

“Friends also have sleepovers,” Hermione supposed with a shrug.

“This is a sleepover?”

“Sort of. I’m knackered so I genuinely plan to sleep,” Sleep was in the name, was it not? “But, you know. If you need to talk, or not talk, I’m here.”

“What initiated this?”

“Friends don’t leave their friends when they need one. You’re…it would be understandable if you were afraid, scared or sad tonight. So I’m here to sit with you through it until you tell me to shove off.”

“Your sort of friendship has a great many rules.”

“So does yours, but you’re used to them so you don’t much think on them anymore.”

Hmm. She supposed that was true. As of late she found that was most of what she did think about, her former rules of acquaintance. “Miss Granger…how do you know you’ve an affiliation with the left-hand side of the bed ? Have you some romantic dalliance presently?”

“Hmm… _me?_ No. And my presents self doesn’t have one she shares a bed with—I see Luna casually when we’re at Hogwarts. Susan Bones from time to time. Non-romantically I sleep in Ginny Weasley’s bed when I stay at the Burrow.”

“Ahh. So, that is where you developed your taste for the left-hand side?”

“Hmm,” she hummed sleepily, “I sleep on the right, actually. S’the door.”

“…the door?”

“Closer, you know? Just in case.”

“In case?”

“Burrow isn’t exactly under…” she yawned quietly, “under _Fidelius_. So I sleep closer to the door.”

“That’s hardly the best option for escape.”

“That's hardly the point,” Merlin, she yawned once more, and quietly informed her, “Something comes, anything can happen, anti-apparation wards, things like that. Ginny’s to take to the window, and I’ll hold the door,” a soft knowing smirk at her lips, she knew well how well that would go over with the Gryffindor in the moment—she would likely listen at Miss Granger’s order, but she was hardly going to be thrilled about it. “She’ll just have to deal with it, if that ever happens,” she softly supposed.

…

That-

What an absolutely-

She-

Narcissa swallowed a lump in her throat, sought something else to find her focus in just then, something, anything that might be benign, safe. Miss Granger’s hair still appeared damp but…oddly so, it glistened with something Narcissa wasn’t certain was water alone, “I could teach you a drying spell for your hair”

The younger Witch’s eyes were closed when she shook her head, ‘no’, “Thanks, but those are too rough on it. Air drying’s best.”

“You’ve plied _something_ magical to your hair, it smells lovely,” it was right on the tip of her tongue—she knew the younger Witch had purchased herself vanilla hair care products but there was something else.

“Your good luck—it was hair washing day, so. Shampoo, conditioner, leave-in conditioner—Rose oil, helps with the whole wild frizzy mess. Not from your stuff, no worries.”

Oh, she’d wondered why she found the mix of scents so very complimentary. “I worry of a great many things, that is not one of them,” Narcissa said.

Narcissa’s eyes blew wide in her head as slender fingers slipped along the palm of her hand to lace between her own. “I know,” voice cresting over Hermione’s lips a bare whisper, hand squeezing gently to carry the sleep-stolen sentiment that, _it will be okay._

…Hermione was wholly exhausted, and it struck Narcissa then that she’d meals conjured to her side but she’d never heard Hermione in the kitchen, or seen any evidence that spoke to the girl taking a break from her potions work…it was little wonder her wine hit her so swiftly, more thoroughly than Narcissa’s had, if it was the first and only thing to hit her stomach since breakfast, that was worrisome. Hours of casting and brewing left her fast asleep and Narcissa cast so the covers lay over the girl and not the other way around, the younger Witch stirring a bit, but her eyes remained closed and she settled more comfortably, a contented hum in her throat. Her hand did not slip in its hold and Narcissa did nothing to change that as she laid staring at the ceiling overhead.

So the eve of her son’s Marking Ceremony, Narcissa Malfoy lay alongside the quiet comfort and protection of Hermione Granger, while processing the memories of her present’s self who lay exhausted but unable to sleep, wide awake at Lucius’s side while he slumbered near the window, and she the door, a fact that now made her ponder if perhaps all these years she was meant to be fodder while he fled.

…she woke. Which meant she’d eventually fallen asleep, apparently, very much to her surprise. Warm sunlight streamed through the window, she could feel it on her skin, something soft against her cheek, and a weight on her chest that for once did not feel like dread.

Be…because it was a head. Miss Granger’s, resting against Narcissa’s chest and she’d…precious little room to argue as, while the young Witch’s arm hang lax over the older Witch’s stomach, Narcissa’s were holding the girl in place, the something soft against her cheek was Hermione’s hair, soft, sweetly scented, there was the ghost of it in her mind like perhaps…she could almost remember feeling… oh.

_She’d_ whimpered, a sound escaping her as she began rousing from some worrisome dream, a nightmare, the only thing she could remember of which was Draco crying out for her. That was when the weight started—the subtle shift of Miss Granger turning over in bed, slinging an arm over Narcissa’s waist and murmuring a sleep-laced, _Shhh, you okay?_ she got no other answer to save Narcissa apparently making the girl’s comfort turn her captive, pulling her closer to her chest and burying her nose in her hair as she lost consciousness once more while the younger Witch relaxed against her and apparently did the same.

Narcissa blushed furiously, she- Merlin, she’d held a single person in her life as she slept and that ceased when Lucius banned Draco from their bed as not to allow her to coddle him to softness. And she- this wasn’t- she was hardly in the habit of rolling _toward_ the warm body next to hers, certainly not after the past year. The Granger’s home was the first place she’d found she could sprawl out as opposed to hunching in on herself and keeping as far to her side of the bed as was possible. So she was not certain why she’d the sudden unconscious need for it now. She did not like that she’d handled the girl’s body, used her for her own comfort without so much as a ‘by your leave’, how very comforting could it be for the younger Witch to wake and discover Narcissa _Malfoy_ holding her physically captive as she _slept_?

She cast a soft, muttered _Tempus_ , to reveal it was mid morning, there would be hours still before Draco’s ceremony. Excellent. Terrible. She did not wish to sleep through it, wished to rise and prepare and be ready to help in any way possible if she could, but part of her almost wished she’d woken and found news that the Ceremony was over, her son was safe, alive and unmarked in the care of the Order.

She was able to extract herself from the position she’d managed to get herself into, slipping her arm ever carefully out from under Hermione and sitting up to rise for the day, though her actions were enough to wake the girl who breathed in sharply, sitting up to squint at the room around her in mild confusion before looking to Narcissa and offering a sleepy smile that quickly became distorted by a yawn she only barely covered toward its end.

“Oh wow,” she breathed a sigh, “Merlin, that was a good sleep. Oh God—did we mis-“

“It is still morning, Hermione,” Narcissa assured. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Did you get any sleep?”

“Enough,” Narcissa allowed, “shall we take breakfast?”

Miss Granger nodded, “Would you like to learn omelets, or…Waffle iron’s in the attic but that’s easily found—waffles strike your fancy?”

“Omelets today I should think.”

“Waffles tomorrow in celebration,” Miss Granger decided with an encouraging smile.

Oh Merlin they did have much to celebrate. Draco was safe.

Out of the chaos that ensued in _Borgin and Burkes_ on Knockturn Alley, came reports both from their allies and, in a few days’ time, the Prophet. Miss Granger received _Alive. Take care of my son._ from the present’s Narcissa, and Narcissa herself received _Draco’s here, he’s safe. A few scrapes and bruises, he’s not quite cognizant yet to tell us specifics—Portkey Sickness has thrown him for a loop but Mrs. Weasley and Harry got him calmed down enough to realize he’s safe. He’s resting now, the Burrow is secure, we’ll all be keeping guard and someone will be with him always who can apparate him to-_ there was a pause and several dots of ink, a scratch against the parchment like she was endeavoring to write something but physically couldn’t _someplace so safe I can’t even write it’s location. Harry’s with him now. I promise I’ll write you as soon as I know more._

Though it was her timeline’s Miss Granger who slid—physically, on her feet, as if she’d moved with such speed she nearly sent herself flying on her feet—into the living room from the kitchen where she’d halted her dinner preparations to take a message from Mister Potter, reading aloud as he wrote.

“Draco’s alright, he’s feeling better—tired but he’s no longer hysterical. He started talking so Harry just started writing,” she explained as she joined Narcissa on the window seat oh- she…she’d taken refuge there earlier, when Miss Granger was seated on the couch to monitor her journals in order to allow for space. She hadn’t considered that, while smaller than the couch, there was still room enough for more than one person, precious little, which meant the younger Witch’s knees rested against her thigh. “He was brought to the cauldron to take on the Mark but pulled back, and denounced the Dark Lord, that the greatest threat to our way of life is following a madman off a cliff without a broom—someone flung him through a glass case and into a wall, Lu- er…”

“Hermione?”

The girl looked apologetic, uncomfortable. “…Draco isn’t positive but he’s pretty sure yeah, and um…oh Merlin,” her hand was in Narcissa’s again, squeezing, the slightest tremble in her voice as she gently informed her, “Lucius tr-tried to crucio him.”

“My son was crucio-“

“No no no—Lucius tried,” Hermione insisted, regarding Narcissa very carefully as if handling something delicate as she informed her, “you stepped between them. You were crucio’d and you screamed for Draco to go. He portkeyed to the Burrow. Narcissa?”

She’d been so focused on her own present, waiting to hear from her son, that she hadn’t consulted her own memory to seek changes. She blanched, sick to her stomach when she thought back on it now, yes—she remembered standing alongside her husband, her son, Severus as they and a choice few—Bellatrix, Fenrir Greyback. She’d been so worried, absolutely petrified, knowing the choice Draco was about to make. Merlin her son truly had- oh he’d been so _brave_.

And Lucius could rot, casting harm on his son! It- it was either he or Bellatrix who cast to throw him airborne, and then- oh she was so relieved—if Draco had endured crucio for this? It was herself she would find truly unforgivable.

Even if it meant her present’s self was not having the most pleasant of times just now.

Hermione was still staring at her with open concern, thumb rubbing a path, back and forth along the back of Narcissa’s hand. “I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? All you could get out to me was that you’re still ‘Alive’,” Hermione needlessly reminded her, doubly so as Narcissa was now thinking back to just that, tremors of pain still ghosting through her body, curled on the floor as she had just the barest moment of privacy to slip the day planner out of the fold of her robes to hastily jot down confirmation she was alive, make certain…just, she was not certain how much longer she might be—they were to take care of her son regardless. She’d been questioned as to her involvement—how dare she intervene in Draco’s correction, Lucius was absolutely certain he could have drilled sense into his son if she hadn’t stepped in, and just how did he escape?! Did she know where he’d gone—had she any idea he was planning to cause such a scene, bring so much disgrace upon the Malfoy name? Thankfully her skills of legilimency, matched with her ability to occlude, and further paired nicely with her ability to convincingly lie. She’d not a single clue what had gotten into Draco’s head, she was just as ashamed of her son, but oh what mother could stand idle by and allow their child to be harmed? She was compelled to protect him, it was tied to the magic that would pull her to his side when he was in life threatening danger, it made her act as such, of course. She’d only…only just been released from her interrogations, Lucius waving her off upon their return to their home, she only just made it to their bedroom, where she collapsed to the floor, exhaustion and pain stealing her strength, a distorting contrast of sparks of light swimming in her sight as darkness pooled at the edges of her vision.

_“Mistress! Oh no no no no no! Oh what can Jinsey be doing, Mistress? Mistress is hurt! Is Jinsey to be being summoning a Healer?”_

_“…no,” she’d rasped out, “no healers.” Not for this, never for this._

_“Jinsey needs to be being helping! Mistress is hurt! Mistress is hurt!” Jinsey wailed, fat tears welling in her eyes, falling onto the floor with audible splats against the stone. “Can M-Mistress stand?” Mistress was nearly unconscious, only the aftershocks of pain, sharp soreness in her every muscle somehow working to thieve her of her cognizance and strength while simultaneously keeping her from tipping over the edge of slipping from the waking world. Her endeavor to shake her head ‘no’ resulted in merely pressing her cheek against cold stone and being incapable of moving it back for a proper answer but perhaps it made her reply proper all the same. There was the sound, the magical_ pop _of Elf summoning, as Jinsey sought anything to aid her Mistress, and she was suddenly very aware of the feeling of a soothingly warm, wet cloth dabbing gently at her temple, she could physically feel the light grind and slide of grime against her skin as it was wiped away. “Jinsey will make Mistress clean, Jinsey will make Mistress better, yes she will,” the Elf softly promised._

_There was no cure for the aftermath of Cruciatus. You merely recovered, or you didn’t. But Narcissa always felt better when she was clean, so perhaps that just might be a form of saving grace. And it was, ever so slightly, she regained some…something. Some semblance of thought as she grounded herself in the ministrations of her loyal Elf, the sweet, wretched thing weeping as it sang soft songs in a language she could not understand, old Elvish that she had not heard since her youth, when great-great grandmother’s Elves were in the house, ones so old they were nearly ripe for the wall*, they often used it to swear, she thought. She couldn’t be certain. Jinsey wasn’t swearing now. Just singing as she plied stroke after stroke of warm water-drenched cloth to every available inch of her skin—her face, behind her ears, under her jaw, down her neck. Oh so gentle as she pressed the cloth against Narcissa’s chest, like she was afraid even the slightest bit more of resistance to her breathing would send her lungs collapsing—there had been a sound in Narcissa’s ears, something grating that was giving her a headache, or, well, worsening the ache that seized the whole of her brain, and she realized now it was the sound of her own breathing. Gravely, raspy breaths as air traced lines of agony in her screamed-drained lungs._

_Jinsey took hold of Narcissa’s hand, to clean from wrist to fingertip, murmuring she’d ply dittany to her fingernails, each and every one had either been cracked to a crumble from the trash of her hands scraping harshly against the hardwood floors of_ Borgin and Burkes, _or lost entirely to her hands writhing to dig into solid ground._

_Or lost to Bella. For some reason her sister felt the need to go to her knees and straddle Narcissa, seated high on Narcissa’s stomach to constrict her breathing while Bella screamed into her face, a cackle-laced, “You’re lying to me Cissy!” before she took her left hand in her own, and paid her attentions to the jagged, broken end of the fingernail still holding strong to Narcissa’s left ring-finger—Bella’s nail pressing sharp in the edge between flesh of her nailbed and the side of the nail it held and pulling it u-_

_"…Jinsey,” rasped painfully from Narcissa’s throat, so very quiet for a moment she feared she hadn’t said it, but the House Elf was immediate to look up from her work massaging clean Narcissa’s fingers._

_“Yes Mistress? What can Jinsey be being doing?”_

_“If…I should expire, Jinsey. Or if…I can…no longer give you orders…”_

_“Mistress will be fine, Jinsey will make her clean and then she will be all better-“_

_“If this should happen,” Narcissa pressed on, dragging in a harsh breath, “use my hands…to open my planner.” It may well cease existing if she does, she wasn’t certain the implications of her death within the realms of time travel—would this timeline cease existing? Or would her future self disappear? Would Miss Granger be wholly alone? Would she have ever traveled at all? Or would her future self continue existing until such a point as she re-entered the timeline? The options were many and she’d not the stamina just now to sift through them, she must prepare as if anything she’d done, anything she had that could have impact on the future, would._

_“Jinsey is to be opening your planner?”_

_“Yes. You remember how to…”_

_Jinsey stared at Narcissa a long moment before she slowly nodded her head, eyes unblinking. “Jinsey is being remembering. She is always grateful Little Miss taught her.”_

_“You are to use what I taught you…to…to write in my planner. On the next…free line. Write as if…as if to Draco. Tell my Dragon I am proud, and I love him, with everything I have.”_

_“Jinsey…Jinsey will write this Mistress, yes.”_

_“A-and…as if to a Miss…Granger.”_

_“Miss Granger, Mistress?”_

_“Mm,” the barest hum denoting confirmation escaped her before she swallowed and said, “tell her…tell her I am grateful. Thank her for…for saving my son. Tell her that none of this is her fault. And then you are to hide my planner, Jinsey…r…return it to the care of Severus Snape.” They could destroy or keep it for record as they saw fit, surely._

_“Jinsey will be doing this if Mistress passes, in mind or in body,” Jinsey vowed._

_But sometimes…sometimes vows weren’t enough. Not with Lucius set to have full control over Jinsey should Narcissa be incapacitated._

_“Jinsey…” Narcissa licked her parched lips, struggling momentarily before, “bring…bring Mistress a ribbon.”_

_“Mistress is wanting her hair in a ribbon when Jinsey is being finished with it?” Jinsey wondered for verification. She supposed ‘ribbon’ could be a bit vague._

_“Now, please. The one…the one from my robes. From Lupercalia*,” those robes would have a ribbon to further secure them closed, to draw them in to cinch at her waist for a more form-revealing line, and act further still as a bit of a prop, like a ribbon one could pull to unveil a perfectly wrapped present._

_Jinsey popped from existence only to pop back a split second later, a wide, black, silken ribbon resting in both her upturned hands, the material pooling on either side at the Elf’s feet._

_Narcissa raised a trembling hand, a palm for Jinsey to place it in, before she tiredly met the sweet Elf’s gaze._

_“You have been very loyal to me, Jinsey.”_

_“Yes Mistress. Always Mistress.”_

_“I have always appreciated it, your work, your care. You are most cherished to me, do you understand? The dearest Elf to my heart.” It was every word of it truth. In further truth she’d a love for this Elf far deeper than that of her own mother. Granted that was not difficult to obtain._

_“Jinsey is loving Mistress, she loves Mistress with everything in her. She will always love Mistress, she will always love Mistress’s young Master. She will always serve them with all of her heart!”_

_“Oh,” Narcissa breathed, “I pray that is true.”_

_“It is! It is! Jinsey is saying the truth! Jinsey would never lie to Mistress, she would only lie for her, yes she would!”_

_“Jinsey,” Narcissa said, swallowing the fear, the anxiety of the risk she was about to take. “Give me your hand.” Jinsey did so, placing her hand tentatively in Narcissa’s ribbon-laced one, palm to palm. And Narcissa used what strength she could muster to squeeze Jinsey’s hand, the ribbon being guided along the space between their skin. “This is a gift.”_

_Great tears welled in the Elf’s eyes, a wobbly smile spreading to reflect utter joy at, “Oh…thank you Mistress! Holding Mistress’s hand is the greatest gift!”_

_“The ribbon, Jinsey. The_ ribbon _is my gift to you.”_

_Jinsey’s entire expression, for the very first time in all their years together—since father brought Jinsey home and made a six-year-old Narcissa her Little Miss, her Little Miss who snapped orders at her like mother did her own Elves, and then laid in bed late in the night when she should be asleep, Jinsey seated on her nightstand, reading aloud to the House Elf with a guiding finger under the pale lamplight, to teach the creature the very forbidden ability to read, and later, to write in Wizard’s* English._

_“Jinsey is grateful for all Mistress has given her,” Jinsey said, pulling her hand away with the ribbon secured in her grasp, tears welling in her eyes before she cast into the ribbon and Narcissa watched as it shrank in size until it was small and slender as cording, looked almost like thick, silken black string she carefully wound around her middle, tying it secure before pulling up on her sack cloth smock to bunch the material up and drape it over the string to conceal it further still. Lucius would certainly take no notice of the difference. “Jinsey is, and always will be loyal to Mistress. She will be doing as Mistress has been saying.”_

“…okay, you’re okay,” a voice as soft as the most delicate silk was whispering into Narcissa’s hair, a double weight atop her head—someone’s lips just at the front of her hair, a hand cradling the crown of her head to a warm, soft chest—and there was a gentle pull against the strands as someone carded their fingers through her locks before…she only realized it was a continuation of action when she registered the trail of warmth in her skin from a hand alternating between stroking her hair and rubbing circles on her back. “Draco is safe. He was so brave, and if he can really dedicate to this, he’s about to make the _best_ friends of his _entire_ life. He’s going to be strong, and surrounded by so much love. And he’s going to make you so incredibly proud—and he’s going to be so incredibly proud of you. You’re doing amazing, Narcissa, you’ve been so brave and so strong, and I could not be more proud of all we’ve accomplished so far and it is…literally week one. In one week you have changed the course of your son’s life for the better—eternally. There will _always_ be more, and more better things awaiting him in the future because of this, way better than whatever he was headed for before, and _you_ helped him to do that.”

Narcissa…sniffled. Why was she- she-

Oh. Her cheeks felt wet, she realized. She may have, perhaps, been crying. She swallowed to speak, almost surprised her voice worked, it felt hard to believe the moment in her mind wasn’t _her_ true present, “I’m…I’m quite alright now, Miss Granger, thank you.”

The hand in her hair slowly stilled to a stop, “Are you sure? Do you wish to talk about it? Merlin you- you were so quiet and just pallid like- like you’d seen a ghost.”

She was merely remembering nearly becoming a ghost. She cleared her throat and pulled back, to extract herself from the younger Witch’s hold, something about how very concerned Miss Granger looked sizzled nerves this night left frayed, it stole her voice from her and all she could do was sit and stare, meeting the gaze of the younger Witch who stared back with tentative assessment, but she made no move to speak herself, either, merely allowing Narcissa to choose the next move of her own volition, Miss Granger would just wait. She would. She would sit in this spot, fingers laced now in Narcissa’s, and wait until sunrise if Narcissa was so inclined, she would wait until the older Witch gave some indication of just what, precisely…she needed.

_I was tortured for information on Draco’s betrayal,_ would only lay shame on this girl—even if it was not hers to bear, she would. She would grieve, if she knew what Narcissa had endured. She would _weep_ if she knew that Narcissa had instilled Jinsey with orders for her dying words, with a message for Miss Granger, to absolve her of blame.

She would smile. She would look at Narcissa like she was the one responsible for summoning sunlight at the dawn of day, if she said, “I freed Jinsey.”

And she did. Oh Merlin, fresh tears welled in Narcissa’s eyes, another lump in her throat as Miss Granger did look upon her, just as she thought she would, with the sort of elated admiration that sent something devastatingly lovely—like literal sunlight into her soul—from the younger Witch’s smile,

“Y-Your House Elf? You freed her?” and when Narcissa nodded. “Oh Narcissa! That’s so wonderful! That- I- have you always done that?”

She wished for a moment she could honestly said she had. And that felt so very strange. She understood the way things worked, the necessity of House Elves, that many of them repelled freedom for fear of the shame they’d been imbued to feel at the prospect. And still, she felt almost badly to say, “No. But I’d motivation to do so tonight, to keep her from…being forced to continue her loyalty to Lucius,” she opted to say. It was truth, it did not need to have the implication of her near-death tacked onto it, cluttering it up.

“Wow! That- that’s _amazing,_ Narcissa, and so very clever. So you’ll start paying her now?”

Jinsey did not strike her as one for payment—not the monetary kind, anyway. She would serve out of love of Narcissa and Draco, most likely, and refute payment for that, but they’d not gotten around to any such specifics just yet. Her mind felt blank when she tried to remember what was happening in this very moment for her present’s self, like she’d at last been rendered blissfully unconscious. “I don’t remember just yet, I’ve only just freed her and she’s agreed to stay with me. I’m…tired after the day’s events, seeing Draco’s defecting, I believe I’m asleep now. But I’m certain I’ll discuss it with her.”

“Are you tired, Narcissa?” Hermione wondered.

“I’m not in need of rest just yet, if that is what you’re asking.”

Hermione nodded. “…if you’re alright, feeling up to it I think it would help Draco, to hear from you? Harry says he’s pretty well wrecked over the whole thing—he never meant for you to get hurt like that and he feels awful, like he should have done _something_ not just portkeyed to his own safety. I wrote that you seemed okay on my end of things, that you’re alive and well, that you love him and you’re proud of what he did today, but you know. Hearing from you that…both you’s are okay will probably be a little better than ‘Granger’ telling him through ‘Potter’.”

A stranger telling him through Potter, more likely. She’d not mentioned her accomplice by name. Draco may well assume she was in the past entirely on her own volition and power. Of course Mister Potter may well have filled him in on that. “I will write him, yes,” Narcissa assured, “…thank you, Hermione, for comforting him as you could.”

And the younger Witch merely shrugged, “Of course, it wasn’t a problem.”

And then, “…thank you for…for comforting me, likewise, Hermione.”

Hermione’s hand gave hers a gentle squeeze, her lips accompanying her words with the softest smile, “Of course.”

Of course. As if it were as simple as that. As if it was the only thing the girl could possibly do.

It left Narcissa feeling there was only one thing she could possibly do, but that was rather quite impossible. She wasn’t certain her vows would permit her if she so much as tried.

She settled for leaning in to venture into Miss Granger’s orbit, eyes locked on her own before she pressed the barest kiss to the younger Witch’s cheek.

* * *

Consciousness came slowly, for Draco Malfoy. It started with the smell of…mmm, something delicious. Bacon? Something, wafting from somewhere. The kitchen, but in his mind that wasn’t possible—he had the vague impression he’d made rather a mess of the kitchen wherever he was. Everything on the counter had been knocked aside as he was mobilcorpus’d onto the table top, a soft feminine voice insisting _“Wait!”_ before muttering a hasty cushioning charm—a gruff masculine voice scoffing and assuring that he doubted she’d get much thanks from _Malfoy_ and then _“Oh grow up, Ronald. I don’t need thanks, I need tweezers and Dittany.”_ And then he’d been laid out on it—the countertop, lying on his stomach, a large hand holding his while someone carefully removed shards of glass from his arms and back, the voice that helped before, when he first landed on an unfamiliar lawn—there'd been so many confusing voices and hands, a cacophony of alarmed _Malfoy_ ’s and _Mister Malfoy?!‘s_ and then a single voice whose Portkey Sickness-warped words came through even if the only one he understood was _Draco._ The hand that called him Draco held his, rubbing a path with their thumb and murmuring soft apologies, assurances, encouragement as shard after shard was pulled from his skin and delicate drops of Dittany plied in their stead. At some point there were more hands helping to move him, shift him onto his back before his shirt was spelled back on, and a warm, motherly hand brushed against his forehead, and an older woman’s voice tsked, called him a _“Poor dear”_ before,

_“I got him, I’ll take first watch—he can have my bed-”_

_“Where will you sleep?” he...he was decently sure now that was Granger, worried._

_“Bill set up a cot in Ron’s-”_

“Harry! _We’ve the better part of a month before school! You need a proper place to sleep!”_

_“I’ve had worse set ups,” Potter_ said, and then there was an arm slipping under Draco’s shoulders, his knees as he was _hoisted_ , _lifted_ to be carried, not levitated. But he knew well Portkey Sickness kicked him in the teeth, he’d hurled his guts up on the Weasley’s lawn, thought his father had somehow managed to cast him straight to Hell, sharp jagged pain pressing all throughout his arms, his back as glass dug deeper with each convulsion, though in the moment he’d confused it for tines of a devil’s pitchfork, jabbing him to prolong his suffering, as if it wasn’t great enough. Surely he must be hallucinating again, most definitely. Potter wasn’t carrying him, he was quite literally delusional, he must have been. Even if he felt the warm arms and chest that held him steady as boots made careful, precise _thunk, thunk, thunks_ up the stairs. 

And it definitely hadn’t been Potter _reading_ to him as he laid restless, dosing in and out of consciousness.

_“…for maximum potency, freshly picked Fire Seeds are required. The main identifying property of Fire Seeds is the seed’s heat. They are not to be touched as they are as hot as Dragon’s fire, they light all but Dragonskin gloves aflame, which makes their handling dangerous. Safe collection often requires chilling the seeds—in a controlled environment, knock-back Jinx can detach the seeds from their plant, and their heat will subside shortly upon losing their connection to their source, however casting a Freezing Spell upon the plant is the safest course of action if one is picking from a Fire Seed Bush in the wild-“_

_“What the hell are you about, Potter?” he’d rasped, opening his eyes to find the other boy seated, legs crossed, wand grasped loosely in the hand crossed over his legs while the other held their potions text. His gaze lifted from the pages to look to him, something warm in his expression before he smiled like relief,_

_“Hey, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?”_

_“Like my own bloody father put me through a glass case and into a fucking wall.”_

_“Oh shit, did potion not do anything? Hermione swears she got out all the glass-”_

_Granger?_ “ _You lot couldn’t be damned for a medi witch?”_

_“What do you think Hermione is? I mean it's hardly what she wants to do with her life but yet she’s spent most of it cleaning up after Ron and I’s scrapes. She knows her stuff, if we’d needed a medi-witch yeah you would have had one, Draco, immediately. It’s just the less people who know where you are right now, the better.” His brow had furrowed as he regarded him then, “what can I do? There’s potion or I can get someone trustworthy to come ‘round if you’re really hurting or something doesn’t feel right.”_

_Merlin. He...wasn’t in pain, not much, but he was definitely still hallucinating—the other boy looked...he wasn’t sure. Worried? Just sick with it, in a way that made Draco feel a bit sick himself, and he certainly didn’t much care for_ that. _“Don’t get your wand in a twist, Potter. I’m just sore is all.” it was more an emotional ‘like my own bloody father put me through a glass case and into a fucking wall’ now, really. There wasn’t potion for that, now was there?_

_And then he bloody well started hyperventilating, shooting up in bed as he remembered_ what else _his father had tried to do- tried to do to_ him _but did nothing to stop when it targeted his_ wife. Mother! _She’d been crucio’d and- and she screamed for him to go and he_ _just_ had! _He_ left her _and she- she could be dead for all he knew-_

_And there’d been a weight on the bed, a hand on his shoulder and he spilled his guts in rather a different but equally disgusting fashion. He just started_ babbling _a mile a minute, word vomit—his Dark Ceremony, father trying to kill him, torture him at least, leaving his mother behind like a_ coward! _He should have- well he should have done_ something! _He brushed Potter off when his hand went from squeezing his shoulder to rubbing circles on his back that- he just- that was too familiar, this was all too familiar, they- they hated each other’s guts! What the hell was Potter’s_ game? _He drew something from the large pocket on his ridiculous pumpkin orange hoodie, and Draco stopped when he realized he was bloody journaling!_

_“What the hell are you doing, Potter?!”_

_“Trying to see if Hermione can get your mum.”_

_What?! He- “Granger’s downstairs!” or- or somewhere in the house, why was he-_

_...why was he writing to Granger? How? Had mother gotten her in on this too?_

_“Actually she’s out on rounds with Ron and Tonks, and then uh,” he tapped the journal in his lap twice with his quill, “wherever the hell she and your mum are staying through all this.”_

_...Hermione Granger was with his mother?_

_Potter must have seen the look on his face because, “Uhh mate—how exactly did you think your mum traveled back in time?”_

_Hermione Granger could_ travel through time?! _“How do you think Granger did?!”_

_“...time turner, dude.”_

_“That’s not how time turners work!”_

_“I don’t question Hermione’s ways, I bask in their brilliance and fear them accordingly. Stick with us and I’m sure you’ll catch on soon enough,” Potter shrugged. “Oh—she’s writing back._ Tell Draco his mother told me she’s alive—and I’m sitting with her future self now. We’re safe, and we’re so glad Draco made it out, she’s so proud of him. She’ll write him soon, she’s just processing new information from the altered timeline—you know who to ask if you’d like your journals to alert you to new entries.”

_“Who?” he asked immediately, urgency overriding the logic that obviously,_

_“Hermione will,” Potter assured simply, like his question hadn’t been utterly imbecilic._

_Draco scoffed, or...well it was what it was supposed to sound like, somehow it came out more pathetic, a hopeless sound breaking from his throat as he shook his head, “Like she’d help me.”_

_That, he regarded like a foolish statement. “You do realize Hermione’s done nothing but help you all day. All week, really—both of her.”_

_That- he wasn’t sure about that. Yeah he had...he could vaguely remember her helping him earlier, with...with the glass and...making sure they didn’t plop him down on the hard countertop. And it was her handwriting on his potions. But that- he’d spent the better part of over half a decade going...ever so slightly out of his way to maybe, perhaps...put her in her place. Maybe it wasn’t her place. In fact he had a terrible suspicion it wasn’t and that...wasn’t going to help him here. Granger and them, they were the ‘good guys’ they- they were supposed to be all about helping people when they're down, saving lives and all that crap. If his life were in danger? Perhaps he might trust Granger would at least, on a level, care. This? Wanting to be alerted the very instant his mother wrote him. She’d likely laugh in his face. But...but surely she wasn’t the only person capable of doing it, Potter had a journal and he seemed...keen-ish on helping him uh...there’d been more than one rumor...a few unsavory ones about him and Cedric Diggory, he didn’t think...he’d had no problem spreading them, delighting in the gossip surrounding how platonic instructing a fellow classmate that they should ‘check out the Prefects baths’ could possibly be, Cassius Warrington* spread the rumor that Cedric joined Potter. Which was a pretty foul thing, even Severus had got on to him over it, accusing Diggory of being up to anything of the sort with an underage Wizard. But Draco had most assuredly seen Potter snogging Terry Boot breathless before boarding the Hogwarts Express at the end of Fifth Year...this past school year, Merlin help him this week alone felt like a year._

_So. He turned his gaze on Potter, gave him this...albeit pathetic look, but it was one Mother insisted she could never deny, “...would you charm my journal for me?”_

_Potter didn’t so much as bat an eye, he seemed wholly unfazed as he shrugged, “I would if I could, I’m sorry I don’t have the slightest clue how to add something like that to Hermione’s spellwork.”_

_Well that didn’t do him any good, did it! What kind of nonsense was that anyway? Draco cleared his throat, going for flattery, “But you’re_ Harry Potter. _You mastered_ patronus _in your fourth year. Surely this charm should be nothing, you’re...well you’re pretty well destined to be the most powerful Wizard of our time.” Nothing. What did he have to do? Debase himself? “Won’t you at least try? Please?”_

_“Sure thing,” and then he gave a flick of his wand, “‘mione, come here a minute.” That wasn’t-_

_A bloody silvery Stag shot from Potter’s wand and galloped away, vanishing through the closed door. “What- you just-”_

_“Silver message,” Potter said as if it were simple, “stick around long enough and we’ll teach you.”_

_“I didn’t ask you to show off, I asked-” he swallowed, slumping forward. Shit, shit. It wasn’t- he needed- “this is stupid I’ll just keep the damn thing open and stare at it all nigh-”_

_“Draco,” Potter stressed and- and pocketing his wand to grasp hold of Draco’s hand, promising,_

_“Everythings going to be fine. Your mum? She’s going to be okay. I mean Merlin yeah, cruciatus isn’t fun-”_

_“Oh what do you know-?!“_

_“Plenty,” Potter assured…darkly. Oh. Oh hell he- he’d really been-? Umbridge hadn’t but…oh hell was it sometime before Fifth Year? Oh hell that made him feel sick…sicker because yeah, once he’d been excited when it seemed like Umbridge might Crucio him but…no. it wasn’t exciting. It was vile. “I was saying yeah it’s rough, but…I mean to do all this? Your mum’s got to be a pretty incredible, strong Witch. And Hermione really is on your side—_ our _side.” He raised his free hand to pledge, “You’ll be able to get your own confirmations from her yourself soon enough—my hand to God, Draco, you’re safe here, and you’re surrounded by_ allies. _No one here would do anything to hurt you and it isn’t in Hermione to be cruel. She’s not going to turn you down because you’ve been a prick in the past.”_

_Draco gulped past the lump in his throat. “Which one?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Which god?”_

_Potter_ smiled _, and_ Merlin _. Who the hell gave him the right? Had James Potter been this devastatingly handsome? Was it his fault? It wasn’t right to speak ill of the dead, he supposed but damn him for Potter’s smile. The boy squeezed Draco’s hand which bloody reminded him it was being held in the first place! But then he released his hold and sat back in his chair. “Whichever one flies your broom.”_

_Draco nodded. “Saturn then.”_

_“What’s he about?” Potter wondered._

_...what the hell did he mean ‘what's he about’? Potter...didn’t know- something snarky rose up in his throat but...but he...he’d held his hand. And let go of it when...when he needed to and...he...wouldn’t make Draco feel stupid for not knowing something simple. He’d already shown as much on several occasions tonight, so. “He’s the god of Wealth and Time.”_

_“My hand to Saturn then,” Potter softly assured._

_Merlin! He just about jumped out of his skin when the bedroom door burst open and Granger came rushing in, wand in hand, eyes assessing as she swept her gaze over the room before looking to Draco, forcing words from her mouth as she caught her breath, “Are you alright?”_

_None of this felt right but, “I’m fine Granger, no need to whip the door off its hinges.”_

_“I would’ve said if it was an emergency,” Potter assured._

_Granger relaxed at that, sighing, “Yeah, right, sorry I just-“ she swallowed, looking to Draco, “Merlin, you were bleeding so badly earlier and I-“ she bit her lip, “well I’m not very good at Blood Replenisher but I suppose I get better at it.” What the hell did that mean? Oh. She wasn’t very good at it, but her future self...apparently was._

_She…good hell, Granger wasn’t confident in her every realm of knowledge? It was…strange, to see. “It worked just fine…thank you,” Draco said, “for your help with the uh…glass.”_

_“I got it all, right?” she worried. “You don’t feel any? You’re not bleeding anywhere?”_

_“Just sore now-“_

_“Muscle soreness? Or from bruising?”_

_“…muscle soreness.”_

_Granger nodded, “Calming draught has natural muscle relaxers in it if you feel too sore to rest, and it’ll help you sleep but it…well it isn’t meant to_ make _you sleep.”_

_Well. At least the insufferable know-it-all was on his side. “…I’ve the understanding that you can charm my journal to alert me when I hear from mother? I would…I would appreciate it. Please.”_

_For a moment he thought the ‘please’ was overkill when the Witch’s eyes went wide with alarm but then, “Oh crap! Right—of course! I’m sorry, I should have thought to do that, you must be worried sick-“_

_“People might say you’re the brightest Witch of an age but that doesn’t mean you have to think of everything,” Draco offered, “you…helped. You did enough, and I’m…grateful, for everything,” he supposed. Potter’s brow shot up at that, his…comforting Granger, ugh. How strange. But the other boy didn’t look like he thought it strange at all, he looked surprised and then very pleased and that shouldn’t please Draco so very much but it did._

_“Are you okay with me casting on you?” Granger asked._

_“I’m asking you to, aren’t I?”_

_She nodded, opening the drawer to the bedside table and pulling out Draco’s journal. She softly incanted, tapping it with her wand before turning to Draco and crouching alongside his bed…Potter’s old bed—it was_ Potter’s _bed._ Harry Potter _gave up his bed for him. What the hell? And then there was a wand against the back of his ear and Granger announced, “when your mother writes you and you’re not already reading, you’ll hear a chime in your ear. It kind of pulls on your magic a bit so if you’re sleeping it’ll wake you—if you ever need it off just tell me.”_

_Draco nodded, though he felt more relieved when her wand wasn’t right at his ear anymore. That…this was all…_

_He wasn’t certain he quite knew just what he’d gotten himself into._

_“I hope your mum’s okay,” Granger wished him, promising, looking up at him with…Merlin, so much sincerity it made something in him ache. “If I hear from her future self about today I’ll let you know. I have an alarm set myself, so I know when she writes.”_

_Draco nodded. “Er…thanks, Granger…thanks.”_

_“Of course.”_

Draco wasn’t sure what to feel when consciousness did find him again. Everything just...came rushing back and it wasn’t any less confusing. It didn’t help that he remembered he was in Potter’s bed, someone had draped a Slytherin green blanket over top the patchwork quilted blanket that had been there to begin with. He’d clothes, things he’d packed for the whole...abandoning the family legacy thing that should be around here somewhere, he’d slipped it to Severus nights ago and he’d promised it would be along to the Weasley’s, but there was this...jumper, at the foot of his bed.

...an empty cot. A bloody _cot_ , to the left of his bed, between it and the door, where Harry Potter had slept...if he slept last night. _I’ve had worse set-ups,_ he said. Worse than a dingy cot on the floor of a room he shared with two other blokes? What the hell did that even mean?

“Wotcher, Draco. Looking for something?”

Salazar’s sock drawer! Draco’s head whipped to look to his right- oh. It was uh...that girl. His er...cousin? Bright purple hair, in her Auror robes, wand idle in her hand as she flipped through something, a magazine. Ugh, the Quibbler. Wait. He had to be nice about Loony now, didn’t he? Oh shit. What was his cousins name again? It wasn’t his fault! Mother hardly ever talked about that part of the family, and father absolutely forbade mention of them, hence mother keeping her mouth shut. She had...mentioned what’s-her-name was the youngest* Auror applicant to ever make the job. Funny sounding name… “Hallo, er…”

“Tonks,” she greeted, unbothered that uh, he clearly didn’t have her name on the tip of his tongue. “If you were thinking about calling me Nymphadora? Don’t. I’m supposed to be guarding you, it’ll look bad if I have to hex you.”

“I’m the one who chose to come here,” Draco informed her. What, was he some kind of prisoner of the light now?

“Well _yeah_ dummy. I’m keeping guard over you, not of you.”

“...over me?”

“I mean you pissed off some major players yesterday—excellent work by the way, bloody brilliant you were,” she complimented, but, “Dark Dingus is gonna be riling his minions to track you down. They try anything...we’ll keep you safe. You’ll always have someone with you who can get you to the safe house. Harry kept guard last night, now it's my turn.”

Thankfully Tonks was kind enough to give him a spot of privacy to clean up—gave him use of the Weasley’s bathroom which...it certainly wasn’t the manor but...well. Maybe that meant it was better. Though he forwent showering—Mother knew the most wonderful cleansing charms, his didn’t feel like they quite met the mark but they did the job, he’d more pressing business to consume his time in the privacy the bathroom offered. He heard a chime in his ear and felt the thrum of it in his magic. He’d wrapped his journal in the clothing he brought to change into, though for now he set them aside to rest on the sink while he closed the toilet lid to sit and flip through his journal, praying it wasn’t some cruel prank, that Granger triggered the sound somehow and there wasn’t word from his mother but-

Oh. There were two entries. One he missed because...well it must have been put there before he’d been charmed, damn it! He should have checked it!

_Hello my love, oh my brave boy you did so well today. I remember, and I was so proud of you_ — _I’m still proud. You denied your Marking eloquently and bravely, and i’m so grateful_ — _darling I’m so grateful you listened to me and fulfilled your promised portion of the mission. The point to everything was for you to escape. I hope you’re finding peaceful rest now, I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more to defend you, but Miss Granger and Mister Potter assure us you’re recovering well. I will, however, feel much better hearing from you. Today was trying beyond belief, I am here for you my heart, any time._ Followed by, _Good morning Dragon, I hope you’re well. This is your first day in the Weasley home, I do hope you will be respectful of the care they offer._

Well, he didn’t think he’d insulted their home in his Portkey delirium, so. He’d yet to say anything abhorrent and yeah, he should probably plan to keep it that way. Weasel’s room wasn’t half the size of his, with thrice the occupants but...no one here was going to force him to kill someone or make him perform ritual sacrifice or join in...in whatever hellshow the Dark Lord had cooked up for Samhain. His skin still crawled at the memory of Father’s dark excitement as he informed Draco that this year _his_ wand was to be purified on Armilustrium*, in preparation for his participation in darker ceremonies on the 31st. He was definitely in a world of trouble, Father wasn't going to let this stand, not without consequences. He didn’t _love_ a great many people, but he didn’t _hate_ them, either. He thought he had. But he’d gotten more than his fair share at what that hatred truly meant this past year in anticipation of his Marking. 

Dear old dad sat him down and read him out the facts of life—left him a fine selection of tomes on the subject, spells, rituals he would be expected to perform in preparation for the Dark Lord’s social calls. Father had laid out precisely what would be expected of him, in his service to the Dark Lord. From the moment he was Marked he would be expected to attend Death Eater meetings, every celebration, every ritual—all of which entailed murder and torture and sacrifice at the Dark Lord’s command. Muggles, Muggle-borns, Squibs, Half-bloods, Blood-traitors, and occasionally? His own ranks, sometimes out of punishment, sometimes purely out of worship—he used to believe Auntie Bella was just...joking, in the only way that she could which was through tongue-in-cheek insanity. A month before his supposed-to-be-Marking Draco had attended a Death Eater Meeting, for the announcement of his indoctrination and he-

It hadn’t been pleasant. Dinner involved crucio’ing...Merlin, the Crabbes they- they had a _daughter_. Decades older than Crabbe, but Draco had never heard word of her before, and he learned why. The Summer before her Seventh Year at Hogwarts, she was vacationing in France with her parents and fell in love with a Muggle boy. A _Muggle_. Her parents were so ashamed they disowned her, would have killed her if she hadn’t runaway, abandoning her schooling and apparently, she maintained her relationship with the Muggle man, disclosed her magical status, and eventually they were wed.

And then ultimately, the former Crabbe heir had to look her husband in the eye as the Dark Lord set her under Imperius, and puppeteered her through stabbing her own husband through his stomach so he could bleed out while his wife was crucio’d until her heart gave out on the Dark Lord’s supper table.

“Draco? Mate?” Tonk’s voice was on the other side of the door as her knuckles rapped against it the instant he could be heard retching into the tub, “Key sickness still hitting you love? Want me to...uh...get Molly?” Mmm, yes, roles reversed he wouldn’t want to be the adult checking in on the person sicking up.

“I’m- I’m fine,” he called the assurance as he caught his breath. “I just need a moment.” 

“Alright mate, just shout if you need something.”

He...he had all he needed here. He wasn’t Marked. He wasn’t in Malfoy Manor. His Father was- well nowhere near him. He prayed mother was alright.

He could verify for himself if he stopped being so pathetic. He ran the shower to clear away what little he’d had in him to upheave and offer the sound of him cleaning up so he would go undisturbed as he consulted the journal again.

_I’m fine, feeling much better. I met Nymphadora, she’s here keeping guard. Everyone has been helpful. I’m grateful to you, mother._ Oh shite, he hoped this stupid thing didn’t display the moisture that escaped his eyes to splatter on the page. _I can never be more grateful. For what you’ve done, across time—if you hadn’t come back, if you hadn’t spoken up?_ He hadn’t known! He thought father _and mother_ wanted that for him, that he would be disgracing _her_ with his actions if he weaseled out of his Marking. Oh ugh. No pun intended. And he’d been...he’d needed her permission, no matter what. Her blessing. If he’d been daft enough to even consider doing this all on his own. Because no matter how this went down, his actions would have consequences for him, but _she_ was the one who was left alone with Father, raving mad about Draco’s decision, and even if she’d had nothing to do with it, he was _always_ going to blame her for it. He thought...he thought it was a certainty, that there wasn’t a way out—and there hadn’t been. If he’d just gone off without all of this in place? He could have maybe appealed to the side of the Light as an informant but they weren’t likely to trust a word out of his mouth. He would have had nowhere to go, been in the same danger he was now and likely...just gotten himself killed. _I’m just sorry it leaves you with Father. How are you? Both versions of you if that is okay to ask._

_I assure you my love, I'm rather safe in the company I keep these days. As for my memories, they have made it clear I survive. I believe I’m having breakfast with Jinsey as I write this. I’m perfectly well._

Perfectly safe? _Granger’s helping you, Potter says._

There was a pause and then, _She sends her regards and hopes you’re well, she would like me to convey,_ there was another pause and then _she insists on apologizing, I will not be party to it._ And then on the next clean line, Granger’s handwriting appeared, _I’m so sorry you got sick from Portkeying! I’m definitely looking into some kind of workaround for that in future. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better. Mrs. Weasley makes the best chicken soup, food might not sound great right now but I promise it’s the most amazing thing after feeling horrible, if you ask her she’ll gladly make you some. Oh! Mind your head on the stairs, Harry and Ron are always hitting their heads on the second floor when they hit the next-to-bottom step. Your mother’s glaring at me right now, you get your glare from her._...more pausing. But then mother wrote, _We’re taking breakfast in a garden, to the treat of waffles and apparently Miss Granger’s need to fret over others. I trust you’re getting along with your newfound allies?_

He hadn’t gotten around to seeing much of Weasley but, _Yeah. Granger’s the one who helped with my injuries, she charmed my book to tell me when you write. Potter stayed with me, kept guard or whatever, we talked a while._ It felt...well foolish, but who could he complain to other than mother? It was very vexing. _I asked Potter to charm my journal for me and he wouldn’t even try. He insisted Granger had to, and I was very persuasive I do believe!_

_Miss Granger is the one most familiar with the magic in our journals. His refusal was likely nothing of a personal nature._ It wasn’t, mostly, but he- he’d not been the least bit tempted to try! And then, after a moment, _I’m certain it wasn’t personal at all, Dragon. I’m informed he can be rather dense but more than that, Mister Potter isn’t allured by masculine or femenine wiles—he does enjoy people, but apparently he only finds attraction in their many internal attributes over their external. Kindness, care for others, bravery, things that you are, when you’re truest self, things I love most about you. Should this information be of interest._

Well that wasn’t- he hadn’t meant-

...being...himself is what might...interest someone like Potter?

Irrelevant! That- that wasn’t- he was only complaining to complain!

_I’m glad to hear you’re well, mother, that you’re safe. I’ll leave you to your breakfast, I believe I’ll see to getting some myself._

_Excellent darling, I’m so glad you’re feeling better. Do be on your best behavior for the Weasleys._

Well. He would certainly try. He was off to a good start he hoped...clothing only ever got left out for him if it meant he was absolutely expected to wear it, so. He figured the same applied here. He donned the jumper that had been left for him, tucking it into fresh black slacks, making sure the bathroom was to rights before he stepped out to join Miss Tonks.

And then he went down to breakfast.

There’d been a great deal of commotion, it sounded not unlike a battle, honestly, Tonks moving ahead into the fray, he saw her hit the bottom step and bound to the kitchen table, tugging on the girl Weasley’s hair and that prompted her to roll her eyes and scoot a bit in her seat so she could share it with the Auror as they launched into what was ultimately a very short conversation about Quidditch season. He’d been nervous descending the stairs at the noise level but those nerves only redoubled when he hit the bottom and the army of people around the kitchen table fell completely and utterly _silent._ Save Tonks snickering at said silence.

Mrs. Weasley broke that silence though, “Oh my stars—he does like my sweater!” she said, swatting Weasley...oh shit, last names were going to get people confused in a house full of Weasleys. Ron, she swatted Ron on the arm, “How does it fit, lovey? I hope you aren’t too warm, but the house does tend to get chilly at night.”

...she...the woman had _made_ him this sweater and uh...only expected he’d wear it if he _liked_ it.

Somewhere...quietly...that... _made_ him rather love the horrid thing, giant grey ‘D’ and all. “It fits nicely, comfortably. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he said.

“Oh of course, of course!” the woman cheerily waved him off, “Well, come now my dear, grab a seat, help yourself, there’s plenty to go around!”

“Harry’s saved you a seat!” the twin Weasley’s chimed.

“Just about bit off George’s head off over it,” one claimed, pointing to the other.

“Oi! You’re George!”

“No I’m Andrew—you’re Jim!”

“...Molly-love are the twins playing at being quadruplets or did they _actually_ manage to become quadruplets again?” a very tired voice spoke from the head of the table. Oh. Mister Weasley hadn’t looked up from his paper, he’d the Daily Prophet in his face but he folded it in toward himself to look around as if trying to spy two sets of twins and then his gaze fell on Draco, squinting a bit and then he stared between...Fleur, he recognized her from the Tri-Wizard tournament. Mister Weasley looked from her to the Weasley next to her, a fellow with long red hair and Merlin, a great many scars. Bill Weasley, he’d seen their engagement announcement in the papers. And then Mister Weasly looked to his wife, staring very hard for a moment and she met his gaze momentarily before she burst into giggles.

“Oh Arthur, honestly! That’s Draco Malfoy! We discussed this! He’s to be staying with us until session starts—oh! And holidays as well my dear boy, don’t you fret. You’ll always have a place at our table, I can promise you that!”

“Oh!” the Weasley patriarch brightened at that, as if relieved. “Draco Malfoy—welcome, welcome! Come my boy, take a seat! Dig in! There’s a seat still by Harry.” Merlin, only half the table had already announced as much. The girl Weasley, Ginny, she snorted as she shared a look with Tonks.

So Draco took the vacant stool between Potter and the head of the table, where Mister Weasley was seated, the man clapping Draco on the shoulder and his wife could be heard instructing her children to pass a plate she picked up and spooned a great helping of scrambled eggs onto, telling them to ‘plate and pass’ which apparently meant load up the plate with whatever food item was before them before passing it along until Potter was handing him a full plate, utensils magicing into existence at his right hand once he set the plate down before him.

He was starving, famished but too nervous, far too nervous to even consider- what if turning down their food had them casting him from their home? It wasn’t...Jinsey knew how he liked his eggs Benedict, and he hadn’t realized potatoes were civilized breakfast food. But it smelled...good, wonderful really. He just felt like he might sick up if he tried putting food on his stomach with everyone staring at him and,

“So why’d you blow up Voldy’s business the other day?” the twin that was apparently both ‘George’ and ‘Jim’ wanted to know.

“Yeah I mean what the hell? You’re on his side all these years and then boom, what? You woke up one day and decided you’d like to shake things up?” the other asked.

“Did you really get an Unforgivable thrown at you?”

“Ginerva!” Molly Weasley snapped.

“What?! I didn’t _say_ the _name_ —and they’re called Unforgivables in textbooks!” Ginny defended.

“What sort of awful text did you read that in?!” her mother wanted to know.

Potter softly cleared his throat and he heard Granger sigh, before the Boy who Lived took a sip at the pumpkin juice by his plate before setting the glass down and announcing, “Hermione used a Time Turner to attend every available class third year.”

Draco’s internal _what?!_ Was mirrored by all parties around the table, the adults looking alarmed, and their spawn not that much better, save Ron who was still...tiredly slopping oatmeal into his mouth like an animated corpse long unfamiliar with the task of feeding itself, Merlin.

“Uh-huh,” Granger nodded, shrugging, “I got permission from a professor and they gave me a turner for educational purposes.”

...educational purposes. The way she said it implied...the Professor...likely McGonagall, gave it over with the intent that Granger only use it for class, but she’d taken liberties with the definition of ‘educational’ and…

And now, somewhere, there was a future Hermione Granger capable of long-distance time travel.

...and a present Hermione Granger, taking the attention off of Draco and for once? Yeah. Didn’t mind it. He’d thank her if he could do so without speaking and tracking attention to himself...the _others_ attention. Potter gave a quiet sigh of relief the moment Draco had a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He wasn’t certain what to do with Mrs. Weasley taking up his finished plate and kissing him on the cheek. Or Mister Weasley announcing with delight that it was _Sunday_ and that it was the _best_ day because it meant family and he realized that’s what it meant for him too, and he missed...he missed mother. But then family for the Weasleys meant their biological spawn running off in different directions, the Twins announcing they’d some ‘very important, oh so serious business’ to attend to’, Bill escorting his bride to be from the kitchen as he said they’d plans that afternoon, eliciting a giggle from the woman on his arm and she pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek. Ginny called out something over her shoulder about going to go see Luna. The only Weasley that stuck around was Ron, and he sprawled out on one of the parlor’s couches while Mister Weasley waved them over into the parlor in an invitation for Wizard’s Chess, “Our guest’s turn first, if he’d care to play?” he offered. Granger looked keen on playing and she was the only Witch in attendance so he waved to concede the seat to her first but she waved him off, saying she’d much rather play the winner and she took a seat on the other sofa, Harry sitting next to her and opening the newest Quidditch Monthly for his perusal, Granger paying rapt attention to the game at hand.

He wasn’t certain what to do with Mister Weasley’s gentle guidance as they played, complimenting his moves and sagely offering advice on better in future. Not...ridiculing him, just...friendly correction. And how was he liking their home? Was he comfortable? Did he need for anything? They’d all go back-to-school shopping soon, a final run before the start of term, if he needed anything at all, he was to merely ask. Did he know the purpose of a rubber duck?

“Rubber, sir?”

“Yes, they’re the most delightful object!” the man insisted as he moved his Knight out of range of Draco’s Bishop. “Inanimate ducks that float in water! Harry informs me they are the guardians of the bathtub! Muggles do so worry about the gods striking during a nice bath, given that baths imitate small oceans. But they’ve nothing to fear with their bathtub guardians afloat!”

“Poseidon quivers before them,” Potter assured as he didn’t so much as look up from his reading.

“How splendid!” the older Wizard enthused, the man managed to distract himself more than Draco, he left his Queen wide open and there was only the slightest bit of hesitation in him as he commanded his Rook to take her. Maybe more than a bit, he immediately looked up to the Weasley patriarch for some reaction, a soft “Oh!” crossing the man’s lips before he looked to Draco and beamed,

“Excellent move my boy, just brilliant! My word you’re a sharp one!” he commended, “What to do...what to do…” he cheerily ruminated, cupping his chin and tapping his index finger to his lips as he pondered.

Checkmated Draco four bloody moves later is what he did! Salazar’s snakes the man knew his Wizard’s Chess! He shook Draco’s hand and commended him on his excellent job, waving Hermione over, “Come now my dear girl, your turn.”

So they switched seats, Draco taking her place on the couch alongside Potter. Tonks had been sitting guard just a few feet away in the kitchen but she yawned and said, “Oi, Malfoy, are you good here? I think I’m going to catch a few winks before patrol this afternoon.”

“Oh, not Knockturn Alley again, is it love?” Molly Weasley fretted. 

“Gotta go where the department sends me—this month is Knockturn, west Diagon for me and King. Don’t you worry, the most dangerous thing on the streets is us,” Tonk’s assured with a wink.

Oh hell. She’d been...making rounds last night, someone had said, of the Weasley property. She hadn’t slept at all, had she? And she’d still her actual job later, this...she was in uniform but that...well that was just clever. She wasn’t on the clock, but her robes were still designed to defend her in battle and too, a more cowardly Death Eater might balk at their mission the moment they saw an Auror on the premises. They...hadn’t hired her. They told her her cousin was defecting and she just...stepped up for guard duty. Merlin. Definitely not sure what to do with that.

“I got it Tonks,” Potter assured, “you get some rest.”

“Thanks pup,” the woman said, stretching her arms overhead as she rose from the stool at the kitchen counter and headed for the stairs.

“Thank you Miss- er, Tonks,” Draco called after her, and she stopped, twisting to look at him as she pulled at her elbow to stretch out her shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it mate.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with Potter’s smile as he offered to share his magazine, allowing Draco to hold one side open while he did the other, turning the page whenever Draco nodded. And he definitely wasn’t sure what to do when Potter didn’t turn the page, and he realized it was because the other boy was fast asleep, head slumped forward as he dozed. Draco’s tapping him on the shoulder only had the boy crack an eye open to look at him, ask quietly if he was ‘okay’ and when Draco nodded, so did he...before he nodded straight back off, this time slumping to the side. Draco’s side. That was fine. Yesterday was his Marking Ceremony and today Harry Potter was napping on his shoulder, the world made sense. Somehow that seemed more capable of breaking time and space than time travel.

He realized precisely what he wanted to do, when Ginny Weasley returned home in a ruckus, slamming the front door hard enough to make Draco jump—and then jump again when he felt an arm snake around his waist and he felt the distinct pull on his magic that spoke to someone preparing to Apparate, but it stopped the instant Potter opened his eyes and realized the alarm was no call for escape.

“Sorry,” Potter apologized as he pulled his spectacles aside and drug a hand over his face, with a tired sigh, “didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You good?”

No. No he wasn’t ‘good’. At least not good by father’s standards but that...might actually mean it _was_ good, after all. Or maybe it was the Portkey Hysteria still whaling on him but…

He wanted to kiss Harry Potter. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt as much, not really. He’d...he _might_ have _maybe_ had the _littlest_ of what he realized in retrospect was a crush, on Harry Potter. He’d been...well he’d been so incensed by his being rejected by the boy in favor of _Weasley_ of all people because he’d been...jealous. He’d always sat separated from the Golden boy of Gryffindor, there was no real way to bridge the gap, none that he’d ever considered before, not when he was destined to be Marked. Part of what always spurned him was that, the jealousy, the frustration that he... _he wanted things to be different_. He wished they could be. He thought...yeah. He thought it’d take time magic. Something that took things like Voldemort and his father’s ideals out of the equation, where maybe he hadn’t been raised to be such an insufferable toerag when he felt insecure, he wished he was more like mother in that regard—when she felt insecure, she closed up. Father lashed out. Maybe, in another world, they could have been friends instead of enemies. He was, albeit humbled to realize such a world existed, it just required him being brave for once in his life. Saying no to the things he didn’t want to do which meant maybe...maybe he could say yes to the things he did. And Merlin damn him he…

He wanted Potter’s...approval. And his smiles. And his obscene amounts of hand-affection.

He wanted the look of absolute _pride_ he got when, after eating what he could of dinner and listening to the Weasley clan exhaust their questions about one another’s day, Draco cleared his throat and quietly said, “You had some questions for me this morning and I wasn’t swift to answer, but I would like to fix that now, if I may?” In fact, he was pretty sure that look alone was why he did it. What an utterly insufferable motivation, but he did owe explanation. These people...these people were opening their home to him, risking their lives. They deserved assurances, at the very least. 

“Go right ahead my boy,” Arthur Weasley invited.

“You needn’t answer a thing if you don’t want to dear, you’ve had a trying time,” Molly Weasley saw fit to intone.

“Oh yes—only if you’re absolutely inclined,” Arthur agreed.

“Boys—shush,” Fleur hissed at the chattering Weasley men who fell silent and...well. Attention time he supposed, he wished for it again.

“My father serves the Dark Lord. Not me,” he informed them. “Nor my mother really she- she has to do...their marriage vows are complicated. Father wants his family dedicated to the Dark Lord. I...obviously have no such vows so. My mother...I was scared for her. What might happen if I showed any hesitation to have myself Marked someday. She made me promise to do what I think is right for myself, to not worry about what consequences-”

“So what? All those times you called Hermione M-” Weasley blanched, looking panicked as his gaze went across the table to Granger, Potter’s hand had gone under the table to rest a hand on her knee while he out in out _glared_ at the not-so-golden-right-now member of the Golden Trio. “Sorry, sorry—all those times you’ve put Hermione down for being Muggle born, you were just playing pretend?” he snapped.

“Am I irked that she can just waltz into the Wizarding World at age eleven and turn out as magically proficient as _me?_ Yeah maybe. Jealousy, I’m human, bite me Weasel and I’ll bleed. Blood that...that isn’t any better than hers. But that’s how they get us, you realize—there are others like me who- who aren’t-”

“Aren’t?” Potter prompted.

“Who aren’t _killers._ Or sadists or out of our minds! You lot...most of you lot don’t have half a clue the sort of horrible things the Dark Lord demands of his followers, just _sick, awful stuff._ And I know— _I know_ I’m not the only one who would see how disgusting it all is, how wrong. How...stupid it is to want to destroy 90% of the Wizarding population—I mean when you get down to it, to the purest definition of Pureblood? When you cut out Muggleborns, Squibs—even those born to pureblood lines are fodder—half-bloods, that’s half of the people at this table _gone._ And the rest of you? Blood traitors, because your father dotes on Muggle ingenuity. I’m—my recent departure aside—would be the only person left standing. And that ration would be reflected across the whole of the Wizarding World if it was up to Voldemort,” Draco scoffed, “Even _he_ doesn’t make the cut! But he’s the ars- er...my apologies Lady Weasley,” he nodded in the woman’s direction for nearly swearing at her table. “He’s the one in charge. And he...has this messed up way of making us, Pureblood heirs, feel inferior to people like Granger, while convincing us it’s _their fault_ , that _we’re supposed_ to be superior and it’s only mollycoddling and reverse-bigotry that makes us less-than.” Granger looked riled to say something and he sighed, “I’m well aware there is no such thing as reverse-bigotry, Granger, don’t have yourself a hernia. I’m just telling you that’s how _he_ spins it. And his followers. So they indoctrinate their children with that tripe and ta-da! Little mini-death eaters saying ‘death to all Mudbloods’ without truly understanding their wishing _death_ on another _person,_ and once they ever do? They’ll either regret ever having been party to that, or they’ll be so far gone they’ll just follow through with the motions until they mean it. He’s leading children into war they don’t understand that they’ll truly have to fight. And at the end of the day? His people could all rot, for all he cares. As long as he’s alive, he’s fine, he’ll replace them like last season’s broom.”

Ginny Weasley was staring at him with eyes as wide a saucers, “...wow.”

“‘Mione?” Ron questioned tensely from across the table.

“You okay?” Potter asked, quietly. Oh. Oh shit, maybe he er...went too far. He’d just- he hadn’t meant it nasty that time, he’d just been explaining but Granger had stiffened up something fierce when he er...dropped the M-word. She rested an elbow on the table and pressed her fist to her mouth, he thought maybe she might be restraining herself from snapping but...oh hell she looked almost sick. Damn it, mother had cautioned him to guard his tongue, insisted he absolutely never _ever_ call Miss Granger that word if he was to be seeking alliance with them. He supposed mother was with future Granger and maybe she’d said how much the word upset her, crap, he hadn’t- he hadn’t meant it harmfully. It really got to her that badly?

...she’d just been a little girl. Some poor thing that hadn’t a single clue that magic even existed. And then suddenly it does and she has it. And then she goes to magic school and...yeah. Faces shite because of something she couldn’t very well control. The Weasley’s...was probably somewhere that word didn’t ever get said, Summer was probably a break from both saving Potter’s hide and hearing that word or thinking about why it existed and the prejudices she’d face because of it.

“I’m okay,” she replied softly, clearing her throat.

“I’m sorry,” Draco offered, blushing as soon as the words left his mouth it- he wasn’t usually encouraged to apologize for his mistakes but...well he’d apologized to Mrs. Weasley for swearing at her table. And this word...well, it was worse than ‘arsehole’ and it made its speaker one. His mouth worked momentarily, she hadn’t looked up at him and he- well he thought...he sighed, drawing his wand from his trouser pocket, sliding it in his grasp so he held it by its tip. “That was poor return, for all you’ve done for me this week, saying that word.” She looked up at that, to him, and he extended his wand to her, hilt first. “Hermione Granger, we’ve long been enemies, but this day that ends. I do solemnly swear to never speak that word in your presence or in bigotry ever again.”

Oh shit. She might not know what he’s doing. But she _might_ and his explaining it would make it seem like he’d assume she wouldn’t because of her upbringing-

She stared at his wand, withdrew her own, and held it out to cross with his, hilt-first, before Potter as he stared with interest like he’d not a clue what was going on but he was curious. How did he not know about Wizard Truces? Granger clearly did, “Draco Malfoy, we’ve long been enemies, but this day that ends. I do solemnly swear to not hold our past experience with that word against you, ever again.” She’d even added a condition for herself, hell.

And then she took his wand in hand, and he hers, and with mirrored swish-flick, “And so it is,” he said, met with her smile, and Potter’s in his peripheral.

“And so it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hexlers--less than legal Howlers that hit their recipients with, you guessed it! Hexes!  
> *Hermione's mother is ambiguous enough in age that she could have been in her late teens during the end of the 60's, so. Pre-college (possibly pre-college-graduation) Mrs. Granger was a hippie. I don't make the rules.  
> *an Elf being "ripe for the wall" is a reference to the creepy wall in Grimmauld Place where the House Elves who grew too old and weak to carry tea trays have their heads hung.  
> *Lupercalia is the Pagan-Roman celebration akin to Valentines day. It's a 3day celebration that falls from February 13th to the 15th.  
> *what I garner from canon is that Elves can read and write in their own language but perhaps not in English, I'm not sure if this is a canon thing though. So. Here we have "at the very least, Purebloods put a 'no-no' sticker on teaching House Elves how to read and write in their master's language"  
> *Cassius Warrington was the applicant for the Goblet of Fire from Slytherin.  
> *Tonks has a year gap in the guestimation of her canon age, where if you put her at her youngest possible age, but take the canon year she becomes Auror, and the fact that there were several Auror applicant tests she didn't have to study for due to her morphing abilities, she could be an Auror 2 years post-Hogwarts which would make her 19, and likely the youngest to make Auror until she's usurped by Harry and Friends after the War.  
> *Armilustrium is another Pagan-Roman holiday dedicated to the purification of weaponry that falls on October 19th. This holiday usually signified the end of the warring year (which would begin again in March), but for funsies Voldemort celebrates it in purifying his and his death eater's wands in preparation to dirty them once more come Samhain.
> 
> The next chapter, I swear to *actual* Saturn, will be "Always Bet on Black" or I will timetravel and go back to punch myself in the face.


	5. Witches Brew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling in Muggle London, learning about the Internet, making her first congress with the Phone Oracle, out of jealousy of course. Hermione's been keeping one too many secrets and Narcissa is determined to get to the bottom of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently holding an icepack to the black eye* I fully deserve because this is not 'Always Bet on Black' as you can clearly tell by the title and I'm a woman of my word, so. Back in time to punch myself in the face I went. I'm a gay bitch. Who has several emotions about this ship. And I have to express them all, apparently. I hope they're at least enjoyable.
> 
> Thank you so so much for all the lovely comments and kudos! 🖤 
> 
> *no authors were actually harmed in the making of this chapter
> 
> also, big big thanks to the incomparable inkheart9459 who dragged me onto this ship in the first place and has encouraged the development of this insane story, letting me scream my ideas at her and reading the rough drafts so they're smoother for you!

Narcissa Malfoy had become accustomed to wanting things she could not have.

She wanted her sisters. Her wicked Bella—once wicked in a way that was fun and mischievous, wild in a way that brought light and life into everything she did—and her dear Dromeda. Oh Merlin, her eldest sister had been more a mother to them than mother. She’d heard the sentiment that one would always need for their mother when they were sad, or hurt, or in pain. She’d found to her horror that that was true—in Andromeda. When Narcissa lay at her lowest lows, it was Andromeda her heart ached for, to heal her wounds and soothe her soul, card fingers through her hair and promise her that everything would be alright.

She wanted her son. She wanted more for him—which had once seemed unobtainable. She wanted him to lead a life most blessed, one where he could truly be himself, love himself as she did him. Now that that future was well in sight, she wanted to hold and guide and be near him now more than ever, with all her heart, and that sadly could not be. For either of herselves. It was a double ache, ever in her chest, only dampened by the knowledge that _this was what was best for him_ , and the very _moment_ this was over? She was holding her son and never—truly _never_ letting go.

She’d wanted Lucius, desperately. Loved him with all of her heart, when they were in courtship, when he’d such a caring nature, kindness so deep when it came to those he loved. And then the very moment their marriage vows were sealed that was taken from her, his every softness gone. The man who once looked her in the eye as he vowed he would _never_ treat her as his own father did his mother, made vows before magic and the gods themselves on their wedding day, to claim her in her entirety, to guide her with a firm hand, dedicate her to pushing forward the dark legacy of the Malfoy name, hold her to the standard demanded of Malfoy women, and never abide that she might bring shame to their name _and so it is._

And so it was.

It was nary a _week_ after Draco’s defecting that it happened. Narcissa had risen with the sun, readied herself for the day ahead, quietly delighted in the morning ritual that marked their mornings as of late. Narcissa would wake and perform ritual to prepare herself, ply fresh cleansing to her teeth, dress, and manage her hair so its waves fell _just so_ , precisely as she deemed fit, the rush of magic that accompanied whisking her wand to whip pallid locks into place, set them accordingly, it was often followed by the muffled din of Miss Granger’s alarm clock. By the time Narcissa felt presentable and made her way down the hall, the younger Witch, wild-haired and pajama clad, was always padding out into the hall just as Narcissa approached, like clockwork, every morning, they met at Miss Granger’s door, Hermione squinting at the light and looking up into Narcissa’s face to offer a smile and,

“Good morning, Narcissa. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you. Yourself?”

And every morning, like clockwork her return question earned her the softest blush, sweet shyness from the younger Witch as she confirmed, “I did, thank you.” This day she saw fit to offer gratitude further still, “I really do appreciate you brewing Dreamless Sleep for me, your formulation’s just brilliant. The Hospital Wing’s always leaves me a little woozy, sick to my stomach when I first wake up, but yours doesn’t do that at all.”

That was because it was more than likely brewed en masse by Severus and he was hardly going to go over every last student’s every potion’s sensitivity—not when they weren’t having a life-threatening reaction. He went much too heavy on the Valerian root for even Narcissa’s liking, did the man think he needed to brew to the potency that would render even Rubeus Hagrid unconscious, even as he was brewing for a school full of _children,_ some no higher…or larger, than the half-giant’s knee? She tested Miss Granger herself, her tolerance for different ingredients before proceeding—pooling Matter-Measure* into different watchglasses, placing samples of ingredients within the translucent, silken, gel-like substance and guiding Miss Granger through the task. She’d never sat down for such a thing before so Narcissa saw fit to take the younger Witch’s hand and guide her through the process, pressing her finger into a sample, and once the gel went from translucent to…a surprising shade of silver, she pulled the girl’s hand back to wipe clean as to avoid cross-contamination and guided her hand once more to repeat the ministration until every watchglass bore silver Matter-Measure and then Miss Granger sat paying Narcissa rapt attention as she proceeded to bring each one to the appropriate temperature to reveal her results—Flobberworm mucus required heating until it was wholly liquified, while Valerian required chilling to a point the herb withered to a pitch-black and grew brittle enough to shatter of its own accord, becoming black star-esque specks glittering in the silvery, hardening gel from which rose a puff of dark blue, nearly-black smoke. Miss Granger had blinked and questioned just that meant since it was, albeit, ominous in comparison to the pale green plume that had been produced by the Flobberworm Mucus a moment prior.

_“You’ve a rather severe sensitivity to Valerian root, a little goes a long way. It is nothing short of a miracle you wake at all after imbibing Severus’s foul concoctions—do you struggle terribly to regain consciousness, Hermione?” Narcissa had worriedly pressed absolutely incensed. This was- the damned stuff may not incite an allergic reaction in the younger Witch but the quantities she’d been made to intake were downright_ dangerous _for her!_

_“Huh. Um…yeah actually, now that I think about it. I thought…that was kind of the point? It helps you sleep, it’s supposed to keep you asleep, right?”_

_“It is supposed to allow you to wake in accordance to the dosage you consume. A standard dose should have you waking instantly but gently exactly eight hours after you fall under its use, it should not leave you feeling ill or tired it-“ oh, she had to take a moment, compose herself before she started shouting. She took a deep breath and assured her, “You will certainly not suffer as much from my potions, and you will report to me any complication you endure, no matter how minor it might seem, Miss Granger or I will-” oh Merlin the girl already looked bemused by Narcissa’s fretting! Which somehow made it all the more difficult to lob threats! “well I will certainly be very cross with you!”_

_“Well I wouldn’t want that, now would I?” Miss Granger had supposed with open amusement! Mischief sparkling in her eye that- that was rather dangerous for Narcissa to note, she’d cleared her throat and made herself busy with- with whatever the hell she’d been doing. Oh, testing, of course._

_“Does the solution always turn silver?” Hermione wondered, “Why doesn’t it just change color instead of producing smoke?”_

_“Because it isn’t being replaced by another’s magic, and a person’s magic does not alter shade in a single instant save something momentous, and even then, samples previously taken would not alter along with it.”_

_“Oh, my magic turned it silver?”_

_“Yes, its very lovely, Hermione, your magic is beautiful just as it is. I’m certain it will only grow more so,” she assured while…brushing past the question as quickly as possible, it was not necessarily a topic she wished to get into presently. She…was fearful it might hurt the girl’s spirit, or worry her. It was nothing worrisome in the slightest. Magic reflected its use, with darker use came a darker hue. Narcissa’s herself was pitch-black. Her sweet Dragon’s had been pure as the driven snow when last he was tested in such a way, but that had been a few years now. Silver indicated purity that verged into darkness with benevolent intent, that she would cast darker magic when the need arose which…Narcissa hadn’t been expecting. Still, the young lady might take it to heart harshly to discover her magic reflected such a thing, so. “Now, I must concentrate—Lavender can be finicky.”_

_Miss Granger had snorted with amusement at that observation, “Alright,” before looking to the Valerian watchglass. “I’ll let you concentrate—would it be alright if I kept this?” she wondered at the freshly tested sample._

_She didn’t see why she would wish to but, “Certainly.” Oh…oh most certainly—her agreement sent the younger Witch smiling and-_

_“Thanks,” she said as she pressed a swift kiss to Narcissa’s cheek, taking up the watchglass and disappearing up the cellar stairs._

It was last night Narcissa discovered precisely what the young lady had wanted the watchglass for. She’d apparently found it pretty, the silvery gel, and specks of black. Narcissa found it waiting on her nightstand when she retired for the evening, only it had been…altered. A second watchglass lay upside down so it's curve was upward, the two watchglasses joined seamlessly like a shallow orb of glass that held the starry silver, spelled for stasis so it remained unchanged-

Well, unchanged from here on out. Miss Granger had apparently discovered the meaning of _Narcissa_ , outside the realm of being named after the Greek youth who became enamored with his own reflection and spawned the word ‘narcissism’. She had somehow manipulated the glittering stars to act just as such—like stars. Formed a constellation that made the shape of what was clearly a single, beautiful, daffodil that…upon reflection, had been the base of her father’s inspiration for her name. When first she knew his mind on the subject, yes, he’d liked that Narcissa may well indeed have an impenetrable sense of self-love, but his first love of the name? Came from the first moment he laid eyes on his child and saw the shine of her hair, a deeper gold that gleamed like the precious metal itself when she was first born, a tell-tale sign that she was indeed not a squib but a child fully steeped in magical potential, her hair fading to its finer hue as she and her magic grew.

There was a single slip of parchment left with the offering from Miss Granger—her script reading, _Narcissa—now you have a constellation to light your path._

An endearing sentiment, Narcissa thought, it was enough alone to set a lump in her throat.

That only persisted when she cast Knock-back at the lightswitch, which she found allowed her to spell off the lights from the comfort of her bed…and a pale white glow grew in her peripheral, drawing her attention to the nightstand.

Miss Granger had charmed the thing to- to switch in color, silver becoming black like the night’s sky, her daffodil— _Narcissa—_ glittering silvery-white and setting her bedroom awash with gentle light.

Oh, Miss Granger thought to thank _her_ for merely providing proper potion? “It was my pleasure, darling,” Narcissa assured the girl now, allotting herself a form of affection she could indulge in—brushing a tendril of hair back behind the younger Witch’s ear as she intoned, “You are to keep me apprised as to when you need more. I would not have you going without, is that clear?”

And she did delight in the blush that invoked in the young lady as she nodded, “Thanks.”

“Thank _you_ , Hermione. I do dearly love the orb you constructed me. However did you discover the duality to my name?”

More blushing, oh goodness was the girl embarrassed at having looked it up? “Dad used to plant flowers around the outside of the house, in the back garden when I was littler—he’d buy them made to be transferred from their pots into the ground, and I was…well I was _little_ I was just a toddler! I didn’t know any better, I suppose. I would apparently get so excited about them, found them so pretty I absolutely _had_ to pick them the moment they were in the ground, dad complained he once looked up at the end of all his hard work only to discover I’d toddled my way after him, he’d find me standing right alongside him with my clothes and hands full of uprooted flowers. Whenever they tease me over it now mum always pokes fun that it’s fitting I was always so selfishly snatching up the daffodils for myself—Narcissus inspiring the idea of being ‘self absorbed’ and all.”

“Ahh,” Narcissa smiled, “you wished to keep your pretty flowers all to yourself?”

“I was an only child—it’s second nature to keep my pretty things all to myself.”

“Oh, am _I_ one of your pretty things, Miss Granger? You’ve done rather the outstanding job of keeping me all to yourself, I’ve not even heard mention of the libraries you promised.”

Oh, she’d not been complaining, but that sent the girl to apology, “Oh! Narcissa I- we were so busy last week, I totally spaced, I’m so so-”

“Hermione—we _were_ busy last week, terribly so. I hardly wished to waste precious time that could be spent aiding my son and our selves on our current objective by going out and about. I was merely,” flirting, but, “teasing,” felt safer.

Miss Granger was still earnest in her insistance, “You really are free to leave the house I- I mean I would appreciate you giving me a heads up just, so I know you’re not here and for safety sake—having an idea of when you might be back, of when to get worried and go looking for you. And if one of us leaves the house they should take the mobile with them just in case of emergency—but I’m not going to be mad if you up and go out for a bit without a heads up, I mean you’re a grown woman.”

“I would not needlessly worry you,” Narcissa assured, “I do promise to give some warning, and barring that I would endeavor to bring the mobile with me.”

Hermione smiled her relief at that, “Thanks. If you ever need it, it’s always charged and on my nightstand. It won’t come when accio’d…yet.”

“Yet?”

“I have ideas?” a statement she spoke as if it were a matter of question, it was almost infuriating. Her brow was creased with worry as she went on, “But it might not work—it might just break it and mobiles are, er…expensive.”

And they’d a mysterious “budget”. “Perhaps if you shared your ideas? I’m not well acquainted with Muggle technology but even merely speaking a thought aloud can render benefit to its development.”

Miss Granger worried her lip, teeth sinking into tempting flesh in a way that gave her the briefest moment of jealousy, the young Witch was free to do as much to herself, a distracting ridiculous notion she could thankfully ignore as Hermione nodded, “If you wouldn’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. I’ve always an interest in your thoughts, Miss Granger.”

Her nose crinkled at that. “Some of my thoughts are about craving chips. And how potatoes in general are the only real evidence we know of that there is a higher power and they do indeed love us.”

“It’s a bit early for brunch, but I suppose we could make an exception if you wish potatoes be on the menu.”

…why did Miss Granger have a very specific look of sympathy-mixed-horror when it came to the subject of this starch? “Okay so…I don’t know how Purebloods live exactly, apparently its not as well as they’d like everyone to believe, in point of fact I’d consider it akin to not living at all—have you never in your life had potatoes for breakf- oh God. _Narcissa!”_ the girl lamented, utterly ridiculous. Though Narcissa’d certainly no complaints—at the ridiculousness or its outcome—as Hermione wrapped an arm around her, hand rubbing her bicep as if to comfort as she ordered, “Come on, lets go—kitchen, now. Planning and potatoing. Those are our objectives today.”

Oh dear Merlin. “Potatoing?”

“Brightest Witch of an Age—it is my Morgana-given right to coin formerly undiscovered words, and Potatoing will be the first.” Miss Granger informed her, though, “Actually zeeen pocaboz-ate was my first word I can take credit for—it’s commonly used in my parents dental practice.”

“Zeen pocaboz-ate?” Narcissa questioned as they entered the Kitchen and Hermione released her hold, abandoning her to seek their necessities for…working with potatoes—she was not indulging in that ridiculous word.

“It means ‘I’m sixteen months old and my parents talk way too much about zinc polycarboxylate and surely their marriage can’t last on conversation about dental adhesive alone.”

“Miss Granger, were your first words something as abhorrently difficult as zinc polycarboxylate?”

“My version? Yes. Queen’s English? Dada—mum was livid,” she assured.

“Mmm, well. At least your babbling didn’t get her hopes up, starting with ‘z’. Draco spent _weeks_ going ‘mh’, ‘mh’, ‘mh’, only to ultimately look me in my eyes—the woman who carried his life into this world—grabbed a fist full of my hair and announced his first word to be ‘mine’.”

“Awwwwe,” the girl cooed as if that were simply adorable, and it was…further so when she decided, “That’s so sweet! Little baby Draco claiming you as his! I suppose he didn’t want to share you.”

Oh Merlin, for all her playful lamenting, it was just that—playful. She cherished her son’s first word, and that sentiment furthered it all the more. She’d not considered her babe might be both asserting his ownership over any and everything, but also, in a way saying ‘that’s my mother’. Oh, it was so sweet it had her raising a hand to rub over her heart. “I suppose that much is true.”

And that was when it happened. Miss Granger’s smile dropped as she looked to Narcissa’s hand and she startled, “Oh no, Narcissa, did you lose your ring?”

“Pardon?” Narcissa absently questioned. Her ring?

…August 7th, 1996, Narcissa’s wedding ring disappeared.

“I…took it off,” she offered, clearing her throat, “Better for cooking, yes?”

“Oh, yeah, I have worried it would go flying down the sink, not that a quick accio couldn’t fix that, but still, if it slipped into the food or something that might be unfortunate.”

Perhaps, but no. No, this was not unfortunate at all, not in the slightest.

She did not necessarily care for the week’s arguments with Lucius flooding her memories, but this morning’s? While Narcissa and Miss Granger made pleasant chatter, offering thanks for one another’s kindness, her present’s self had been seated to breakfast when Lucius strode into the dining room, slammed his hand down on the table alongside her plate to leave, in its wake, his wedding ring before snatching her left wrist and wrenching her wedding ring from its place on her hand, before he carelessly discarded it to clatter on the table before her, raising his wand as he released hold of her wrist and poising it over his ring.

_“We are getting a divorce.”_ he decided, casting to banish his ring as he stared her down as if wishing for her to even try to defy him on this.

But it was quite literally the last thing in this world she would defy him in. In fact it was his only demand she was grateful to meet.

The Present’s Narcissa banished her wedding ring, and it vanished from her Future self’s hand.

Staring at Miss Granger’s arm, Narcissa wondered just what else might be made capable of disappearing.

“…to lock onto and pull it through, react like anything that can be accio’d,” Hermione was saying, “…did I lose you? Oh gosh, it’s dumb, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me?” Narcissa startled, oh. She was standing alongside Miss Granger at the counter, the younger witch just finishing the task of peeling a few potatoes for them that Narcissa had volunteered to dice and had yet to raise a hand to do so. “Oh! Oh do forgive me, I became distracted. Would you repeat yourself? Your most certainly brilliant idea, Miss Granger, honestly,” she offered gentle reprimand as she took up her knife and began setting to task, the younger Witch watching momentarily like the process was utterly fascinating.

“I would chop my hand off going that fast,” she said in compliment before leaning against the counter. “So I was explaining about tagging things, objects that usually can’t be manipulated by magic, with runes meant to rectify that—your magic locks onto the rune, and pulls the object it's attached to through, opening doors and whatnot to allow it to come to you the same way it works with any accio’able object. There’s wards that block accio, I put one on Draco’s portkey—I’m trying to think of a counter of that, something that means ‘this is accio-able’.”

“Oh well that would be delightful for Muggle-borns and those who wish to interact with Muggle technology. You could replicate it with other things, you…you’ve made mention the remote is terribly easy to lose track of. Are they terribly expensive?”

“…you know I’m not sure but likely less than a mobile and I mean, a mobile is more of a need than the remote, we could always do things the old fashioned way if it breaks,” Hermione supposed. Oh, yes, Narcissa had discovered the dials on the television controlled the device as well, though the girl proposed what was apparently the superior option when one was faced with a lack of inconvenience with the telly, “Read a book instead.”

“Oh certainly,” Narcissa chuckled warmly, and it apparently incited some warmth in Miss Granger, her eyes shone with it as she expressed some curiosity, reaching out to rest her hand on Narcissa’s arm.

“Hey, you’re in a really good mood today,” she seemed pleased to note.

“Have I been anything less than pleasant?” Narcissa questioned critically.

“Lately?” Hermione cheekily returned, “No, just…you’ve been stressed since Draco’s defecting, a little down. I promise I’m not complaining just,” she shrugged, “I’m really happy to see you happy. You’re feeling better about things?”

She was. A great many things. Perhaps…

Perhaps Narcissa Malfoy could get used to getting the things she wanted.

They dedicated their day to experiment and theory, Narcissa watching as Miss Granger filled several uniform, white sheets of parchment she termed ‘printer paper’ with variations of the rune that imbued an object with protections from being accio’d, altering it in different ways as she tried to garner which variation would mean ‘allow this to be accio’d’ while Narcissa offered what she could of input and too, hosting what was apparently a ‘brainstorming session’.

“If it is the tag itself being accio’d I wonder the implications that could hold,” Narcissa was saying, “you needn’t announce what you’re calling for, I believe.”

“Huh. I’ve been trying to think about that too like, just calling ‘accio mobile’ but it isn’t the mobile being accio’d-”

“It is the tag. So it itself must be imbued with identity. Too, it may require like magical signatures.”

“Oh! Crap, yeah like my making the tag might mean I’m the only one able to accio it.”

Narcissa shrugged. “It is not wholly impossible to lace another’s signature into your work, giving them permission to call the object to themselves. It also inherently protects the object from anyone lacking permission from calling it to themselves, which lends to its marketability.”

That got a bemused look out of the younger Witch as she looked up from her work to raise a brow at Narcissa, “Marketability?”

“Oh entertain me,” Narcissa insisted. “Consider this: convenience and security. How delightful would it be to, instead of saying ‘Accio Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’, simply say ‘accio tag one’.”

“Fantastic Beasts would be your tag one?” Hermione teased.

“Miss Granger, that cheeky tongue will be my tag one if you do not guard it,” Narcissa warned. “I merely mean to offer a long-winded title as example. You could have librarians weeping at your feet for their gratitude, being able to expedite their filing. Too, there is an anonymity that would be most appreciated at St. Mungos, other Wizard care facilities. Instead of needing to speak a patient's name aloud to call their file, a Healing Care professional could designate tags to their patient files and merely call out a number, to ensure their confidence is kept.”

“Gosh, I just wanted to make the mobile a little more accessible to you, I didn’t think this would actually,” Miss Granger shrugged as if uncertain, “dunno, be something super useful but…yeah maybe it might be? We don’t even know if it will work or not yet.”

“If it is something you have set your mind to, then I’ve little doubt in your success,” Narcissa saw fit to assure.

That earned her a warm smile and a wink of all things from the younger Witch, “Right back at you,” before her attention returned to her formulations.

She wanted to help Hermione Granger. She wanted to speak with her, in every realm from nonsensical conversation on coining ridiculous words to advanced theory on rune application. She wanted to wake up, cook, and spend the day working alongside this young lady. And she wanted this consistently, every day, and it was a want that was continually met.

It had never been quite so horrifying to realize something so blatantly obvious, but it became as much, the first time this want was posed to go unmet.

“Hey,” Hermione’s voice pulled her attention from the telley. There was something the younger Witch termed a ‘re-run’, on, Narcissa had learned to identify them on her own. There was the most delightful show she discovered, a nonsensical Muggle epic she found she dearly enjoyed. At least within the realm of both fantastical storytelling and the appeal of its leading lady, a ‘Warrior Princess’ with the most lovely musculature. Oh perhaps not the most lovely. Narcissa’d precious little interest in wearing jeans but she could certainly see their appeal on Miss Granger, and she’d a thin sweater, that covered her throat while for some reason being short sleeved, not that it looked strange or left Narcissa with any complaints, it was altogether rather fetching really. She’d the automobile keys in hand and the top of the mobile peeking out of the top of her jean’s pocket. Were they going somewhere? “I’m heading out for a bit.”

… _she_ was heading out for a bit? “You are?”

“Uh-huh. No worries, I’ll be back before it gets dark, I just need to pop out for a few minutes. Would you like me to bring anything back? I could bring home dinner? Do you have a preference?”

Yes. To join her. Or better yet she stay right here. Just where did she need to go? “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s great.”

“Did we neglect something in our shopping?” they’d only returned to the Tesco a few days prior. 

“Not that I can think of. If you think of anything just call me and I’ll pick it up before grabbing dinner.”

“I’m uncertain I can give you a menu off the top of my head just now,” Narcissa said, perhaps endeavoring to delay the young lady’s departure.

Hermione shrugged, “Not a problem. Just call when you think of something, worst case scenario? I know your favorite Chinese order,” she assured with a grin. “I’ll call you if something comes up,” she promised, stooping to press a kiss to Narcissa’s cheek, “enjoy your show.”

She most certainly would not! She-

Oh. She was behaving rather foolishly, wasn’t she? It wasn’t any of her business, Miss Granger’s affairs. She just...had not expected to be faced with the possibility that…

She would miss Miss Granger, while she was gone.

She did not want food, no matter how favored it might be. She wanted Hermione.

This was a rather distracting notion that stole her attention from Xena discovering just who, exactly, was after the life of her doppleganger in Princess Diana, but the premise of reruns involved repetition, did it not? It was of little matter. Narcissa startled when she realized she’d been staring blankly into the television for a stand of several minutes. Oh Merlin, did she know the mobile number? Or would she have to consult the phone Oracle? Oh. No, it was on the list stuck to the refrigerator, it made her an excited sort of nervous, to attempt using the technology unsupervised, but Miss Granger would not arm her to do so to her own detriment.

The line rang thrice before there was a sound, like air, and then Hermione’s voice speaking low as if not to be overheard as she offered a cheery, “Granger delivery service.”

Oh honestly. “Yes, I would like to place an order,” Narcissa drawled into the mouthpiece.

“Great, what’ve we decided on then? Oh, hang on-” she said as if startled and then there was a muffled sound, and her voice was more difficult to perceive as she offered, “Sorry, I got a call.”

“Oh not to worry, here’s your card back my dear,” some man’s voice sounded. How close did one have to be for the mobile to carry their voice? “I do appreciate you coming to speak with me in person. Your certain tomorrow works for you?”

“Oh absolutely, thank you again Mister Whitaker.”

“Certainly, I’m just glad to have you back. You take care now.”

“You too,” Hermione said and then there was a creaking sound accompanied by the din of a jingling bell before her voice came back into focus. “Sorry, hi, I’m all wrapped up here, so...your order Miss?”

She wanted to know precisely who this ‘Mister Whitaker’ was. And what business Miss Granger had being ‘wrapped up’ with him! And why Narcissa wasn’t privy to it! But that was ridiculousness. Jealousy, irrational to a severe degree. “Something lighter than chinese tonight, I think. Salad, perhaps,” she was about to say just from where but Miss Granger said,

“Sounds great, I’ll pick up a cup of that soup you like too. Anything else?”

“No just...do be safe, Hermione.”

“I think I can manage that,” the younger witch supposed. “I’ll be home in twenty.”

So Narcissa had twenty minutes to indulge in utter lunacy. She put in her first call to the Muggle’s Phone Oracle, in search of answers.

“Directory Inquiries,” a pleasant voice greeted, an older woman, “how may I direct your call?”

“I must inform you I’ve never used this service before, but I seek to speak with a Mister Whitaker located in London, England.” He must be, Miss Granger had taken the car.

“Well miss, there are quite a lot of Whitaker’s in London. Have you a first name or any other identifying information?”

What did Muggles name their men? The Granger’s gifted their daughter with a very befitting name for a witch, but the Muggle men she’d met thus far had been ‘Bob’ and ‘Clem’. Though the bell did indicate, “He owns a storefront in London.”

“Oh miss, would you like to contact a storefront? Let me see...there’s a Whitaker’s Tea Emporium-”

“May I speak with the proprietor?”

“I’ll give you the number right away, miss. Have you got a pen ready?”

There was thankfully pen and parchment in the drawer next to the refrigerator for likely such a purpose. “Yes, do please proceed.”

Though once she’d the number she wasn’t entirely certain just what to do with it. Or even if it was the correct Whitaker. Or why she felt such curiosity to begin with. It was foolhardy.

...it was Lucius.

She’d gone to such measures in the past out of anger and jealousy when Lucius had dealings he insisted must be separate from her. Because they usually meant dalliances. Narcissa discovering that ambiguous lunch meetings and late nights in his governor’s office meant he was taking the liberties his vows allowed him.

Miss Granger was hardly in any such position. She could be out consorting with half of London, she had no such ties to anyone, and certainly not Narcissa just- secrecy, for all she was Slytherin, bothered her.

All the more when she realized it was nothing to be bothered about.

“Narcissa? I’m back!” came cheerful greeting from the entry way as the door swung open to permit Miss Granger, and Narcissa was swift to slip the number she’d taken down into the back pocket of her dress slacks as Hermione arrived with armfuls of bags, a large brown bag she cradled to her chest, the other much smaller but held securely in her hand bearing white cursive script that read _Whitacker’s Tea Emporium._

Miss Granger’s secretive outing had been, apparently, to purchase tea.

“Oh, you can open it,” Hermione invited as she set about getting plates and a bowl for their meals and saw Narcissa inspecting the bag.

She did so to discover a charming dark purple sachet, in which there were tea leaves, and she did not need to consult the parchment tag on the drawstring to recognize, “Darjeeling? I didn’t realize you enjoyed this variety.”

“Never had it, but it’s your favorite right?”

This girl had conducted a secretive outing to secure her favored tea as a pleasant surprise. For Narcissa.

Though that did little to explain her certainty that tomorrow would ‘work for’ her. “You’ve plans for tomorrow?” Narcissa wondered innocently over their repast, Miss Granger working to quickly swallow the bite of ‘meatloaf’ she’d just taken, ugh. It did not smell unappetizing and the young lady clearly enjoyed it but a loaf of meat sounded ghastly.

Miss Granger regarded her inquiry with something that looked like consideration before saying, “Actually, if you’re up for it, I was thinking we could work from the library tomorrow. Take our journals in case we’re needed, and do a little exploring, introduce you to the Internet.”

“You have no other plans?”

“Well...I mean there’s always my plans for world domination I’ve been tinkering around with for a while, but I just don’t feel like I’m the ‘ruler of the world’ type. I think I’ll settle for Minister of Magic.”

Narcissa’s brow shot up at that, “You’ve an interest in politics, Miss Granger?”

She shrugged, “What better way to affect change than by being the one in charge of where that change happens?” and then she smiled, shaking her head a bit, “I mean that won’t be for years and years yet, but yeah it’s something I do bounce around from time to time when I think about the future.”

“Something to look forward to after Fudge’s steady leadership,” Narcissa rolled her eyes. “The Order is aware he’s little more than a footstool for the Dark Lord?” He might not work _directly_ in his service, but he certainly cowered and turned a blind eye, sought the safety of his own skin over that of the people he was meant to represent.

“Yeah, we figured as much anyway. Although maybe we shouldn’t talk about dear old Tom’s feet during dinner.”

Ugh, the things _were_ ghastly. The man had certainly never heard the word ‘pedicure’ in his life. “My most sincere apologies, Miss Granger.”

The Internet was indeed an astounding thing.

Hermione made good on her promises of the library, they departed just after breakfast, weaving through morning traffic to arrive at a massive building constructed of grey stone, it’s architecture albeit forign but fascinating, relying on jarringly asymmetrical rectangular shapes for its ascetic. Miss Granger took her arm in hers and led her inside, to a world of books and, further in, computers.

Muggles were rather brilliant, weren’t they? Some of them, most assuredly. Narcissa was glad they entertained such minimal interruption—there was no pending need of the future to circumvent, and they’d brought along a few sandwiches they quietly, carefully enjoyed when they broke from Miss Granger’s crash course in all things ‘computer’. Draco only wrote once, nothing pressing, he usually wrote at least once a day—they wouldn’t wish to fill their journals needlessly but they qualified touching base with one another as a ‘need’, any time her son wished to speak with her was to be deemed as much, new journals could be spelled if need be. On this day in particular it was to inform her he’d had rather the pleasant, tiring day of doubles Quidditch, himself and Miss Weasley teaming up against Mister Potter and Ronald Weasley to compete solely for the Snitch. Oh she hoped they were careful, though he’d sounded in good cheer, as much as what could be communicated through writing, very satisfied with his own victories and impressed in the few ‘Weasley’ and…’Harry’ had secured over him.

_Did Miss Granger have no interest in playing? Or did she sit out for lack of a sixth?_ She hoped her son hadn’t been rude.

_She sat in the grass and watched, read mostly. I think she was on guard to cast cushioning charms, Weasley would have cracked his skull open on a stone wall if not, and I’m no worse for wear after fobbing a dive._ Oh honestly! Qudditch was much too dangerous. Her child needed her express permission to step foot in a perfectly benign local town on the occasional weekend, but oh he could hurl himself through the sky with abandon and great flying cannonballs aiming at his person without so much as a ‘mother may I’. _Tonks joined us for a bit,_ he’d dropped the ‘Miss’ these past few days. _So we’d enough for six really I suppose, Hermione just wasn’t on, though Weasley kept badgering her to play—Ginny, not Ron, he was uncharacteristically cooth about it. She’s afraid of heights, I think._

Was she? She’d expressed a disdain for muggle air travel, which Narcissa was more acquainted with now that she’d the ability to acquire information and pictures on the topic through the internet, it looked equal parts fascinating and horrifying so she could hardly blame her. But she was at discomfort with broom flight? That was unfortunate.

It was dark before they made to take their leave of the library. Between she and Miss Granger, they’d selected quite a few books to take with them, though as they neared the desk from which they could arrange their doing so, Hermione looked nervous, apologetic as she said,

“I’ve got to run to the loo, real quick. Do you mind at all? You just hand her my card, it should be just fine.”

Oh. “Certainly,” Narcissa supposed, nodding as Hermione carefully stacked the few books she’d selected atop the ones in Narcissa’s arms.

“Thanks, I’ll be back,” she assured, before dashing off, down the path that followed signs for the restroom.

And then she was back, very swiftly, returned the moment Narcissa secured their borrowing of the library’s texts. She turned to find Miss Granger catching her breath as if she’d run to make her return.

“Is something the matter?” Narcissa wondered, looking about for any sign of some danger that might have trailed her.

“Nothing at all,” Hermione pleasantly assured, smiling as she got her breathing under control, “Just um, didn’t want to risk getting seperated,” she supposed. “Are you ready, Narcissa?”

“We’re to return our books in a month’s time,” she repeated the librarian’s instruction.

“Oh!” she chirped as if she’d all but forgotten they’d selected books to take with them, “Here,” she invited, taking the stack from Narcissa’s arms and offering her elbow, the space still there for Narcissa’s arm if she so wished. She did, of course. Hmm...she’d been seated with the young lady all day but only just now did she notice...she must be wearing something different, a different perfume perhaps? She smelled of mint and chamomile and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Didn’t we leave your vehicle here?” Narcissa questioned as they passed the second lamp post in the parking lot. When she’d seen the potential for a sea of automobiles she’d committed noticeable landmarks to memory for their return. However the spot was now commanded by some small, very curved conveyance, that for whatever reason prompted Miss Granger to knock her hips against Narcissa’s to softly announce,

“Punch buggy,” she giggled, that- Narcissa was confused but not at all certain how to question whatever ritual she’d just initiated, nor did she care to. She vaguely wondered if all such vehicles prompted as much. “Nope, not our spot, we’re not too far though,” she promised.

It was a great deal farther than Narcissa remembered but it had been nearly nine hours, they arrived almost as soon as the library had opened and stayed until they neared closing. Miss Granger yawned quietly as she shook herself once she was seated in the driver’s seat.

“Are you tired, Hermione?” 

“Mmm, aren’t you?” she questioned back.

She supposed so, nodding though, “Dinner wouldn’t be amiss.”

That earned her what she found to be a very startling, appreciative moan from the younger Witch that sent Narcissa blushing for all it was at the prospect of, “Dinner, _yes_. I’m starved.”

She truly was, if the way Narcissa had to keep a watchful eye over their dinner preparations was any indication. There younger Witch kept stealing bites of apple as Narcissa sliced them for their salad—she was met with nothing but mischief, Hermione regarding her with wide eyed surprise when she leveled accusations against her for her theft,

“Me? I would never!” she insisted, pinching a few dried cranberries between her fingers and popping them into her mouth and meeting the older Witch’s gaze as if in challenge, before returning her attention to the pot of boiling noodles she was manning.

She was tired, to the point that Hermione excused herself from their nightly ritual of review—going over any interaction they’d had with their conspirators, any changes in their memory that were cause for alarm. She came downstairs after she’d bathed, solely to inform Narcissa as of much.

“Well I’m not an Auror but I assure you my skills of deduction would have sufficed to figuring out you’ve retired early this evening had you merely gone to bed,” Narcissa assured with dry amusement as she spread out a bit more on the couch since she was the only one to be seated here tonight, apparently.

Miss Granger drew nearer to stand alongside Narcissa, eyes alight with her own amusement as she said, “I also came down to say goodnight, so” she leaned down to press a kiss to the older Witch’s cheek, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She woke to further change in their routine—she still met Miss Granger in the hall, but it was immediately upon waking, because she did so to the sound of footfalls padding down the hall, and back up again, all the way to Narcissa’s bedroom, repeat. Pacing. It had Narcissa rising from her bed to pull the door the rest of the way open.

To stare directly into the tear streaked face of Hermione Granger, who despite her tears, was in point of fact the angriest she’d yet to see her.

“You were tortured.” Narcissa wasn’t certain just what to say, but neither need she as the girl’s chin quivered before she seethed, “You were _hurt,_ and you _didn’t tell me.”_

Narcissa’s mouth worked momentarily, something of a denial working its way to her lips, nonsensical as that was, like she could convince the young lady she was mistaken with this information she’d come to have...somehow. “It- there was little point in informing you-”

“I could have helped you! I would have wanted to—I _do_ want to but I- that’s a trip that’s more like a mission and I should probably at least give you some warning before doing a jump like that-”

“You will do no such thing!” Narcissa assured her, dear Merlin! If Lucius discovered her? 

“I’ve permission to enter the Manor, I could have done _something!_ You- you are absolutely _never_ to keep something like that a secret from me Narcissa! You could have _died_ and you- you were all alone and needed help and I- it’s not allowed to happen again. I’m telling you, both of you, so you better just get with the program! If you’re ever hurt like that again or you’re- you just need someone- you told Jinsey you couldn’t call anyone but you could have called me. You can always call me, do you understand?”

“How do you know- how do you know any of this let alone what I might have said to Jinsey-”

“Jinsey told Draco who told Harry who told me!” Hermione informed her. Jinsey! How- oh damn it. Lucius...he’d rescinded payment for Draco’s Sixth Year texts, which caused them to vanish from his ownership, returned to their dealers, even as he’d sent them along with Severus to have at the Weasleys. She’d tried to secure Draco a copy of her vault key, so he would have access to funds to replace them once the Weasleys eventually commenced their last minute school shopping. She’d sent Jinsey to him with the key in hand and instruction to- ugh. To give him anything he asked—she thought he might need his clothing cleansed! Or miss Jinsey’s cooking! She hadn’t expected him to request an honest account of the aftermath of his Marking Ceremony. Oh, and in vain—Jinsey returned only to _weep_ of her failure, that the very moment she placed the key into Draco’s hand, it disintegrated into _ash._ She wouldn’t be permitted to give him access until her accounts were under her sole control again. Damn it! She’d suspected funds deposited directly into his hand would vanish but she thought his having her key would mistake any purchases as being made by her, while giving _Draco_ ownership of his own books, so they could not be taken again should Lucius discover her ploy. This was only further frustration! She hadn’t wanted Draco to know, he’d have his suspicions but that was unavoidable, and she certainly hadn’t wanted word to find Miss Granger! “You wouldn’t tell him anything and he was- he’s really scared for you Narcissa, he’s horrified you’re still in trouble-” her expression crumbled fingers ghosting over the skin of Narcissa’s forearms as she blindly reached, taking the older Witch’s hands in hers, to squeeze. “Lucius lobbed a curse at Draco that h- hit you accidentally but he- he didn’t stop?”

“His vows do not require as much,” Narcissa was able to say. “I defied his correction of our son. And I was suspected in knowing in advance his plans to defect, encouraging his betrayal.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to-”

“I assure you, Miss Granger, it does.”

“But he-” horrified realization dawned in her expression then. “He’s who you meant. When you talked about not returning vows. He’s never...but you’re-” she swallowed harshly. “He doesn’t...Narcissa does he _hurt you?"_

“I cannot speak ill of my husband, Hermione.”

“Narcissa-” she made to argue.

“I _cannot_ speak ill of my husband,” Narcissa stressed.

Ahh, there it went. “You...your vows,” she realized.

“Yes.”

She saw a fierceness in Miss Granger’s stare, her expression hard before she released hold of Narcissa’s hands to whirl about, stomp her foot, and shout down the hall, “Lucius Malfoy is a _coward_ and a _slag!_ He is without doubt the single most _worthless_ husband to _ever live, and I hate him!”_ before she turned back to look at Narcissa, “Does that about cover it or shall I continue?”

“It was a tidy summation,” Narcissa could allow.

“So you can’t _say_ anything bad about your husband, even things that are true, you literally can’t even say if he’s done something?” and when Narcissa nodded, “Does that go across all forms of communication?” Hermione wondered.

“I’ve never been able to pen anything of the sort. Nothing articulate, to any degree.”

“What _do_ you do? Is it like when I tried writing your present’s self about-” Narcissa’s hands rose immediately to brace the younger Witch by the elbows when she lurched as something magical caused her to convulse and cease speaking whatever she was about to say, “the safe house?” she opted for. Ahh. Fresh as that memory was, she had to ponder on it to remember, Miss Granger’s script steadily flowing in assurance to ease Narcissa’s worries for her son’s safety coming to a sudden stop and a few dots of ink, scratches from her quill glancing off the paper appearing before she termed the place ‘so safe’ she could not even disclose its name in writing.

“Something like that, yes-” she stopped when Miss Granger’s hands returned her hold, grasping Narcissa’s forearms. 

“Your present self is to do that, alright? I’ll tell her that. Anytime she needs to, if she’s been hurt or if she’s afraid she will be, if she needs help because of something he’s done and can’t say that, I’ll know the random ink splatters mean she tried to say it, and then I’ll consult with you to figure out how to help.” And then, “you’re certain you don’t want me to go back and help Jinsey help-”

“Should something happen in future, we’ll discuss then how best to proceed. I won’t abide you time traveling into dangerous territory in the wake of so much turmoil, if you were caught it would speak your doom. You must promise me, Hermione.”

She didn’t, not at first, “I’m leaving instructions in our accounts for ourselves, for the second time around? Warning for you and instructions on potions prep and where to go to help you after.”

“Hermione-”

“It will literally take one turn of the Time Turner to send me back to last week, I swear to God Narcissa. I can do something reckless now, or something well developed and planned out in our second go-around. Your choice.”

“I suppose if I were to apparate with you, into my chambers when no one else would be there, you would be able to access it in an emergency, have no need of appearing in- in the only room you’re familiar with and navigating your way through,” Narcissa sighed. “We will leave instruction for our present selve’s misadventures in time,” she conceded.

Oh. Oh Merlin, the younger Witch trembled before releasing hold of Narcissa’s arms, only to launch herself into them, wrapping her arms around Narcissa’s ribs, her head against the older Witch’s throat. “Thank you,” she breathed with a sigh of relief, and Narcissa ventured to return the effort, wrapping her arms around Hermione, breathing the sweetness of vanilla before offering,

“You were of comfort to me that evening, you realize that, I hope?”

“You mean when you remembered?” Narcissa nodded and the girl must have felt the movement. “I’ll do even better next time. I promise.”

She seemed rather determined to prove as much, gods above. Miss Granger took painstaking notes for their present’s selves to be armed with in their attempts with Time Travel, alternating between their timeline documentation, and writing to Narcissa’s present self, to intone she was to _absolutely_ send for her if she is ever so badly hurt again. It did precious little to help Narcissa in regard to her feelings when it came to the younger Witch. It was heady, to feel doubly her gratitude and appreciation as new memories bloomed in Narcissa’s mind, the surprise that left her suspicious and scared, trying to figure out just _what_ this young lady wanted from her, surely she must want _something_ , have some sort of ulterior motive to bring about Narcissa’s destruction.

Of course _she’d_ had such a conflict for the better part of the past two weeks, and been given enough time and experience to cope with the realization Hermione Granger demanded not a thing in return for her kindness, though her present’s self hardly had the same exposure. It was difficult to believe some nefarious scheme could be brewing in the mind of the younger Witch when she rose up from her work to storm the kitchen to whip up stacks of heavily chocolate chip laced pancakes she insisted they enjoy in the living room. For the purpose of enjoying the television during their meal.

“Okay, you mind grabbing syrup? Whipped cream is in the refrigerator door. There’s something in the attic I need to grab and then we’ll be all set,” Miss Granger informed her.

“Certainly,” Narcissa agreed, Hermione smiling as she nodded and dashed up the stairs to ascend to the attic.

Something washed over her as she retrieved their pancake toppings, like the expelling of powerful magic from nearby, directly overhead pouring down through the house.

“Hermione?” she raised her voice to call to no reply. Of course her voice may not have carried. She set syrup and whipped cream aside and went to investigate, ascending the stairs, wand in hand. “Hermione?” she called once more as the attic ladder came into view. There was a second wash and a sound like apparation that had her scrambling up the ladder, heart thumping in her chest, oh Merlin had something-

Overlapping, “Hermione!” and “Narcissa!” were drawn from both Witches in startled surprise.

“Whatever are you doing up here?” Narcissa questioned, “Are you- whatever were you apparating for?”

Miss Granger blushed, jostling...oh there was a cardboard box in her hands filled with black rectangular…things. Boxes? “I had to um, visit a friend real quick to get these.”

Narcissa raised a brow at that. “You paid a visit to someone?” she questioned, spreading a critical stare along, well. Mister Potter’s jumper did nearly fall to her knees but it was by no means appropriate attire for leaving the house, surely. Granted Narcissa was following Miss Granger’s tradition today, she’d not donned so much as her robe when she followed the girl downstairs to pen her warnings and make pancakes, but Narcissa wasn’t apparating about in her nightgown now was she?!

“A friend of mine, I think you’d get along pretty well, you’ve very similar interests,” Miss Granger breezed right along, looking about the attic before laying eyes on a large black rectangular machine resting on a dusty chest of drawers, she set her box alongside it and withdrew her wand from where she’d tucked it into her sweater sleeve and cast featherlight over the cardboard box before taking it up and turning to Narcissa, “would you mind?”

The boxes were apparently things of Muggle magic. Oh Merlin. The large contraption Miss Granger carried down and ‘set up’, setting it on the coffee table and connecting it to the television with a series of wires, was apparently something called a ‘video home system’, and its smaller counterparts? Video tapes! They contained the re-runs to be re-ran! Continuously!

Miss Granger’s friend shared an apparent enjoyment for Xena Warrior Princess.

Narcissa distractedly cast warming charms over their nearly forgotten meal. She’d nearly forgotten it, staring at the television as the opening credits began, but Miss Granger let out a sigh of relief as she sat down, like she relished in being off her feet, letting out a soft appreciative sound as she took up her plate of pancakes and tucked in with abandon.

“Miss Granger I quite assure you your meal was never even alive to begin with,” Narcissa saw fit to remind her.

“Oi, pass the whipped cream and enjoy your show, nerd,” Hermione lobbed back.

A _what?_ “I _do_ beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You, Narcissa Malfoy, are a _giant nerd_ ,” smiling warmly as she assured, “No worries, you’re a very cute nerd.”

She was nothing of the sort! Though her attention was recaptured by the telley because, “Oh my word, is this the very first chapter?”

“Episode, and yeah, season one, episode one. I’m pretty sure all the episodes are in there,” and then she seemed smugly pleased to inform Narcissa, “Season two premieres September 30th, 1996.” Her smile grew when Narcissa let out a delighted gasp.

“Oh that’s simply marvelous!” that! It made the younger Witch laugh! “What is so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she assured with open mirth, shaking her head. “Your pancakes will get cold, you can watch and eat at the same time I hope?”

Oh. Yes. Breakfast. It was delightful, perhaps not very civilized but a dear sort of fun, to eat their more-a-dessert-than-breakfast while consuming an episode of- oh it was just the most delightful show! Hermione insisted its basis in fantasy had nothing to do with muggle awareness of the Wizarding World, for which she was glad, their portrayals were not...wholly accurate, but endearing in their own right. And she just- it was dearly heartening to see such a beautiful portrayal of loyalty and friendship and womanly strength. It aided her in understanding Miss Granger’s brand of friendship all the more.

The Younger Witch seemed entirely pleased with the entire affair, taking up their dirty dishes from a distracted Narcissa once they’d finished eating. Though her attention was rather caught when the young lady chuckled at the lack of the older Witch registering anything other than what was happening on the television screen, and apparently saw that as reason to drop a kiss to Narcissa’s hair before disappearing into the kitchen, returning minutes later just in time for the screen to become blank and the machine on the coffee table emitted a _click_.

“What happened?” Narcissa wondered.

“The episode’s over. Now we rewind the tape—it’s rude to return tapes without rewinding them,” she offered the bit of Muggle etiquette for Narcissa to remember, oh yes, she wouldn’t wish to be rude to this kind friend of Miss Granger’s. “This button here will rewind them,” she informed as she crouched and pointed to a button that bore arrows pointed toward the left, waiting patiently as a mildly alarming _whirring_ sound came from the machine. When it ceased she pressed a button beside the slot the video tape disappeared into, prompting it to reappear. “Then you switch it out for the next one if you’d like. We have alarms set on all our journals so I thought maybe you’d care for a Xena Marathon?”

“A marathon?”

“Uh-huh. There’s twenty four episodes in total, I don’t know that we can get through all of them in a day, but that just means we can continue it into the weekend. Sound fun?”

“It sounds- ” her voice caught in her throat as she looked to the younger Witch and the realization struck her. Miss Granger _did_ have a motive for her kindness today. It was the same motivation she’d had for most of her kindness, upon reflection.

_It wasn’t for nothing, Narcissa, it was for you!_

The girl was seeking to comfort her retroactively. Gift her with kindness and gentle days of delight and rest that she could not give her present’s self in the wake of the Dark Lord’s torment.

“It sounds entirely wonderful, Hermione,” Narcissa said softly.

“Great! What are your feelings on popcorn? And would you care for anything to drink?” There’s blankets in the windowseat if you want to get comfy. That’s what lazy days are all about! Great snacks and getting comfortable!”

Oh, she was familiar with popcorn she- she and her sweet Dragon had mastered warming charms when he was just _little_ , seated together on the floor of his bedroom, a porcelain plate of corn kernels resting between them. Practically a babe! He’d not truly been able to cast but oh he took such joy in copying his mother’s wand work with his training wand, his sweet voice determinedly repeating the incantation and delighting in his success, squirming excitedly, peals of giggles rising from his throat as he watched the sporadic _pop pop pop_ of jumping bites of popcorn flying into the air and dropping back into the perimeter she delimited within the plate. “I can prepare as much, if I may?” it might truly be the only thing she’d the ability to prepare before Miss Granger’s tutelage. 

“Sure, do you need help?”

She did not. Though her methods confused Miss Granger momentarily. Narcissa found the box of popcorn bags in one of their cupboards, and retrieved a glass bowl before returning to the couch, Hermione- oh, hot chocolate would be delightful, she’d wondered what she’d been preparing warm milk for but when they returned to the couch, Hermione’d two mugs she set before the video player, which eventually began filling with steaming hot chocolate while Narcissa brought her offerings of the glass bowl and popcorn kernels. Hermione watched with confusion turned fascination as Narcissa tore open the bag to pour kernels into the bowl before delimiting the area she’d allow popcorn to safely fly in so it stayed in bounds before she plied her warming charm and,

“Oh my gosh that’s so much cooler than the microwave!” Narcissa wasn’t wholly certain that was true, the microwave, terrifying contraption that it was, was impressive in its own right. But she certainly wasn’t complaining about the pride that bloomed in her chest, shone clear through into her magic under the attention her feat received from the impressed younger Witch.

The very tired younger Witch. She lasted all of the second episode as they sat, blankets in their laps as they enjoyed their mid-morning treats, but a bare five minutes into episode three? Sweet Gabrielle had just been _kidnapped! Oh_ , it was just horrible! Narcissa thought perhaps it had truly gotten to Miss Granger, that she worried so for Xena’s companion that she’d sought comfort, she scooted closer to Narcissa-

Soft hair against Narcissa’s bare shoulder. No, no she’d merely fallen asleep.

“Hermione?” Narcissa gently questioned. Was the girl unwell? Or did this show somehow truly bore her?

“Hmm? I’m watching,” she murmured her very blatant lie. One did not traditionally watch things with their eyes closed.

Well. She didn’t seem to have an issue with their viewing selection. Perhaps she truly was just in need of rest, she had termed their plans that of a ‘lazy day’. And Narcissa...admittedly enjoyed that the younger Witch was so comfortable with her she had no reticence in falling asleep in her presence, slumbering against her in a manner that almost struck her rather painfully, really. 

Lucius used to do as much. When they were in courtship, they had their own version of lazy days. Usually lazy weekend afternoons in the Slytherin Common room. They would sit on what was aptly termed a loveseat, and Lucius...he sometimes struggled when it came to the realm of reading, he never cared to do so out loud, or quietly even, he’d...well he got things rather mixed up, either way, when he attempted as much on his own. But he’d rather enjoyed, even thrived in his studies, when Narcissa took up the task of reading his texts aloud to him. That was often how they studied, though on weekends the effort was often met with Lucius taking the opportunity to seek further rest. His head would fall into Narcissa’s lap and he would absolutely insist- oh. Much like Miss Granger’s assurance of still watching— _I’m still listening_ , he’d sleepily promise. And Narcissa would smile, something about the interaction always set a warmth in her chest, made her magic sing with just how much she’d adored this man as she quietly continued reading aloud, gently stroking his hair as he slept.

She could not speak ill of her husband. But once upon a time, she’d had not a reason in the world to. That ached her, more than anything. And petrified her. What if that was what this-

Would this young lady be capable of such cruelty? Would she someday lose her sweetness? Narcissa didn’t think she could survive something like that, not emotionally, anyway. The devastation of watching someone like Hermione lose every beautiful thing about herself to bitterness and evil. But...neither did she think she was capable of that. Which felt foolish, she’d once believed the very same of her husband. This…

Was foolish. And likely impossible. And more than complicated. But it felt so simple and right and good. She did not care _what_ this was, she just- she enjoyed Miss Granger. Adored her company, craved her companionship. Whatever that might mean. And if it was going to mean...something more...she would prepare herself. She would not go blindly into whatever this was.

Because even the loveliest larkspur was deadly to consume. She learned that well with Lucius, it was not a lesson she cared to repeat. What was lovely with Miss Granger was laced with things she’d seen, warnings of pitfalls she’d ignored in the past, and she would not do so again. Because the root of their issue, the very crux of the downfall of she and Lucius, was that of a _lie._ He fed her falsehood she gratefully partook, and then vowed her to damnation.

And she’d learned very well that Miss Granger was a liar. Oh she did crave honesty, that much was clear, she did _try_ to be honest in word and deed, so much of her _was_ refreshingly honest. But that did not stop the fact that her parents were thousands of miles from their home living a lie they fully believed because their daughter ensnared them, likely against their will. And for what? _Why?_ What _exactly_ had Miss Granger sought to do to her parents? And would she be capable of doing such a thing to Narcissa if it struck her as something to do? If this...whatever it was went somewhere, if Narcissa one day no longer wished for her companionship, her care, would Miss Granger alter her memories to forget such thoughts? Or would she rewrite Narcissa’s entire history, place her in some horrible lie of a life out of spite? It...it _scared her_ , the abilities Miss Granger had trained in herself, and furthermore the ability to use those strengths against her own parents in and of itself was, on its own level, terrifying.

But Hermione wasn’t...she wasn’t terrifying. She could be fierce. She could be brave beyond belief. But she’d such depths of kindness and compassion it scared Narcissa more than her darker abilities, truth told. Because how could she- how could _she_ , with her silvery magic, just barely tarnished, that shone so bright it could be mistaken for white, Narcissa was certain she could never-

How could she ever even consider loving someone who was _Marked_ by a monster when she swore _allegiance_ to his cause—dedicated to the eradication of Hermione, everyone like her, everyone she _loved._ A cause under which she worked her magic to blackest pitch. She was never made to actively participate, Witches so rarely were—not when there was the potential for their need to bring life into the world. There were negative associations with karmetic responsibilities, the Fates strickening their children with consequences for their hand in anything too egregious, and while Draco had truly been her one and only child, Lucius once believed she would produce further children should something befall their only son. It had been a part of Bella’s brokenness, a way Narcissa felt she failed her sister, not being able to comfort her, not nearly as well as Andromeda would have been capable in the wake of the discovery that Bellatrix was wholly barren—something she’d celebrated instead of mourning, by eagerly throwing herself into the service of her Dark Lord, indulging in practice usually left up to their Wizarding counterparts.

No, Narcissa had avoided doing as much herself, but her hand had perhaps been worse. Because she sat idle by while Muggleborns, Half-bloods, Blood Traitors were _brutally_ penalized merely for _existing._ She raised not a single _spell_ in the defense of men and women—of _children_ who suffered at the Dark Lord’s whims. The closest thing to kindness she’d ever been capable of expelling in those times was _legilimising_ a magical child who _dared_ be born to Muggles. His magical nature revealed and documented, his identity discovered by Death Eaters who took he and his parents ransom for one of the Dark Lord’s rituals. The child’s only crime were his parents, and his features—things he could not help. It was not _he_ who chose to have curly raven hair, or beautiful emerald eyes. And it was because of that, because of his very striking nearness to Harry Potter, that had Voldemort seating the child in his lap, holding his face in his hand and forcing his gaze on his parents, speaking hatred into tender ears, how they were _filthy_ and _he_ was an _abomination,_ and they were all fit for _nothing_ but sacrifice. All while giving the boy his first knowing experience with magic—watching as his parents were slaughtered. The only reason his blood had not been shed? His father. The boy’s blood wasn’t called for until his elders’ had been sufficiently spent, and Narcissa quietly suspected perhaps the man was not a Muggle afterall, but a Squib who had assimilated, stolen himself away from the Wizarding world in the wake of his lack of magical ability. _Somehow_ he’d withstood their torment and torture for far longer than what should have been humanly possible, not by a Muggle without a single _shred_ of magical machination. He screamed and languished until the first light of dawn, and their ritual was over. There was no use for the boy’s sacrifice, not in the daylight, not until the next blood moon was upon them. Narcissa had offered, if it might please her Lord, to break and dispose of the boy, and she had. She legilimised him until she unwound his every memory of that night, pulled them fully into her own consciousness to live there in his stead, and left his mind blank as to just what had happened after he woke in his bed in the dead of night to the sound of strangers’ bootfalls on the floor. She returned him to his home, where what remained of his family had gathered with his neighbors, trying to discern what had happened—his home had been burnt to the ground, he and his family inside it, it had been assumed. His survival was marked unexplainable, a _miracle,_ she’d heard an elderly Muggle woman proclaim it as she clutched the boy to her chest. It had been no such thing.

Hermione Granger was capable of great love. But surely she could not love that deeply. _That_ was the issue. Not Lucius. Not even Hermione. It was _her—Narcissa._ In her heart of hearts she feared she did not deserve what she wanted of this, what she was endeavoring to ignore as that want grew more and more with each passing day.

“I am a wretched thing,” she found herself whispering. She wasn’t sure why. The confession merely built in her throat and dropped from her lips with cowardice, not even brave enough to speak so it might be heard by the Witch slumbering on her shoulder. _She_ would not sit idle by while someone was tortured. She would not cast on her own parents in malice, and that was more than what could be said for Narcissa. She had nothing but purest intent, and Narcissa planned to prove as much to herself. Because maybe...just maybe, if Hermione could eventually come to trust her with this of her own accord, if she could be brave and vulnerable with just _why_ she’d done such a heinous thing as to strip her parents of their very memory of her existence, there lay the very selfish possibility that she could do the same in return, with Narcissa. Acceptance meeting acceptance. Understanding seeing understanding.

She stilled entirely, breath ceasing, heart leaping into her throat when Hermione stirred. But the girl merely settled more comfortably...began snoring softly in Narcissa’s ear, much to her bemusement. She was really in a mess of things, wasn’t she? At least that mess involved such lovely company. She returned the girl’s earlier favor, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and indulging in her sweetness-

There it was again. The lack of vanilla, the scent faded like the girl had showered a day ago as opposed to barely twelve hours prior. She smelled of cinnamon and...echinacea root, and ginger just now. And too, that thing Narcissa couldn’t _quite_ name.

Pastry. Two weeks later, Narcissa Malfoy realized the strange barrage of scents, ever changing on Hermione Granger’s person each, and every day, ranging from lavender to clove to bergamot to camellia, had one consistent note she could never quite place until she _saw_ its producer—warm, flakey pastry glazed in sticky, melty sugar.

This was pastry she encountered on a day where _she_ left the house without Miss Granger.

_The Weasley’s are taking us school shopping this Friday. They’ve-_ there was a pause in her son’s writing, one that made her heart clench because she was most certain it was due to his being moved to even silent speechlessness because, _been really great about everything. It was more than a little embarrassing when my every worldly possession vanished into thin air and I was left in my knickers and socks at their dinner table, but even Fred and George realized what had happened and the seriousness of it, at least in their own way. They banished their trousers!_ And too, declared _‘Dicks out for Draco!’_ according to Hermione’s albeit giggle-laced account of the incident as it formed in her mind and she sought to offer Narcissa the assurance that while yes, it had been mortifying, the Weasleys had handled the matter well and Draco was well comforted. _And Potter took his stupid hoodie off._ Potter, not Harry, oh her son must have felt terribly defensive, embarrassed at the other boy’s kindness as, _he’s been letting me wear them, his clothes. Granger transfigured the Weasley’s cloth napkins together into trousers so I could have some damn decency and Weasel,_ he’d considered it momentarily before reporting, _well he actually got me to laugh about the whole thing._

_Mr. and Mrs. Weasley insist on replacing anything I need. I know you can’t do anything about this, not yet but mother please. I swear to you someday I will pay you back but the moment your vault is your own, please, please pay the Weasleys back. They aren’t very wealthy and they’ve already got Ron and Ginny’s expenses and I heard them mother, all of them. They had some sort of meeting when they thought I was asleep. I woke up and went looking because Potter and Ron were gone and they were all in the living room. Granger ran all sorts of arithmancy, showing her work in the bloody air while they talked about new robes and clothes and shoes and textbooks and whether or not it would be more expensive to respell one of Bill’s old brooms or to get me a new one since father confiscated mine, and Mr. Weasley’s grandfather’s wand, it works, it just doesn’t resonate with my magic very well. My spells keep coming out wonky and I’ve got N.E.W.T. level classes coming up that Granger of all people got all blathery about, lecturing that it’s imperative I have a proper wand, that it isn’t fair I worked to hard to get into our classes just to end up working in them with a wand that doesn’t work right, affecting my grades. So that’ll be a trip to Olivander’s. Fred and George started talking about chipping in with their parents—Ginny Weasley offered her damn allowance! Hermione’s got some sort of college fund she volunteered to pull from, and Fleur started talking to Bill, wondering if cancelling the musicians for their wedding with a year’s advance notice meant they’d recover their deposit so that can go to- _to helping her son. _this crap! Potter got all sorts of bothered over it! I thought he was going to donate his whole damn vault to the effort, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley insisted they aren’t going to take any of their help and that isn’t- they can’t afford that! And I can’t do anything to help! I’m the one being helped and it’s horrible. I feel like I’m ~~fucking up~~_ he’d scribbled furiously, _ruining everyone’s lives to save my own skin._

Narcissa felt powerless to help her child. And stars above she missed him more than anything—wanted more than anything to be able to comfort him. And she did, as she could, through their journaling. But the temptation of knowing precisely where he was going to be and when proved too great. So she woke Miss Granger before the din of her alarm could go off and informed her she needed some time alone today...which had prompted surprise but something like relief from the younger Witch. Which stung, but perhaps it was fair. They had been together non-stop, every waking hour for the past few weeks, nearly a month now, and it suited. Hermione didn’t press when Narcissa promised she was merely taking the day to herself, to visit safe but familiar territory without attracting attention—she would even take the mobile.

_“Uhh...yeah, yeah do that, just hold on a minute. I want to double check something, “she’d said, pulling the mobile off of her nightstand, shaking herself further awake before she started pressing a great many buttons and then smiling to Narcissa as she held it out to her. “Alright, just hit the call button and it will dial the right number. Um...I’d appreciate if you’d signal, so I know it’s you calling? That way I can keep the line clear—if you’d let the phone ring twice before hanging up and calling back, I’ll know it’s you and not some telemarketer that’s going to talk my ear off when you might be calling.”_

She’d little intention of calling—she was being cautious. In point of fact it might be what one would term ‘overkill’, slipping through the back alleys of Diagon in a hooded cloak, her spectacles transfigured into sunglasses, under several layers of disillusionment, but she would be damned if she jeopardized their mission or her son’s life. She just- she wanted to see him. She’d woken with that conviction, felt it since she learned he would be away from the Burrow and someplace accessible. What if he was attacked? He’d allies but still she- she wanted to lay eyes on her child and if anyone had an issue with that they could rot in the pits of hell!

And the Weasleys could have the whole of heaven, most assuredly. She’d barely noticed them in the past, when they happened to be in Diagon at the same time, but it had been hard to miss the scattered masses of the Weasley clan, random blips of bright-red hair in a sea of Witches and Wizards. But today they made finding her son rather easy—harming him would be difficult for the army of red-heads assembled around him, never mind the bright purple hair trailing directly after them. _Nymphadora!_ Oh sweet _Merlin_ she looked _like her mother!_ She’d obviously a great deal of her father's features but so much of her mother shone through it sent a pang straight through Narcissa’s heart, oh her sister had made just the most _beautiful_ child! She and the Weasleys seemed to be moving as one formation, sticking together and making a cheery time of things as they walked surrounding Draco, clad in jeans and an alarmingly, near-glowing in its brightness, red hoodie. The Present’s Hermione, Ronald Weasley at his back, Mister Potter at his side, and on his other?

Narcissa stopped still in her tracks when she realized the hazel-haired man walking alongside her son was none other than _Teddy Tonks._ Alive and walking with his arm around her son’s shoulders, speaking to him with a warm smile on his face while Draco paid upmost attention to whatever the man was saying and she-

She watched, following as carefully as she could, behind and between the buildings across the street from their party, as Teddy Tonks escorted her son into every establishment they’d need from. Her glasses were not merely for hiding a portion of her features—she’d also charmed them so they might help her with her spying, sharpen her vision and bring images nearer her gaze.

Teddy Tonks paid for every last thing her son, his nephew, needed.

Oh she...she started _crying._ Whatever for? She just- she was so _moved_ , that her sweet brother in-law had taken it upon him to do this for her son, this man who loved her sister, who Narcissa had mourned the loss of in their future. Too the idea that Dromeda might even have a hand in helping Draco-

She...was feeling her shock and amazement and gratitude doubly. Which was rather strange—she’d only felt as much when she began to remember things from her presents self’s point of view and felt similarly based on the matter as it came to her mind. But _her_ memories stayed with her, they did not transfer to her present’s self. Her present self did not know that a future Narcissa had tried chips or had a love of Muggle television or even the sight of Hermione Granger in nothing but a t-shirt doing something akin to dancing, swaying with a bowl of pancake batter on her hip as she whisked or that Narcissa cherished such a memory dearly. But somehow it felt like she _did_ know about the Weasley’s kindness, her estranged family’s involvement, even the atrocious shade of red Mister Potter had her son wearing.

It wasn’t until she unintentionally neared the street that she realized what was happening. She came close to stepping onto the nearest most edge of the main sidewalk, across the street from Olivander’s, and she stopped still and silent as he magic _screamed_ its urgency for her to cease moving, and she was overwhelmed with the sensation she should seek cover—moving to hug the wall of the building she was beside, and she heard movement, the startled shuffle of feet and a _gasp_ she’d never heard quite like this before, as it sounded like someone did very much the same, just around the corner—someone walking along Diagon proper.

Narcissa Malfoy, may in fact, be just literally around the corner from her present’s self. In fact she was absolutely positive now that she focused on her memories fo this day—her present self was realizing the very same possibility.

They...it was made clear they were absolutely not to lay eyes on one another. But…

Well. No one could foul her for merely speaking. As if she were speaking to the open air Narcissa ventured,

“I believe I’ll move along to my left,” she assured, spoke of her plan of motion so her present’s self did not risk moving forward until she was out of sight. Though moving forward was not what she had in mind, apparently,

“I’ll move to my right...back the way I came, I think.”

Her voice. Her own voice. Oh _Merlin_ this was-

She was deciding to leave Diagon Alley altogether—her Present’s self was, she realized. She’d gotten the same idea as Narcissa. Apparently Miss Granger had seen fit to comfort her when she wrote that she feared for Draco now that he was thoroughly cut off by his father, she’d yet to bring up the divorce with Hermione, but she did warn them that Lucius was seeking to disinherit Draco entirely. Hermione had stayed up the whole of an evening, making assurances to Narcissa’s present self that the Weasley’s wouldn’t let her son go without, that he would be dearly cared for, endeavoring to offer ideas for how to possibly circumvent Lucius’s restrictions—to little avail but it had comforted her, that Miss Granger so clearly cared about her son’s wellbeing. Oh her present’s self was terrified for him.

“I believe Draco is safe and cared for. He is coming to adore the Weasleys and has reported that they are taking such care of him. Teddy Tonks is footing the bill for Draco’s needs this trip.”

Oh. She heard something like a sniffle, breath drawing in as if she were suppressing the need to cry...harder than her Present’s self clearly was. “I believe Draco is safe,” she affirmed.

For the rest of her life, Narcissa would never be quite positive what possessed her, this need to inform herself of this. Perhaps it was another moment of confession, the realization she’d come to that she needed to speak to even begin comprehending, and who better to do that with than within hearing range of her own self?

“I believe I might love Miss Granger.”

And then, from around the corner her voice returned, “I believe Miss Granger might love me.”

Narcissa took a deep, bracing breath, and then carefully sidestepped to the left, the panic in her magic at her near time-tearing encounter subsiding as she headed back down the alleyway. Her son was safe, she had seen him with her very eyes, two-fold. He was safe and he looked so happy, and he was, as Hermione had promised from the start, dearly loved.

_Miss Granger might love me._

She did. Somehow that felt like a certainty now that it had been said aloud.

She disapparated at the nearest available opportunity, when she was most certain the pop of her magic, the smoke she would leave would not attract attention—that was the trick of apparation and disillusionment, once her physical presence was gone, there was still the lingering smoke to consider, it became unveiled in her absence. When she was positive there were no eyes to see, she disapparated into the Granger home.

“Hermione?” she called. “Darling?”

To no response.

Because Miss Granger...was not in the house. She wasn’t in the living room. Or the kitchen. Neither bathroom bore her—nor either bedroom, the office. She wasn’t in the garden, she wasn’t in the attic, and she wasn’t in the cellar—and aparation did not make that order of search any less ridiculous but Narcissa was- she-

Hermione was _missing!_

_"How long do you think you’ll be out?” Hermione had wondered that morning._

_Until Draco was safely returned to the Burrow, she’d thought. “Don’t wait up for me darling—I do promise to call if there is an emergency, but I plan to be out for the whole of the day.”_

_“Okay...be careful.”_

Narcissa hadn’t wished her as much in return. Oh Merlin, or hell, where was she?

It felt foolish—Miss Granger wasn’t in the house, with the _house phone_. But this was an emergency and it had Narcissa pulling the mobile from her cloak and she did as instructed…

She allowed the line to ring twice before hanging up. This house’s phone, a mere foot away from where Narcissa stood in the kitchen, had not rung at all.

And so she called again. The line rang, but the phone did not.

And on it’s third ring, “Hallo? Narcissa? Is everything alright?” Hermione’s voice, speaking in hushed tones.

“Where are you?”

Giggling came over the line. “Where do you think I am?” Not home. And pretending to be. There was a great deal of sound in the background. Something like steam and the din of voices, soft music. “Where are you? Is everything okay?”

She wasn’t sure. She...she didn’t like that Miss Granger was lying to her. “Everything is fine. I merely wished to check in so I did not worry you.”

“Awe, thanks, I appreciate that,” she warmly encouraged.

“Of course. I will see you when I return?”

“Do you have an idea of when that will be?”

It was noon now. “Two o’clock.”

“Oh!” came her startled answer but, “Okay yeah, that sounds good. Do you want lunch when you get home?”

She wasn’t very hungry. “That won’t be necessary Miss Granger.”

“Okay...are you sure you’re alright Narcissa? You sound...did something happen? Do you...if you tell me where you are I can be there in an instant-”

Oh Merlin help her. She felt heavy with her dread as she repeated, “That won’t be necessary, Miss Granger.”

“Alright,” the girl said, still sounding concerned. “I’ll see you at two,” she promised, “Be safe.”

“I am,” she softly assured, and hung up. A strange phrase for hitting a little red button on the mobile, but that was what Miss Granger called it.

Of course she mightn’t be wholly credible. Narcissa stared down hard at the mobile as if it would spill the younger Witch’s secrets—not expecting the effort to bear anything but she-

The number. The number the mobile had dialed was still on the screen, blinking a few times before disappearing altogether. But she had seen it. And she knew with an eerie sense of certainty that she had seen it before. If she felt like calling every spare scrap of parchment in this house to her person, she would accio it for confirmation. But she was most certain she could do as much by failing to meet one of Miss Granger’s instructions.

She pressed the call button. And she did _not_ hang up. She let it ring right on through.

And once again, Miss Granger’s voice came over the phone, the same din in the background, but a much different greeting.

“Good morning!” her voice rang pleasantly, slightly higher in pitch, the way Narcissa identified as Miss Granger’s voice when she spoke with food delivery services, an extra layer of politeness to her tones while dealing with strangers over the phone you wished to make pleasantness with. “Whitaker’s Tea Emporium, how may I help you?”

Narcissa had, of course, hung up. It mightn’t be within the realms of politeness but neither did she wish to tip her hand-

_"It’s a reference to card games, Narcissa! Playing close to your chest and not tipping your hand so your opponents can’t see your cards!”_

_“I quite assure you, Miss Granger, it is a magical saying, an adage that warns against over-flourishing and announcing the intent of your wand work before you’ve fully begun to cast.”_

A ridiculous argument with a ridiculous girl. Just what did she think she was doing? She…

Well Narcissa wasn’t absolutely certain just what she was doing. But she’d enough information to piece it together now. In fact it baffled her that she hadn’t done so before.

Miss Granger had been time traveling. Her continuous disappearances to the ‘attic’ or the ‘restroom’ or claiming she’d forgotten something in her bedroom, always followed by her returning appearing…

Narcissa had been quietly worried for the better part of the last few weeks. _Worried!_ She thought the younger Witch might be coming down with something! She’d continuously seemed beyond exhausted on more accounts than one—she’d done little more than sleep through their ‘marathon’ weekend, and she’d been retiring early each evening, only to appear exhausted shortly after waking for the day. But she’d never entertained fever—Narcissa had checked! And she never lost her appetite, Merlin, one would think the young lady hadn’t eat-

Hadn’t eaten all day.

She was time traveling to some tea shop. Where she apparently spent a great many hours, and then returned to fulfill her time with Narcissa. Spending nearly double her waking hours. To what end? _How may I help you?_ Was she... _working_ at this tea shop? Taken a job?

More lying! And for what?! For what purpose could Hermione need to hide such a thing from Narcissa?

What time did the typical work day end? The Muggles Narcissa observed on this street, they returned to their homes near the dinner hour. Six in the afternoon. She…

She needed time. And if she could go without adding needless hours to Miss Granger’s day…

So she made a third and final call to Miss Granger. The way she’d been instructed—two rings, hang up, call again.

“-got it!” came muffled assurance before Hermione, sounding albeit breathless said, “How can I help?” and then more hushedly, “Narcissa?”

“I’m merely calling to inform you I will be delayed. I’m not in danger just...taking my time. Would six be an appropriate hour for my return?”

“Really? That sounds fine. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Certainly.”

“Alright. Um...you’ll be hungry then right? Promise me you’ll stop for lunch or something before then,” oh that- she was...near angry, certainly disappointed in this girl! Her concern should not be so warmth inducing, nor set something like a guilty twist to Narcissa’s stomach for her ire. It was justified!

“I believe I can see to our dinner arrangements.”

“Really? That sounds great. I...I should let you go. Thanks for keeping me updated, it really takes a load off.”

It certainly must given perhaps Narcissa had spared her a trip of time travel.

She was going to get the truth out of Miss Granger. She was going to get _several_ truths out of Miss Granger, so help her.

So Narcissa Malfoy waited. And cooked. Planning her course of action while implementing her collective knowledge from her lessons under Miss Granger’s tutelage, to whip up a few passable courses for them to consume. Salad. Boiling water for pasta, casting to open a jar of that lovely sauce Hermione always- they’d shared the dish twice before over the past few weeks and Hermione always determinedly twisted the jar lid until it loosed its hold with a _pop!_ Like it was some great challenge she’d been set to meet. It was ludicrous both in deed and the endearment it incited.

She had to set spells to keep their meal an appropriate temperature. She may have gotten ahead of herself, but warming charms over their pasta, chilling over their salad would leave them pleasant. And that was what tonight would be. Very, _very_ pleasant, until Narcissa decided otherwise.

Was it strange that she felt a delightful sort of deviousness, a devilish smile spreading across her face when, at a quarter to six, she heard the sound of a car pulling into the Granger’s...nonsensically named ‘driveway’, followed by the _thunk_ of the car door closing.

The jangle of keys.

The swing of the door.

...her smile slipped at the sound of the younger Witch leaning back against that door and loosing a heavy, tired sigh.

That did nothing to steal the utter _power_ she felt, the victory when Hermione Granger rounded the corner into the kitchen to await Narcissa’s arrival and she stopped, startled, and stared.

“Oh!” she gasped out, and then, “Narcissa! I...h-how long have you been-”

“Not long darling. Whatever is the matter?” Narcissa wondered innocently.

“N-nothing, I just...I wasn’t- I can explain, I was just-”

“Oh my dear, do cease your rambling. My word, you sound out of sorts,” she offered with put-on concern, pleasantly inviting, “Do sit down.”

“O...okay,” Hermione relaxed a bit at that. She placed her keys on the counter, hanging her small, cross-body bag on the back of her chair. How very interesting, she’d worn something of a Slytherin-esque style today, form-fitting silver-grey trousers and an evergreen swoop-neck sweater, its sleeves puffed until they suddenly transitioned to tight, clinging material around her forearms that tapered to her wrists, the slender outline of her wand along her forearm. Her hair was piled atop her head in a bun of curls, a...Muggle pencil, sticking out of it like it’d been placed there for safe keeping and swift access. She smiled easily as she sat, claiming the seat to the left of Narcissa’s at the head of the table. And there it was. For all she’d been able to avoid adding extra hours to her day, she still looked worn. And she smelled, pleasantly, of a variety of teas and spices and sugary pastry. “How was your day?” she asked.

Horribly wonderful. She’d seen her child. She’d tested previously untested boundaries of time travel. She realized she was very much falling for a Witch half her age. And that Witch had been lying to her for more than a week. She would continue to lie now. “Interesting,” Narcissa allowed. “What of your day, Miss Granger?”

The young lady shrugged, “Nothing I’d term interesting,” she supposed. “I’m glad you’re back safe.”

She was—Narcissa was safe and Hermione was glad of it, after a day spent doing something she truly wouldn’t claim was interesting. Though Narcissa did see, “Whatever happened to your hand, Hermione?”

“Huh? Oh!” the girl blushed, smiling sheepishly as Narcissa brought her attention to bandaging wrapped around the younger Witch’s palm. “I cut my hand open while slicing lemons of all things—great fun, that,” she laughed at herself. “No worries, I threw them out,” she assured.

She _was_ being forthright. Openly honest with Narcissa with specific details of her day, as much as she deemed possible but- why did a _job_ have to be a secret? Why did it require time travel? Why could she not simply _say_ she was going out, or better yet why?

“I...I did go out for a bit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be home so soon. I didn’t mean to leave you here alone,” Hermione said then, offering excuse for her absence, without confessing her ‘bit’ of time had been most of the day. “I should’ve left a note or something, I hope I didn’t worry you.”

...the one time she _had_ proposed something of the sort, leaving the house alone, Narcissa had all but stalked her. Made question and passive aggressive complaint trying to keep her from leaving, or at least leaving alone.

Miss Granger had been equally comatose, their second day of watching the whole of her friend’s borrowed Xena tapes. And Narcissa had questioned just why she did not simply go and lie down, why she _insisted_ upon sleeping through her proposed marathon on the couch with the sounds of fantastical battle most certainly thieving her of proper rest.

_“Well you’d be lonely without me, wouldn’t you?” she quipped. And then, “It...kind of seemed like it bothered you, the other day. When I ran a few errands by myself? Are you...is it scary to be alone in the house?”_

_“I...suppose I was worried for you,” Narcissa had allowed. “I was…” lonely, she realized. She had been_ lonely, _what an utterly bizarre notion. She’d been lonely a great deal of her life once Draco began his time at Hogwarts. It had not bothered her in years, but having companionship she craved left the feeling fresh, aching and raw when it was made known anew. “Well I missed your lovely company, of course,” she spoke as if merely teasing._

_“Did you?” Miss Granger worried._

_“Oh by all means flatter yourself, Miss Granger. Merlin knows for the most brilliant mind of an age, you’ve a disgusting humility with it all.”_

_The younger witch had smiled, shifting to rest against Narcissa with intent, as opposed to merely falling asleep on her, her head against the older Witch’s shoulder. “I missed you too.”_

“Narcissa?” Hermione’s voice softly questioned, her uninjured hand seeking out Narcissa’s on the table top and squeezing. “Is everything alright?”

She did not care for this game, not in this form. This was not the first time Narcissa Malfoy poised herself for victory in such a way, she’d held similar interrogations for Lucius, upon discovering secrets her husband sought to keep from her. But those had been secrets he’d kept with the hopes they might hurt her, upon their discovery. And now she was feeling the sink in her stomach, the suspicion that Miss Granger’s brand of secret-keeping was meant to _protect._ To _not_ harm or hurt Narcissa. She was not her _enemy._

She was a young lady who had taken entirely too much responsibility upon herself and ran risk of spreading herself much too thin. Narcissa’s dislike of her secrecy, oh Merlin it stemmed from concern, not disdain. Was she truly so warped she’d worked it around in her own mind Miss Granger must have malicious intent? She sought to punish her when she’d done nothing but prove time and again she-

She wasn’t malicious. Or cruel. Or unkind. She had no agenda, no ploy, no designs. 

“When last did you eat, Hermione?” Narcissa wondered.

And around the circumstance of her secret she offered what Narcissa acknowledged as horrific truth. “Breakfast. I got a little preoccupied at lunch.” Was _that_ her daily schedule these past few-

Narcissa cleared her throat, considering very carefully just how to proceed.

“I wish for honesty, Hermione, so I will grant it in kind. I have in fact been home for several hours now. I arrived shortly before I placed my first call to you. Because I came home, you understand, and you were, to my knowledge, _missing._ As in, in _danger_ , Hermione. You gave me quite the fright.”

Miss Granger looked very upset to hear as much, but not...not upset at the prospect she’d been caught, “Narcissa, I swear, I absolutely promise I didn’t mean for that I-” she swallowed, “I had to go out today too. I...I didn’t want you to know about it, so I gave you the mobile programmed with the number of the place I was going to be-”

“Whitaker’s Tea Emporium, yes, you said.”

“I s- you- I-”

“Will stay seated, eat a proper meal,” Narcissa intoned, raising her hand as her wand was released into it and she cast on the plates, cutlery, and awaiting food on the far kitchen counter to summon it hence, float to their table and set for them, “and discuss with me just why, exactly, you’ve taken it into your so usually brilliant mind to take up the task of time traveling to meet the demands of a secret position in the service industry.”

Hermione worried at her lip a moment before she nodded. Opening with, “I’m sor-”

“I’ve no need of your apologies just yet. I would appreciate an explanation. Do take a moment to compose yourself I’m- I am not pleased with you, Miss Granger but you’ve hardly invoked my wrath. Even if you had, there is precious little harm that could come of it.”

“Trusty vows,” the younger Witch offered like a light attempt at jesting.

“Because even without such vows, Hermione, you would never have need to fear my anger. We will talk, and then we will decide how best to proceed. Now, do eat.”

She did, though Merlin did she look crestfallen as she set about it, physically drooping as she picked at her salad for a few minutes. Though that was all it took for it to sink in that Narcissa had actually _prepared_ this meal and she shook herself, offering an apologetic look before tucking in.

“You did a really great job,” she offered quietly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Are we absolutely certain about that?” Miss Granger wondered, and then, “Sorry. I really do mean it though, thank you for making dinner even though you’re er, upset with me.”

“I quite assure you I made dinner because I am upset with you. I had rather the marvelous, meticulously crafted tirade I’d planned to lure you into.”

“Really?” and then, playfully suspicious, “how do I know _this_ isn’t you luring me into a proper dressing down?”

“The mystery, Miss Granger, is half the excitement,” Narcissa returned.

There was little excitement involved, but they consumed their meal in relative silence until Miss Granger moved to take up their dishes and Narcissa halted her with a flick of her wand, casting to clear the table and open it for discussion. The older Witch cleared her throat.

Hermione breathed a tired sigh. “So...the summer after third year I was able to get my parents warmed to the idea that, you know. Time magic had made me old enough to be allowed to do things. Like a summer job. Mr. Whitacker was hiring and I worked at his shop for the entire summer, and seasonally whenever I was home on holiday. I worked with him up until the end of summer before fifth year and he assured me I’d be welcome back any time um. I didn’t think I’d ever take him up on that but,” she shrugged. “What we’ve been living on, grocery wise and the like, are my savings from that job. Savings will only go so far, so. I reached out and asked for my job back. It just so happens he had to fire someone recently, and my co-worker Sara is getting ready to have a baby, so, they could use all the help they can get. I have a time turner so I figured, going full time would be doable.”

“Why ever would that be necessary?”

“I- I mean yeah, the shops not crazy enough I can’t journal as needed but I-” her mouth worked momentarily. “I didn’t want you to know. And I- God, I’d just feel awful, I’m kind of your only source of face-to-face human interaction right now? Just up and leaving you all day would be wretched of me-”

“Why didn’t you wish for me to know?”

“Because I’m the one who got you into this mess, it’s my responsibility and I promised you I could make this work so I am. I didn’t...you aren’t used to living on a budget. Having to worry about things like finances is- well it can be hard, and I didn’t want to throw that at you on top of everything else going on, between future things and being in hiding in the middle of Muggle London and everything going on with Draco. I promised I would keep us afloat, financially so. I didn’t want you worrying when it got to a point I had to go back to work.”

“Hermione. It is not your sole responsibility to keep us ‘afloat’.” It wasn’t, nor would it continue to be. Oh, the very _instant_ she’d proper control of her own vault she- well she prayed her present self had the sense to aid in funding this operation. If not, she would be made to. “You continuously speak as if I did not join you willingly. If I am to be a part of this, and I assure you I very much am, you must treat me as such.”

Miss Granger grimaced at that. “You are a part of this, yeah. But I- I mean you were just talking! Back at the manor, talking out of your head. People do that all the time, without expecting what they’re saying to actually come to be, no one truly expects to get sent back to the past when lamenting that if they could they would change the past. I just...did it, dragged you along on a trip through time-”

“We were hardly in a position for an in-depth discussion of this venture at the time, nor am I under the impression I am captive here. If I told you, this instant, I wished to be returned to time, would you not return me, post-haste?”

“Of course I would! I’d never-”

“Keep me against my will. So obviously my will is to be here, I will not tolerate talk as if the situation is otherwise,” Narcissa assured. “Now,” she cleared her throat, “I appreciate that you did not wish for me to worry but darling that is _all_ I’ve done. Do you know how many times I’ve thought to call upon our Secret Keeper? She’s a medical professional and I-” Narcissa swallowed. “I’ve been monitoring you as I can, trying to divine just _what_ has been ailing you-”

Her brow furrowed at that. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart you wake up and after nothing more than breakfast and a trip upstairs, you come back down _exhausted._ Despite having gone to bed earlier and earlier. Not losing your appetite in the slightest but-” Narcissa grasped hold of the younger Witch’s hand, “darling you have visibly begun to lose weight. If this is for money why ever have you not been eating during your work day?”

“I do! S-sometimes. The shop gets busy around lunch time and it’s just me and Mr. Whitaker or his wife. So I get busy, sometimes I forget until we’re closing up shop and then I...well at that point I can just drive home, apparate back to the room I left from, change back into my pajamas and pop back into our day together. Oh, silencing charms. I cast delimit an area around the driveway each morning and cast so you don’t hear the car start. They stay put mostly, I’ve had a few hiccups coming home but,” she shrugged. “I didn’t bother with that today since you weren’t going to be here and I...well I guess I was trying to give myself a break from the, yeah, double days, and magic a bit of a rest.” Well she sorely needed it!

“This is hardly acceptable, how...how long did you think this could last? You are experiencing twice the days with half the food and sleep required to tackle them. This will stop, and it will stop _immediately.”_

“I have to- I can’t just- we need the mon-”

“I need _you,_ Hermione,” Narcissa snapped, face flaming. She- she hardly meant, “Alive and healthy. You will most certainly cease time traveling to accomplish your work.” She took a breath. “Draco...has made mention of a ‘college fund’, you’ve spoken of. Your presents self offered of it, to assist with his recent financial difficulties-”

“I did not!” Hermione immediately insisted, “Merlin, I would never- not to his face! That would just be- I wouldn’t want him to feel like a charity case or something-”

“You did very much in his face. Draco overheard yours and the Weasley’s discussion on how to replace his belongings.”

“Oh gosh...oh crap. He didn’t say anything!”

“He said rather a lot, actually. You...were rather insistent he needs a proper wand, that it is poor return for him to be insufficiently prepared for his N.E.W.T. level courses, suffer in his performance for lack of a wilful wand.”

“Of course I did, I know how hard it is to get into those classes thank you very much, Merlin I just about knocked myself out prepping for my OWLs. I’m sure Draco worked just as hard, it would be awful if his father being- being a prick about everything interfered with that.”

Narcissa could only nod at that. “The point at hand, why are these funds not available to us?” she wondered.

“...they are,” Miss Granger said. “My savings go to petrol and food and necessities. Things we purchase ourselves, paying cash for. Larger expenses—rent, utility bills, the car payment—come from yeah, what’s supposed to technically be my college fund and that has to last...well it has to last. I don’t know how long I’ll need to rent the house, so I don’t pull needlessly from that account.”

“I see,” Narcissa said. “And what will you do when it comes to college?”

“If I actually get to that? I’ll figure something out. I’ll...hopefully I’ll have some left, but if not. Scholarships? Work,” she shrugged. “Whatever it is I’ll have to do, I’ll do.”

“Well. You do not need to time travel to work-”

“A few hours won’t kill me, I can do half-days or something with the tim-”

“If you touch that time turner in any instance that is not an utter emergency, Miss Granger- you’re not to do so again. Time is delicate enough as it stands.”

“I’ll see about going part time, having weekends off as soon as Mr. Whitaker gets more help,” Hermione said.

“Excellent.”

“Merlin I feel just- I mean I’ll feel sick just leaving you here-”

“Would I not be permitted on the premises of your workplace?”

“Would you want to be?”

“It is a tea shop. I enjoy tea. What is it exactly? Is it merely a place one purchases selections of tea or is it a cafe?”

“Both. Primarily a cafe, but you can purchase teas to take home with you and brew yourself. It’s...I mean it’s a lovely little place, lots of people come in just to work out of it. As long as you occasionally order something,” Hermione shrugged.

“Then I will join you, if that suits. Perhaps not everyday but it would be nice to have my world expand beyond your home.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, “That...yeah, that sounds better. Um...if there’s ever anywhere else you’d rather go I can always take you, either drop you off before, or run you out on my break if you want to go to a park or a library or go shopping or something while I’m in the shop.”

“We’ll see,” Narcissa supposed. “Thank you, Hermione. For being honest with me.”

“I wasn’t though,” she said rather miserably, “not until I got caught. I didn’t...I wasn’t keeping it from you in like, a bad way-”

“I am aware. I mean I appreciate you not...insisting on keeping up the lie, that would have made this conversation that much more difficult.” And then, “Hermione. I must ask. Is there anything else you wish to tell me? Anything else at all about our current circumstance, that would be best aired before we’ve need of such conflict again?” And when the young woman blanched at that, physically flinched, “Hermione, you’ve insisted that friends listen to one another and share each other's burdens. You’ve also assured me should I ever take you up on that, my confidence would be kept. I promise you, I will even do so magically, that that is something I fully intend to reciprocate. I would keep your confidence to the very grave.”

“That I- I ca- you- oh God what do you kno-” she gulped, pushing back in her seat like she might rise and flee but she merely sat, staring with wide-eyed alarm, “I c- you knowing would only put you all in danger if-”

“I am well acquainted with danger. I am entertaining a great deal of it these days. Nothing you might have to share with me will not jeopardize me any further.” and then, “Hermione. I want the truth.”

The younger Witch stared at her momentarily, as if- well she certainly wasn’t showing her work in the air, but it looked not unlike she were performing advanced arithmancy in her mind, carefully calculating before she said, “Would you wait right here, just for a moment?”

“Certainly.”

Hermione rose up from her seat, and a moment later her footsteps were on the stairs, and there was the rolling sound that accompanied pulling down the ladder to the attic. She felt no rush of magic, nor heard any pop of apparation, she merely went to the attic to fetch something, returning with a picture frame cradled in her hands as she stood in the kitchen archway. She swallowed, before drawing nearer to resume her seat, dragging her gaze to meet Narcissa before setting the picture on the table between them.

“These are my parents at...what was my tenth birthday. Is still, I suppose but…”

Ahh. It was one of the first pictures Narcissa had seen of them. The Granger’s seated with space enough for a child between them. “They were photographed without you?”

“I...this picture used to have the cake on the table and me seated behind it. I...erased myself from it,” she said. “This is hard to explain I-”

Narcissa took hold of the younger Witch’s hand once more. “It is alright, darling. Explain to the best of your ability, I do promise to listen and believe you.”

Hermione nodded, gaze dropping to the table top as she said, “Voldemort came back. At the end of fourth year, Harry watched him be revived. No one believed him, no one much anyway, but I did. And I knew what that might mean. He-” she gulped, meeting Narcissa’s gaze with a ferocity, “I love Harry. I have absolutely no regrets being his friend, and I would absolutely die for him. So it doesn’t particularly bother me that Voldemort and his followers would see as much from me. But my parents...they’re Muggles. If Voldemort ever- if he ever tried to get to Harry through me, he might just get to me through them. They were in danger, it- my existence put them in danger so I- I made them...I made them forget,” her chin quivered. “The Wilkins are my parents, Narcissa. They live in Australia and haven’t got a single clue that I’m anything more than Stacie Greene, friendly tenant.”

“You...you made your parents _forget_ you? To protect them?”

She nodded. “I detached myself from their identities entirely and got them new ones.”

“How?”

“Mild crime, both Muggle and magical,” she confessed. “I- I spent the summer after Voldemort’s return studying Memory magic and figuring out how to-” she sighed. “I...I,” she bit her lip, hands trembling as she said, “I told them...I tried explaining about Voldemort, the war they...they never...I’d never told them before about er...prejudices, Wizards can have against Muggle-borns. I explained how serious it all was, that...that it would be dangerous to be anywhere near Wizarding Britain. I talked them through the idea of relocating, changing identities except...Harry needs me. I just wanted _them_ out and safe. They wouldn’t hear any of that though, it was all of us or none,” she frowned. “They adopted their identities as the Wilkins to arrange our move to Australia, put the house up for rent...and then the day we were due to leave...I erased their every memory of me. Made it so they believed they truly were Mister and Missus Wilkins, following their dreams of relocating to Australia.”

“They recall their marriage but nothing of their child?”

Hermione shrugged, “I...my parents didn’t exactly...plan for children. They were very much in love, enjoying their lives together, focusing on their practice. The...the office upstairs? It used to be a bedroom and a smaller full-bath, my room was technically a small office space. They renovated, had the bath and bedroom combined and reworked into their dream home office and then...well. A few weeks later? Mum comes down with the flu, and she just can’t quite kick it. Only to find it isn’t the flu, it’s me,” she laughed a bit. Well. They must have certainly made the most of that office, Narcissa supposed. “They...they’d discussed the possibility of children, once their practice really took off. I kind of threw them for a loop, they had plans and I wasn’t part of them just yet so...there was talk, the idea of possibly...waiting. Going with their original plans. It was something brief in their memories but it was there and it worked so I...I used it. I went back through their memories, wove the Wilkin’s identity into them, erased myself, and made the change seamless by making them believe that yes, they had gotten pregnant once, but decided it wasn’t doable at the time.”

Oh dear Merlin. “Your mother believes she had an abortion.”

Hermione nodded. “You er...I wasn’t sure if the Wizarding world er…”

Narcissa nodded. “We do.” It was not...brought up in polite conversation. There were ideas that the Fates looked poorly upon those who did as much, that it would leave a Witch barren or curse their future children in some way, but Andromeda and Teddy Tonks had made the most beautiful, impressive child their second, more intentional, pregnancy. Merlin if Dromeda had gone through with having a child at fourteen? Stars above. And those who spoke such nonsense, touted shame, were often the first to resort to such things when it suited them—Rowena Parkinson nee Greengrass had _gladly_ spread the rumor of Andromeda’s earliest pregnancy, been the first to offer mockery and scorn, that it didn’t much matter, the Fate’s vengeance, because regardless of that, any child she might make with a Mudblood would come out a filthy, disgusting half-toad creature. But the second _her_ daughter came home the summer of her fifth year, two months along with the child of some _Hufflepuff_ fellow Pansy refused to name, the Mistress of Parkinson House came calling, inviting herself over to tea in Narcissa’s home to invoke rites of hospitality, that she must at least _hear_ her request to know if she’d still any connection to the well trained Medi-Witch that aided Andromeda so discreetly.

“I just made them think their life took a different course, so their memories for the most part could remain intact, the only thing missing being um, me. They moved as planned, and I...erased myself from my neighbor’s memories or altered them. Miss Sawyer believes we just met when I answered the ad mum and dad put out that they were renting, while Mister Whitaker remembers me just, he thinks my name is Stacie.”

“Your memory magic affected all record of you?”

Hermione nodded. “Even my birth certificate—it still exists but it’s blank, anything that connected my parents to me. So now they’re just,” she shrugged, “two random Muggles half a world away who should never cross the Death Eater’s radar. Once...once the War’s over I...I’ll find them, I’ll fix things. I’ll put things back the way they were once it's safe.”

Ahh. That was why her college fund was so dear. She did not know _when_ the War might be over. It could be next year, they had been moving toward some such breaking point, or it could be...Wars had no issue dragging themselves out for time eternal. This could be a war effort that spread into the next decade if they were not careful.

She just...did this. Erased herself, despite her parents wishes...but ultimately for their protection. But it was not a child’s place to protect their parents! Her parents had been _trying_ to do _their_ job, steal their child away to safety. And she circumvented that...and they were very lucky she had. Without her? Harry Potter was a formidable Wizard but he was nothing without his allies, Miss Granger in particular. She…was not wrong, Narcissa knew that all too well. Lucius had...oh Merlin if she hadn’t- if Miss Granger had not acted on securing her parents immediately upon the Dark Lord’s revival? His first point of order was to be brought up to date, how fared their efforts in his passing? Who were their enemies? Who was aiding Harry Potter, who among the Light was he closest with? He’d been particularly outraged by the Muggle born girl acting as Harry Potter’s right hand. Time and time again, she had been crucial to Potter’s survival, victories. As the summer after Voldemort’s return drew to a close, Lucius had been tasked with doing just what Miss Granger had feared, identifying her family, he chose them for his first sacrifice to celebrate his triumphant return. But to his great displeasure, Lucius’s efforts were fruitless. And now Narcissa knew why.

“And what did Misters Potter and Weasley think of this?” Narcissa wondered gently hoping...oh it was a great deal to come to terms with but she prayed they had been the sort of friend to her that she would be to them.

“I...Harry and Ron don’t know.”

“The Weasleys-”

“Never one to question taking in another child,” Hermione shrugged. “I just...went back to school Fifth year, stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas hols. I was…not really in the spirit that year. Started going to the Burrow whenever school was out after that. No one knows except er...well, you, now.”

“No one…” Narcissa swallowed the lump in her throat, it felt like it plummeted straight to her stomach. Oh her heart _broke_ at the thought of that solitary Yuletide.

She had never shared this with anyone. Such a horrible amount of burden she faced entirely alone and with so much shame. Something she had so painstakingly hidden for good cause, and she revealed it all to Narcissa because…

Because Narcissa had wanted the truth. And Hermione trusted her with it.

Narcissa might love this girl. And she just might love her, likewise.

“Thank you, Hermione. For trusting me. No one will learn this from me. And when the time comes, to restore your parents, should you need assistance? You may come to me. You...you may always come to me, if ever you need help. Do you understand?”

Oh, she hadn’t meant to make the younger Witch _upset_. But it was perfectly natural, oh Merlin knew she was due for a good cry. Tears pooled in her eyes as she assured, “I- I do, thank you, Narcissa.”

“Of course darling,” Narcissa breathed, squeezing the young woman’s hand. “Come,” she instructed as she rose to her feet, Miss Granger immediate to rise with her, and Narcissa- well. The young lady was certainly responsive that- was very much not relevant, not presently. She was upset. So it was Narcissa’s sworn duty to comfort her, so said Miss Granger’s brand of friendship. She wrapped her arms around Hermione, drawing her in and pressing her lips to the younger Witch’s forehead before resting her chin atop her head. “You have had a trying day,” she said, rubbing a hand along her back before pulling away and brushing a stray curl from her face, and stepping away only to take her hand and lead her on, casting as they left the kitchen, passed through the living room to turn out the lights, make certain the doors were locked and they were secure for the night. She could do these things, these little things that mattered, gladly. 

Her hold on Hermione did snap a bit, when they ascended the stairs, the girl had made to let go when they reached her room but Narcissa kept firm her hold on her hand and led her further still, to her quarters. “Sit,” Narcissa instructed, as they neared her bed.

Miss Granger sniffled, doing so even as she softly argued, “I’m not a puppy.”

“And yet still, you sit,” Narcissa said, and she could not help the wicked smile that spread of its own accord as she commended, “Good girl.”

That earned her _quite_ the blush and a reprimanding glare as Miss Granger’s mouth worked, indignant, and she made a frustrated sound when Narcissa turned on her heel to head back into the hall, calling after her, “What is even happening right now?!”

“I think that should be obvious, Miss Granger,” Narcissa replied over her shoulder, “but if not, do be patient.”

It did become obvious to Miss Granger, whenever Narcissa returned to her bedroom through her bathroom door, bathtub filling behind her, what she knew now to be Mister Granger’s college sweatshirt in one arm, and a glass of wine in her free hand, holding her offerings out to the younger Witch and dropping a kiss to the top of her head when she took them.

“Enjoy your bath,” Narcissa intoned, “There are...I’ve made some alterations to the privacy wards,” so the younger Witch could cry out her frustrations without embarrassment, “charmed the water in a way I hope holds benefit. If you do have need, just call.”

It seemed the young lady couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat, shaking slightly as she rose to her feet and nodded, disappearing into the bathroom.

Narcissa had cleaned up herself, casting to do so before changing for bed, had settled against her pillows, covers in her lap as she took up her journal, the one she shared with the Present’s Hermione, by the time her current self exited the bath.

“What _was_ that?” she wondered with a bit of awe that went straight to Narcissa’s magic, sending it practically _preening_ from the minor implication of praise. “I- Merlin, I was so sore, and like yeah hot water helps with that but whatever you did? My muscles feel like jello in the best way.” Jello? Gelatin dessert, ahh. Yes, well. Her little charm was marvelous but it was not the _best_ way one might feel such relaxation, but it was the next best thing.

“You can thank my great aunt Cassiopeia*, she developed that charm in...1947, I believe. It was magic she passed on to Andromeda, and she to me. It attunes water to relieving pain, she would do so to aid with her arthritis, charming a glass of water she left at her bedside table to sip from through the night. I began experimenting with its ability to do so topically in the bath, later in my pregnancy with Draco. I do so love that boy but he made my every joint ache from the very moment I entered my third trimester.” Although…huh. The lie came so easily to her lips, it crossed without so much as a second thought.

“Narcissa?” Hermione questioned the look on her face, and there was a dip in the bed as the younger Witch sat on its edge. Narcissa lowered her journal, allowing it to close as she took hold of Miss Granger’s hand, meeting her gaze and it felt...strangely liberating, even as she was not the one who placed restriction on Narcissa’s words all these years, that was where the freedom lay,

“Actually...I didn’t experiment,” she confessed. “I was...I struggled, toward the end of my pregnancy with Draco. I do not to this day know how my sister heard, but one of my healer’s sessions ended with the medi-witch slipping me a missive that disintegrated the moment I finished reading its contents. My sister’s handwriting with a reminder of the incantation and instruction to cast it over my baths, to alleviate both any pain and the stress it caused. Lucius couldn’t know just where I’d gotten the idea from.”

Hermione nodded her understanding. “That’s so sweet, I’m glad your sister was still looking out for you.”

She truly was, wasn’t she? “Hermione.”

“Yeah?”

“Would you keep me company? After our discussions tonight I...feel another one of your ‘sleepovers’ would be apt.”

“Oh, gosh, you don’t have to do that for me-”

“I feel it would be mutually beneficial, unless you’ve some true objection, then I would not pressure you.”

Hermione shrugged, “Alright then,” she agreed, “you know the deal—scoot.”

She hardly needed to, a small shift was required as she’d...well she had taken to sleeping nearer the window after their initial sleepover. Hermione climbed into bed, slipping under the covers, facing Narcissa as she rested her head against the pillows, raising a hand to stifle a yawn.

“Do get some rest, I will be writing for a time yet but as soon as I am finished I will banish the light to conceal its shine inside the nightstand.”

Hermione’s eyes were closed, though they opened with her soft, “Hmm?” she offered confused, “Why?” and then she sat up swiftly, alert from the concern, “Oh! Did I make it too bright or something? I didn’t mean to make something you couldn’t stand to have out while you’re sleeping-”

“It’s perfect, Hermione, my offer is only to spare it from bothering you.”

“Oh,” she said softly, relaxing, “thanks, that’s sweet but no worries. The light doesn’t bother me, I'm glad it he-” she stopped, opting for an alternate truth that might not make Narcissa uncomfortable, “I’m glad you like it.”

Confessing fear, weakness, it did make her uncomfortable. Or it had. It was supposed to, when it was to the ears of someone who would actively see to it that it shamed her, someone who would make her feel like a coward for it.

Hermione made Narcissa feel many a thing, but never a coward.

“It does help,” she assured. “I am...not fond of the dark. It scares me to wake and be unable to see what is around—your light abates that, it makes me feel safe.”

Hermione smiled, “I’m glad.” And then, since she’d startled herself back to momentary awakeness, she wondered, “you’re journaling? Is it Draco? Harry says he had a good day, I mean to tell you that earlier when you got home.”

“I _am_ journaling someone dear to me,” she allowed, motioning to invite her to see.

“So Draco?” she laughed, scooting nearer and resting her head on Narcissa’s shoulder to look as the older Witch opened her journal once more. _“Me?”_ she asked with some delight, head shifting as she looked more to Narcissa’s face. “Narcissa Malfoy, am I growing on you?”

Like some infectious growth on her heart designed to make its victim glad of their disease, “Hardly.”

Ohh, Hermione pressed rather the enthusiastic kiss to Narcissa’s cheek. “Mwah!” she was much too gleeful about this! She giggled as she rested her head on the woman’s shoulder once more, hugging Narcissa’s arm. “I knew it! Knew I could wear you down. You watch, by the time this is all over we’ll be wearing matching friendship bracelets and everything.”

“As long as they’re platinum darling, I don’t much care,” Narcissa drawled, smiling despite herself as she resumed writing. Nothing of great importance, she just usually touched base with the Present’s Hermione each evening, kept her abreast to their progress.

“Sorry I’m not reading at the moment,” Hermione apologized for...herself. “Draco and I are in the hall outside Ginny’s room talking, I think.”

That was curious, Narcissa supposed, “Are you?”

“He said he just got turned around, went too far up the stairs while heading for Ron’s room, but I think he’s checking up on me, it’s very sweet, really.”

“Did something happen?”

“Hmm...we _might_ have been having a moment at Flourish and Blotts, geeking out over- there’s a newly revised release of _Numerology_ and _Grammatica—_ the joint publications by Wakefield and Carneiro*,” she was no less excited about the publications even now, Merlin help them all, “and I planned to pick those up anyway and promised I’d be glad to share with him, I mean its a set, and there’s no particular order they have to be read in to be understood, so he can pick whichever one he’d like to read first and I’ll take the other. Anway, er...Pansy Parkinson overheard us and came barreling around the bookcase, she’s...none too happy with Draco’s recent life choices, started yelling at him, making fun of his clothes and getting cut off, and I warned her if she wanted to start trouble with Draco, she would find trouble with me and I’ll hex that fat nose of hers if she really can’t keep it out of other people’s business. Anyway she called me a...Mmm-mmm,” she hummed two syllabls, in the place of ‘Mudblood’ “bitch. Draco...he really is sweet like you said. He yelled something at Pansy but I didn’t really catch it, he just whipped around and checked on me, while Tonks got after Pansy, threatening to write her up for hate speech and verbal assault. My Present self just flinched a bit, dropped the book I was holding, I was fine but he just, dunno. Seemed like he was keeping an eye out after that, insisted on carrying my bags since _Weasley and Potter_ have _obviously_ forgotten their manners. Now he’s making sure I’m really alright, that I don’t feel badly about today, and...that I know if anyone from Slytherin targets me with Blood-Supremacist garbage I’m to give him names and he’ll _deal with them_. I think he feels badly? Like he has to make it up to me after all these years, so he’s overcompensating. I’m telling him that’s not necessary, I mean I've plenty of experience handling that,” she snorted, giggling a bit as she hid her face in her hands, “He thinks I should show off my mean left-hook, he’d be glad to cover for me so I don’t land in detention. _Crabbe was like that when we found him!”_

Oh, it was heartening to hear Draco proving himself, getting on so well with Miss Granger. Oh she- she’d seen! When she thought back on it, her Present self had wondered at Draco’s obvious agitation as they left the bookstore, carrying their purchases on one arm while his other he’d secured around Miss Granger’s to act as escort, looking about as if he were prepared to duel the next person who looked at him crossways. He did relinquish hold of her when she and Miss Weasley dropped in at _Madam Primpernelle's_ and Mister Potter had rested a hand on his shoulder, said something that sent her son blushing and decidedly not looking at the other boy as he began walking alongside him, Draco seeming embarrassed and shy. Teddy Tonks had chuckled, stepping up then to wrap an arm around Draco’s shoulders and intoning something that had Draco nodding, letting the man continue walking along like that as the young women rejoined their group.

She also remembered...her Present self hadn’t left Diagon immediately. She slipped into _Madam Primpernelle’s_ , the owner was more than willing to gossip with Narcissa, felt she could earn further patronage by giving her catty details about other Pureblood wive’s purchases _—_ of course this only made her certain she would never purchase something for herself from this establishment, instead she made the occasional orders to be sent to others in her social circle as...presents that implied she’d knowledge of the _warts or worse_ they were using the good Madam’s potions and poultices to get rid of. When Narcissa made casual mention of seeing Mister Potter’s friends had just recently left, she reported Miss Weasley required a solution for a witch’s wart developing on the back of her neck, likely a result of her most recent magical growth spurt, she was fifteen, yes? And Miss Granger had picked up a jar of _Calming Cream_ , lotion meant to be dabbed onto pulse points to aid with anxieties. It was Narcissa’s first purchase of something she bought as if for herself, leaving the woman with fodder for her gossip mill, but that was of little matter. She...planned to pass it along to Severus, so he could gift it to the Future’s Hermione who could not so easily go to Diagon Alley herself, at this time. Was it strange she felt a sense of competition? Near jealousy? Like it should be _she_ doing such thoughtful things for Miss Granger, even as that was _precisely_ the situation at hand. 

Ahh, but Narcissa shook herself now, she’d allowed herself to be distracted,

“Your scar was triggered?” she asked, and Hermione nodded. Ugh, and it had been nearly a month since the last pain it inflicted on her, at least in any severity. Draco had said that word in her present’s self’s presence, and Narcissa had never felt shame like that in her child but- 

_“Hermione?” Narcissa had questioned, alarmed when the younger Witch doubled over in her seat on the couch, crying out in startled pain. Her hand went to Hermione’s back as she moved to sit directly beside her, rubbing circles as she questioned, “Whats happened?” had- had the Burrow been settled upon by Death Eaters? Were they under attack?_

_“Everyone’s alright,” Hermione assured first and foremost, but, “Draco...Draco said it,” and shame flamed raw in Narcissa’s chest. She- she had thought better of her child! Why on Earth would he dare throw a hateful slur in Miss Granger’s face- oh the young woman was_ crying _, now._

_“God, he really is sweet,” was the_ very _last sentence Narcissa had expected to hear from the younger Witch. And yet she had. Because she’d said it. And then she said, “It’s- he wasn’t being- he was explaining himself, his decision to switch sides? He’s...he realized he might have hurt me, at least hurt my feelings saying that word even out of a context meant to hurt me, and he...gosh he called a Wizard’s Truce. He’s promised to never say it again.” and just like that shame was doused in quenching pride._

Pansy Parkinson was hardly going to offer any such reason to be proud. Merlin, “You were in the middle of work when this happened?” that...was the preferred alternative, she prayed such a thing never happened when Hermione was _driving_ of all things, Narcissa could not abide the news channel after witnessing the results of an automobile collision they saw fit to report on. She wouldn’t be driving a bare half hour before Narcissa had arrived home, surely she was at work by then?

Hermione nodded, seeming _glad_ that at the very least, “Thankfully everyone thought I screamed because I’d just sliced my hand open.”

Oh damn that Parkinson girl straight to- Hermione could have been gravely injured! Wielding a knife while enduring such a shock. “May I see it? You did not tell me it was serious.”

“It isn’t, I just cut through more clumsy than I intended, it mostly just made me cut the lemon at a weird angle—my hand isn’t bad,” she promised while she sat up, offering her right hand and Narcissa banished her bandaging to see for herself. It wasn’t very deep but there was a cut along the heel of her hand.

“The bandaging Severus sent will better aid its healing,” she softly assured, casting to summon it, bandaging appearing at the end of her wand as she whirled it about Hermione’s hand with a flourish, raising her bandaged palm to press a kiss over her wand work, admittedly delighted in the blush that invoked, spreading from Hermione’s cheeks, down her neck and she entertained the very dangerous thought that perhaps someday she might just see how far that tempting color spread.

“Thanks,” the younger Witch said.

“Pansy Parkinson sleeps with Hufflepuffs,” Narcissa saw fit to arm her with, if at the very least the bit of petty gossip gave her some satisfaction.

Hermione shrugged, “I’ve slept with Hufflepuffs.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“And just _who_ among _Hufflepuffs_ is worthy of the attentions of Hermione Granger?”

“Susan Bones.”

Oh. She was a Hufflepuff, wasn’t she? She’d mentioned the young lady but it had sounded...less intimate, “I didn’t realize you shared a bed.”

“Mm...more like a picnic blanket behind the bleachers during a Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Harry might not have ‘caught the Snitch’ but I certainly did.” How entirely- that was- well that was quite enough but Hermione gave her the most mischievous grin as she assured, “There’s no need to be jealous, Narcissa. Never actually had sex in a bed, and Ginny’s just a girl. So technically, _you’re_ the first _woman_ I’ve ever slept with.”

“If you are not careful, Miss Granger, I will also be the last.”

“Sorry,” the girl offered a cheerily false apology as she resumed resting her head against Narcissa’s shoulder while the woman resumed her writing. “Those pesky little vows we took should keep you from going full ‘black-widow’ on me.”

Oh she did wish she could widow herself, indeed. “There are ways other than murder through which such a threat could be fulfilled,” Narcissa darkly assured, met with Hermione’s giggling before she raised her hand to catch a tired yawn. “You should rest. You’ve work tomorrow?”

“Mm-hm. Saturdays start up at...ten,” she sleepily noted. “I set...set my alarm…”

Well. Narcissa was no late sleeper, and the sound of Hermione’s alarm could be heard through the wall. “Sleep well, Hermione,” she wished her quietly, amusement-mixed-adoration blooming in her chest when Hermione didn’t slip back into a more comfortable position for sleeping, no, she remained as she was and Narcissa realized the young lady was wholly asleep.

She felt the gentle pull in her magic, the soft chime in her ear as she concluded penning her evening’s message to the Present’s Hermione. Draco. She cast to switch out journals, Draco’s spilling open, pages flipping of her magical accord to the one her son’s words were appearing on-

_What happened to Granger?_

...whatever did he mean? _Dragon, has the present’s Hermione become injured or gone missing?_

_I mean who cursed her, mother! What happened to your time’s Hermione? Someone curses her to make that word hurt her, don’t they? Granger’s tougher than letting someone calling her that get to her so badly, I thought- well she bloody well scared me today! So who does it? I want a name, mother!_

_Good of you to recall I am your mother and as such I do insist you cease taking such a tone with me,_ she digressed, momentarily, collecting her thoughts. Of course Draco figured the matter out on his own power. It was not for him, to stop his aunt, she would do no such thing inspiring him to try. No, but her...testing, today, the boundaries and limitations of time travel had given her food for thought. Hermione was insistent on their plan to return to the timeline, adamant that they take every precaution not to inflict the future on the timeline, there _was_ danger in outright warning of a future that they were endeavoring to eviscerate the existence of in this time. But if there _was_ some way to make rescue of Hermione before Bella could get her hands on her? Narcissa would find it. _You are correct in your conclusion that someone has harmed the future’s Hermione in such a way, more than that I cannot say. I will handle it, Dragon, believe you me. I have everything well at hand._

_We have to do something! School starts in a matter of days, mother. I was hardly the only person throwing that word around, especially in Granger’s face. And if I’ve come to such a conclusion you know there are others who will realize the same and take full advantage. Give me something to work with. _And then, _Please._

Well. He had said ‘please’. And he was not wrong, oh Merlin if word got around that Harry Potter’s pet Muggleborn could be disarmed, tortured by a single word? It put the sickening, terrifying image of Draco’s peers surrounding Hermione in the halls of Hogwarts with that word on repeat falling from their hateful gobs. She wasn’t certain what more could be done. She had explained to Hermione, the intricacies of how such scarring worked, to prepare the younger Witch for the different ways in which it might be made to flare.And she had tried her hand at healing it, but clearly those efforts had been in vain. And Hermione hadn’t even made mention of it tonight, had not cast blame upon her for her failure. Oh, she felt wrecked for having given the girl hope she’d been incapable of providing. But Merlin, yes surely _something_ could be done.

She did share what she could with Draco in such hopes. A cursed-knife had been used to carve the word into Hermione’s left forearm, when the Present’s Hermione heard the trigger word, it activated the scar on the Future Hermione’s arm, their magic sharing that pain, the brunt of the curse afflicting the Future’s Hermione. She wasn’t certain how it might benefit her son, but at the very least arming him with this knowledge may at the very least keep him vigilant, on guard to aid Hermione.

_What about Occlusion? Perhaps if Hermione could build mental barriers linked to her magic, it would create a cut-off point for the curse. The curse scar wouldn’t pick up on that word being said in her Present’s self presence, neither one of them would be pained by it, and Potter and Weasley won’t have murder tarnishing their permanent records._ Oh, ‘Potter and Weasley’ would be inspired to murder on their friend’s behalf? And them alone? No, more likely Draco was confident he wouldn’t be caught. Still, best not to risk it all around.

Her brilliant child. Occlusion, of course. Why ever had Narcissa not considered as much, herself? ...well, Occlusion was a very...intimate, practice, in its teaching. Knowing another’s mind to teach them just how to defend it. And she’d not wished to come into the knowledge of Hermione’s secrets indelicately, neither would Hermione have likely agreed to such practice when she’d such secrets to keep-

Oh. Teaching the Future’s Hermione was not the point at hand. It was the Present’s who would best benefit them both. Albus Dumbledore had prescribed Severus Snape to Mister Potter when they sought to teach him the practice but that man would go nowhere _near_ Hermione’s mind, not if Narcissa had anything to say about it. She…

Well. _She_ could teach Hermione. Her Present’s self, perhaps with a bit less complication. She would be...amenable to it.

_Dragon, you are without doubt the most brilliant young man. I will make necessary arrangements, allow me to handle this, I would ask for your discretion even with Miss Granger unless I say otherwise. Do get some rest, it is very late, it wouldn’t do to derail your sleep schedule so close to your return to school._

_Tell that to Potter. No wonder he lives with eternal bed-head, I can’t imagine how he’s ever made it to breakfast on time without Granger to wake him. Weasley certainly isn’t any help._

Oh, goodness. _You’re getting along well with Mister Potter then?_

_We get on alright. Well you have arrangements to make, you said? And you’re absolutely right, I should go to bed. Good night mother, sleep well._

If she’d not her Hermione slumbering on her shoulder, she would have laughed. Oh, her Dragon. For someone who felt so deeply, could be sent to dramatics with his passions, he did so easily shy when confronted with emotion. She smiled as she wished her son pleasant sleep, likewise, considering carefully the most appropriate course of action. For now, that would be sleep. It would not be advisable to act entirely without bringing Hermione up to speed.

So, there was simply nothing else to do but secure peaceful rest. She set aside her journal, wrapped an arm around the younger Witch making a pillow of her shoulder, and slid to lay more comfortably, pulling the girl along with her, resting a hand on her back, threading the other through her hair, and closing her eyes to the soft glow of her nightlight.

* * *

Hermione woke to the albeit confusing sensation of feather-light fingers trailing along her back, and the distant sound of her alarm, the gentle weight of a hand in her hair. What had...oh. Sleepover. Narcissa had invited her to stay the night, right. That had been...sweet, of the woman. It sort of felt like she saw Hermione’s upset and just started throwing every last thing she could think of at her that she now knew of comfort, to help. Was she trying to wake her? It was time to get up-

Oh. Oh it was definitely time to get up, oh crap! She hadn’t- she hadn’t meant to sleep on her! How had that happened? She realized when she opened her eyes she was- her head as on Narcissa Malfoy’s chest!

And then Narcissa’s voice was in her ear, hand still stroking as she said, “Good morning Hermione, did you sleep well?”

_Apparently!_

“Uh-huh,” she said not...not entirely sure what to do. Apologize? Move continents? She could journal from Antartica, she was pretty sure.

The older Witch spoke pleasantly enough, not in that eerie too-pleasant way she’d spoken last night. No, that had held an underlying ice, now? Her voice was warm, soothing as she said, “Excellent. Have we time for breakfast before we must depart?”

Narcissa Malfoy was going to work with her today. Not a sentence she ever imagined would exist. And yet, come half past nine, Narcissa was buckling her seat belt, and waiting expectantly for Hermione to start the automobile with her hand outstretched. Oh. She had started the habit, she supposed, of holding Narcissa’s hand before starting the car. It was sweet, she was almost worried the woman was under the impression that the car wouldn’t start without it but it just seemed like it was a fun bit of ritual, comfort for getting through the sound and shaking that yeah, would definitely freak her out if she wasn’t so used to it. So she held Narcissa’s hand, kept her hold until the older Witch gasped, insisted both hands should be on the wheel, should they not? That was safer, yes?

“You’ve never been in an automobile collision, have you?” Narcissa wondered.

Uhh, “My dad had a bit of a fender bender when the car behind ours didn’t stop in time. Nothing serious—the airbags didn’t even deploy. Oh, they help cushion crashes. Dad was more a wreck than the car was,” she offered laughingly. “I think it freaked him out, the potential for how much worse it could have been, more than the actual problem.”

“You were both uninjured?” Narcissa worried, breathing a sigh of relief when Hermione nodded. “I trust your abilities, mechanical and magical but...is it not possible to apparate to your place of business?”

“In an emergency, if something ever happens I can disapparate from the bathroom so don’t ever hesitate if something comes up while I’m at work. But there’s security cameras both in the shop and around the outside. I mean if I couldn’t drive for some reason I could risk apparating into the bathroom but, you know. That’d be pretty wild to come back from if I caught my boss with his pants down. And it’s good to have a car nearby in case of emergency, if I ever had to go pick up something for the shop, and sometimes Mrs. Addler comes into the shop for a cuppa and loses track of the time, misses the bus that comes just before closing and I drive her home so she doesn’t have to wait around after dark.”

“How very kind...this Mrs. Addler’s husband doesn’t come to collect her?”

“He passed a few years ago, cancer. So it’s just her now, they didn’t have any children.”

“How awful,” Narcissa sympathised. Though, she softly cleared her throat, “Is this Mrs. Addler very pretty?”

...was Narcissa...did she sound…?

Oh Merlin. Hermione couldn’t resist the bit of fun in testing that tone. “Oh, yes. She’s got just the most gorgeous eyes, and she’s smart as a whip, so very clever with this wicked sense of humor that’ll have you in stitches. You'll be able to see for yourself, Saturdays are a regular day for her to come in.”

The hair on the back of Hermione’s neck stood on end as that all-too-pleasant, chill lined tone from last night made another appearance, Narcissa smiling with all the charisma of a shrewd politician most certain to get the vote, “Wonderful, I do so look forward to meeting her.”

Narcissa Malfoy was jealous. She wasn’t certain how, or of what, or why, but she _was._

And then she was all business. Narcissa breezed right into conversation about her journaling Draco last night. That he...oh, he put things together, and discussion with him brought about the conclusion that her present’s self learning to Occlude would cut off the connection the curse-scar invoked, someone calling her names at school wouldn’t have her doubling over at work.

“Harry knows how to...sort of?” Hermione sighed, “I guess maybe Snape might? But I don’t know that we could talk myself into doing that, and I mean you didn’t...you didn’t _tell_ Draco anything-”

“I gave him only the most pertinent details in relation to how the scarring works, he does not know when, where, or from whom you received it, and I instructed his discretion on the matter, he isn’t to discuss it with anyone, least of all your present self unless I say otherwise. Which, of course, would require your approval.”

Yeah Hermione...wasn’t sure. She could be brave, but knowing something like this was coming, without having all the details would just have her looking for it everywhere, and that could mess up who knows what. And arming themselves with heavy details of a future they were trying to stop would only jeopardize both stopping it and keeping time intact. She’d barely opened her mouth to reply when Narcissa said.

“I’ve considered the matter a great deal. I believe she could be persuaded to learn in the interest of...well knowledge itself and arming herself against mental attacks, being able to Occlude her mind from invasion, as her role in the War grows greater. For all she knows, she’s sought to learn as much on her own without the influence of time travel, except for perhaps, now, having access to a teacher she would find most agreeable.”

“Who?”

“Why my Present’s self, of course.”

Hermione’s brow shot up at that, she was almost tempted to take her eyes off the road, “You? You’d really agree to that?”

“Absolutely.”

“How would that work? The Express runs tomorrow.”

“As I’m presently still a Governor's wife, I’ve access to the school, every right to be on its grounds. There is that lovely little place, the ‘Room of Requirement’? We could meet there, hold lessons, and have you made capable of Occluding of your own power before the week is out, build from there.”

“Couldn’t _you_ just teach _me_ how to Occlude?”

“Darling that is just what I’ve said.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Mrs. Malfoy, you know what I mean.”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it,” Narcissa teased. “Honestly? I am curious as to how your knowledge will manifest itself in you, as your present’s self learns. Too, there are several benefits to you learning earlier in the timeline—were I to teach you, you would develop the ability nicely, but your present’s self would lack it for the time being, and why would we not seek to teach two birds with one tome.”

Laughter bubbled up from Hermione’s chest, oh good- “Oh my God. _Narcissa!”_

“Yes, darling?”

“That was _bad!_ That was so bad and you know it! Two birds with-” Hermione burst into giggles, Merlin.

The older Witch didn’t laugh, but she looked pleased with herself, letting Hermione calm before, “You are also...pleasant company,” Narcissa confessed, soft warmth in her voice, “My present’s self could use that. Too I...as I am here, I’ve a purpose, something to contribute to our plans. Presently, there is precious little for me to do, it makes me feel powerless. Like I’ve cast my son into some great, dangerous mission while I sit back and do _nothing._ Nothing of much benefit. Such a task would be heartening, give me purpose, and the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

Oh. Her heart sort of twisted at that, that the Present’s Narcissa might be lonely, or even worse, feeling useless. That could not be farther from the truth! “I do write you something everyday,” Hermione promised, “I’m sorry if I’ve not done enough to make you feel a part of this. You _are_ doing important things, _both_ of you. And this will be important too, yeah, I think...that all makes a lot of sense.”

“I’m well aware of your...kindness. You check in on my present’s self and she does appreciate it. Truly. I think that will make this course of action that much more beneficial, our present selves working together. That can only work to the future’s betterment, can it not? Prepare us to take on this mission together?”

“Whatever you need me to do, just let me know. You write me, I’ll write you, and we’ll get everything squared away.” Oh! “Tell Draco please, that I say thank you? Gosh, Occlusion’s just a brilliant solution. I’m really glad he’s on our side.”

Merlin, Narcissa smiled, this open, brilliant smile that seemed to come easier and easier to her every day. “I’ll pass your sentiments along, gladly.”

She wasn’t quite so glad when Hermione parked up the block from the cafe, taking Hermione’s arm the very instant she was on the sidewalk—she’d looked at her like she was crazy, parking in a way that meant Hermione had to step out into the street, Narcissa had hissed her name and reached for her before she made it to the curb, pulling her to her side and linking arms with her. And then she was _very_ quiet as they made their way up the street, eyes assessing each storefront they passed, waiting for which one would reveal itself to be Whitakers.

She smiled again, when she found just the place, _Whitaker’s Tea Emporium_ in slanted, curvy frosted script on the glass door, hugging Hermione’s arm as she unlocked the door to the shop and walked her inside, looking about with delighted curiosity that struck Hermione as...pretty adorable, especially when the woman announced,

“Oh, this is simply delightful,” she breathed.

It was pretty great. A cute little shop, wood floors that smacked a nearness to shops on Diagon alley. The front of the shop bore large, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows that let sunlight pour in, especially come afternoon, shelves built into the walls on either side of the shop, toward the font of the shop their shelving held books for purchase or exchange—lots of their books came from customers taking one and leaving another behind for others to enjoy. Nearer the back the shelves held colorful canisters full of every selection of tea and few varieties of coffee they offered in alphabetical order, a fact which seemed to intrigue Narcissa as she examined the contents of their shelves and had to crane her neck to look upward to a top-most shelf to find where Darjeeling was stored. There were a few small round tables, seating, around the shop. Behind the counter, the back wall had doors on either side—a swinging door to the kitchen, and a thankfully very secure door for the shop’s restroom—and in between sat counter space with their brewing setup. Overhead the wall had brackets that held hooks, above which were shelves—their arsenal of mugs in varying colors and sizes hung on the hooks, and then there was a collection of delicate tea cups and saucers lining the shelf above them.

“Feel free to sit wherever you like—I recommend the armchair by the window, it's comfy and the table doesn’t wobble at all, and it keeps sunlight the longest, and you can people-watch,” Hermione said as she went behind the counter to get things started, though she didn’t hear the creak of floorboards, or click of heal, so Narcissa wasn’t on the move. She turned to see Narcissa spreading a look from the few stools at the counter, back toward the seat by the window like she was debating. “The stools can be nice if you’re just in for a quick visit but setting up shop all day, not so much,” she offered the very sound advice. She was just about reduced to crawling home and dying after an evening spent with hours of inventory spent hunching over their records at the counter. Apparently, her almost-coworker thought ‘green tea’ was...code. He stole a great deal of it and got himself into some sort of wild trouble with the authorities when he tried selling it on the street which was _beyond_ Hermione, Merlin who- it didn’t even smell like- how he had such a misconception she would never understand, save for, perhaps being under the influence of the sort of green he thought they were selling out of their shop by the pound.

Narcissa grimaced, but moved to sit at the comfortable table and chair by the window, her back to the bookshelf as she pulled her journals from the sleek black briefcase she’d come downstairs with that morning. She’d...gone for a very business-esque look, Hermione was just a _bit_ amused at the idea of Narcisa Malfoy looking in the mirror and coming up with what she must consider ‘Muggle-Cover’—she’d had questions before Hermione went to start changing for work, about what to call Hermione today, and if she herself should give some false name if asked. Hermione had left it up to her, if she didn’t feel safe giving out her actual name to strangers while being on the downlow in Muggle London, that was her call. Narcissa had nodded and emerged with her chosen cafe persona. The result was a crisp, emerald green button up she left the top few buttons undone on, a black pencil skirt and sheer, black pantyhose, delicate lines tracing up the back of her legs, peeking out from behind her heels and upward to disappear under her skirt. She was already taller than Hermione as it stood but her shiny black heels sent her almost towering, and she’d done so that morning, standing over Hermione as she brushed back hair from her face, asking if she was prepared to depart. The older Witch gave Hermione’s sweater and skirt a cursory glance that ended with a nod of approval and then...for whatever reason, Narcissa’s shirt shifted from emerald green to royal blue.

Oh. Huh. Her sweater today, it was blue. Their skirts had already matched, in color at least, Hermione’s skirt was looser, falling to her mid thigh, black socks that came up to cover her knees, black ankle boots—they’d been close enough to matching she supposed...that was just adorable, had Narcissa wanted to match her? And here she pegged the woman as someone who would _incindo_ the clothes of someone who dared wear something that looked even markedly similar to her own style for the day.

Hermione got their house blend of coffee brewing, and set hot water to boil to roll out orders of tea. She picked out a saucer and teacup and stepped to stand further back in the space between the two counters so there was safe clearance before her as she leaned forward hair spilling with the motion, and she did her best to collect it all in her hands, gravity being a great pal in helping her get it gathered at the top of her head, pulling at the hair tie at her wrist-

“Hermione?” Narcissa’s voice was nearer than across the shop. Oh, she was at the counter when Hermione finished wrangling her hair into a bun and rose up and whirled around to look to the older Witch, standing at the counter. Was something the matter? She looked a little distracted.

She smiled, giving her a quick wink, “Stacie, actually. Can I help you Miss?” she offered cheerily.

Narcissa blinked at that, confused, “Are we to pretend we are strangers today?”

“Do you _want_ to?” Hermione wondered, amused at the prospect. She leaned to rest her elbows against the counter, chin in her palm as she grinned, saying, “I don’t usually let strangers in before opening but I suppose I could have made an exception in your case. Can’t leave a pretty lady waiting, certainly not an important business woman such as yourself.” Oh _Merlin,_ was that pink creeping into Narcissa’s cheeks? The look on her face! Hermione giggled, waving the notion off, “I hadn’t planned on pretending not to know you. Unless for some reason you’d prefer people didn’t think you know me?”

“Merlin girl, your asides-” Narcissa complained.

Hermione shook her head, “Nuh-uh. Muggles don’t invoke Merlin’s name in vain. The regulars are God, occasionally Jesus.”

“Good _God_ , _sweet Jesus,_ Miss _Greene_. I merely inquired as to our mode of address when you corrected me even as we are, at present, wholly alone.”

Hermione tapped the tip of her nose, “Not _wholly_ alone.” Oh. That might come across like a pun. But Narcissa sniffed the air, and the eralization sparked in her expression that yes, that was _fresh_ pastry she was smelling. “Mrs. Whitaker. She listens to music when she bakes, through headphones—like earmuffs that play music directly into your ears,” she explained as she’d yet to introduce Narcissa to that particular piece of Muggle technology. “So we’re safe.”

Narcissa nodded, looking very serious, swallowing before she continued, “I was hardly entertaining the thought of…” there was steel in her gaze as she wholeheartedly insisted, “there is absolutely _no_ reason I would _ever_ wish to disassociate from you. Save, perhaps, if it were for your own safety or social benefit.”

“Well I don’t much shy away from danger-” Hermione said.

“Certainly not, oh she who steps directly into lanes of automobile traffic,” Narcissa rolled her eyes as Hermione moved right along into,

“-and I’ve never much cared what people think of me. So, you’ve simply ‘absolutely no reason’, at all. Now,” gently, maybe the woman was feeling out of sorts, nervous being out in the open and committing to being here—did she need assurances or to go home? “Did you need something?”

“Oh, I wondered when, exactly, it would be best for me to order something, so that I might be permitted use of the space I take up? Should I wait until you’ve customers or your Mister Whitaker arrives or his wife emerges from the kitchen?”

Hermione shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, go ahead and get comfortable.”

“Very well,” Narcissa said, turning her back on Hermione to return to her seat.

Hermione ducked behind the counter to grab her white waist apron from the little cubby under the cash register, securing it around her hips, wrapping the strings twice before pulling them into a neatish bow behind her before seeking out...ah! There it was. Canisters of tea and coffee for serving lived in the cabinets in back of the check-out counter, and under the back most counters.

She flipped the sign hanging on the front door from _Closed_ to _Open!_ at ten on the dot according to the clock on the back wall, as she made her way to where Narcissa sat with an open journal, already at work. She looked up and then her eyes trailed down to land on the apron around her hips like she found that article of clothing interesting, as Hermione approached with what struck her as a Slytherin green saucer inlaid with swirls of gold, and matching teacup. “Darjeeling, piping hot, splash of cream,” Hermione softly announced as she carefully set the tea down where it wouldn’t be in the way but she could easily reach for it when she was ready, and-

Well it was habit now, she supposed? She wasn’t sure where exactly it had started, but Narcissa...she wasn’t sure. Sometimes it felt like maybe the woman might be starved for positive, welcome affection—more and more she started reaching for some form of contact, even if it was just Narcissa propping her feet up on Hermione’s thighs as they worked on the couch, or a hand brushing along her arm or the small of her back whenever the older Witch passed her by. Hermione returned in her own ways she supposed and one of them was yeah, always pressing a kiss to Narcissa’s cheek whenever she set a meal before her or handed off a mug of coffee or tea, so. She did as much now, kissing the woman’s cheek.

Just as the bell on the shop door jangled to announce its opening.

“Whoa! I didn’t realize we were offering more than just ‘service with a smile’! Dang Stace, can I get some of that to go?” a jovial, feminine voice teased. To the tune of Narcissa’s brows shooting up as if she were fully prepared to retort that they _absolutely could not_ ‘get some of that to go’. But then she actually laid eyes on the woman who joined them and who was with her and her expression shifted from criticism, to surprise, and then something in her just _melted_.

Hermione turned, opening her arms in time for a tiny body to collide with her, wanting _up,_ and a _hug,_ boyish giggling in her ear as she greeted, “Sara!” she hoisted the toddler higher on her right hip, to seat him securely and keeping her right arm wrapped around his back, hand under his thigh to keep him in place while she raised her left to wave at his mum, before raising her hand to prompt the boy let her borrow his for a moment, and she used her index finger to draw a swooping ‘J’ along the path down his middle finger*, over and up his thumb before repeating the motion with her hand alone before her mouth, “Jessie!” she said, earning further giggling as she pressed a kiss to the boy’s cheek, “oh you absolutely can!” she assured with a balled fist making a rapping motion before his gaze. He captured her signing hand in his and made play with her fingers, more interested in that than whatever conversation the adults were about to have and Hermione smiled at her sweet coworker, definitely not here to co-work. She was out to her toes, due any day now, pregnant and Narcissa looked caught between bubbling up with questions for the child in Hermione’s arm, and offering a seat to the Muggle woman. She settled on the latter.

“Would you care for a seat, my dear?”

“I just got out of the car...wrangled this little guy out of his car seat...and walked five feet to the door…” Sara informed them, hand supporting the small of her back while the other rested on her belly as she sighed, “I am _absolutely_ ready to sit down again.”

“You’re a friend of Stacie’s? You’re more than welcome to join me,” Narcissa insisted, rising from her seat and- oh, there was a motion Hermione recognized as the woman going to call her wand into her hand to cast, which was yeah, habit, but she stopped herself just in time to take up her journals and move them across the table, doing likewise with her tea so her things were situated by the smaller lightly cushioned wooden chair, holding out her hand to Sara to beckon and lead her to sit in the more comfortable armchair.

“Thank you, beautiful, fabulous new friend! I’m Sara Winter, that bug is my baby Jessie,” Sara introduced them, “and this little bug is…to be decided,” she supposed albeit miserably.

“Can’t decide between Xena and Gabbie?” Hermione teased, bouncing Jessie a bit when the boy began wriggling, a little dance he did when he saw his mummy’s mouth move to say ‘little bug’, he was so excited to be a big brother it just killed Hermione in the sweetest way! He was the cutest!

“She’ll get nothing but teasing at school, Mike and I know it, if we give her a name like Xena. But how,“ Sara raised a hand to hide her mouth as said, “badass,” before dropping it, “would it be to be named after a _Warrior Princess?_ Like have at it baby girl! Take on life and kick some butt doing it!”

“That’s an entirely lovely sentiment I’m sure your daughter would thrive on. Is Xena such a percurliar name?” Narcissa wondered.

“It’s definitely a little out there.”

Narcissa offered a very casual shrug, realizing yeah, Muggle’s had a different standard for ‘normal’ when it came to names, “Forgive me, my own parents were...creative, my father was, at least. He named me Narcissa. Narcissa...Black,” she offered along with her hand to shake over the table. It was a form of the truth and didn't stick out quite so much as ‘Malfoy’, might, Hermione supposed. “Gabrielle endures the very same trials and journeys as Xena does, contributes an invaluable role to the team they make. Where would they be without her bravery and brilliance? And Gabbie quite compliments...Jessie, is it?” she wondered, looking up at Hermione, the little blond on her hip. “That is a handsome name,” she complimented, eyes flicking to Hermione’s hand when she pointed, before raising her index finger to draw a half circle along the side of her face and then extending her middle finger as well to raise her hand to just above her brow before moving it in a small saluting motion, as she mouthed Narcissa’s words to him.

Jessie began bouncing of his own accord on Hermione’s hip, clapping his hands as he blushed and looked to the pretty Witch that said his name was handsome, before offering a babbel of sound and bringing his hand to his chin and motioning with what could almost be mistaken for the act of blowing a kiss but Hermione voiced an enthusiastic, “Thank you!” on his behalf. And then Hermione tapped him on the foot to get his attention so he looked to her face as she said, “This is Narcissa,” she said, borrowing the boy’s palm to help her as she hand level with the floor as she extended index and middle finger to swoop before her chest the mix of signs for ‘N-a-r-c-i-s-s-a’ before returning to ‘N’ which was easily combined with her name-sign for the woman which uh...well it was a sign that had Sara’s brow raising with interest before looking to Narcissa.

“...Narcissa, _you’re_ a Xena fan?” Sara wondered, like she were on to something. Oh Merlin.

“Oh, absolutely,” Narcissa breathed with a smile, “I take it you are likewise...are you the lovely person I have to thank for allowing us to borrow your tapes collection?”

“I am!” she confirmed, eyes alight as she looked to Hermione, the widest grin on her face, “So, _you’re_ the roommate Stace took on the grueling task of inventory for, a few weeks ago, huh?”

“Grueling?” Narcissa wondered, worried.

“Yeah, nothing like hours of running around going through pallets of supplies taking account of every last package of tea and coffee, marking them down in,” she grimaced, “the book,” she said with disdain. “One weekend every few months we close, but we’re locked in here up to our eyeballs in paperwork. I was supposed to help but little miss thing here shows up day one of Inventory and said she’d gladly take it over for me if I promised I’d go home, and bring back my Xena tapes for her to borrow before I enjoy my surprise weekend off.”

“Did she?” Narcissa wondered, landing Hermione with something caught between a critical glare and something warm, like adoration. “Yes. I suppose you and I had quite the relaxing weekend. Her- friendship knows no bounds, does it?”

“Friendship, huh?” Sara giggled, “Yeah I suppose it doesn’t. She loves hard, that Stacie.”

_Your mummy is making fun of me,_ Hermione signed to Jessie. He could usually be a reliable source of back up, he’d a bit of a crush on the Witch, though the little traitor! He laughed at her! And then shifted on her hip, reaching with a whining sound, toward- oh! “Someone is in love,” Hermione announced, “Narcissa, you’ve a new little admirer.”

“Oh!” Narcissa chirped looking surprised and excited, but nervous as she looked to Sara, “May I?”

“Please, go right ahead,” Sara invited, waving for the woman to help herself, and Hermione handed the boy off to Narcissa who allowed him to sit in her lap, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him to her, brushing a hand through his silky blond hair.

“He’s an absolute _treasure_ , Sara,” Narcissa complimented, looking to the little hearing aids tucked behind his ears. “He needs to see my mouth, yes?” Sara nodded and Narcissa sat back in her seat, so he could look into her face as she started up conversation with him, speaking in soft soothing tones as she made question of him, smiling encouragingly when asking his age had him holding up two fingers for her, looking back at his mum as if to confirm before smiling and holding his hand with more confidence. A delighted laugh bubbled up from the Witch’s throat when she asked what his favorite color was and he grasped a fist full of her hair in answer. Sara’s mouth dropped open as she laughed and Hermione mouthed ‘ _He’s smooth’_ to his mother before supposing,

“Baby needs Maple bars?”

“I literally woke Mike up at 2am and threatened him with divorce if he didn’t get me Maple Bars from here, right that instant. Our anti-night owl hours are not only bigoted, they nearly destroyed my marriage,” Sara assured.

“Mrs. is in the back making fresh as we speak. I’ll go see if I can’t grab you one.”

“Stace!” Sara complained as Hermione was already well on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh I’m coming back with three and a double chocolate biscuit for Jessie and you know it!”

“I love you, you sexy, sexy waitressing goddess!” Sara called as Hermione slipped into the kitchens.

“Good morning Mrs. Whitaker!” she announced her arrival as to not startle the poor woman as she pulled a pan from the oven.

“Oh!” Mrs. Whitaker said, smiling as she set the pan on the center counter before pulling her headphones down to hang around her neck, pressing the _pause_ button on the cassette player at her hip. “Good morning my dear! I’m running behind, aren’t I?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Hermione promised, “And everything smells amazing! Sara’s in…”

“Ahh, Maple bars are ready for display if you’d be a dear,” Mrs. Whitaker said, pointing to the pan cooling on the other end of the counter.

“Of course,” she assured, moving to grab a cake stand in each hand to bring over for plating, fresh lining for them before carefully piling pastry—Maple bars on one, blueberry muffins on the other—and setting their glass lids in place.

“Do be careful honey, your poor hand,” Mrs. Whitaker sympathized, fretting, “John kept worrying all night we should have insisted you get it checked out, you gave us quite the startle.”

Hermione’s hands stilled as they went to lift the cake stands. Her hand had healed nicely as she slept, she kept bandaging on though, just to keep that fact covered since...yeah, as resilient as one could be, it would come off a little miraculous she didn’t even have a mark now. “I really am so sorry, I promise it won’t happen again-”

“Oh, accidents happen deary, we were just worried about you,” the older Muggle woman insisted. “Will Sara be staying for long? I’ll be done here and out in just a bit.”

Hermione nodded, “She’s not moving anytime soon I don’t think, she’s got pleasant company and her craving fix. I um...we’ve a new customer today, she’s sitting with Sara and Jessie now. She’s a friend of mine,” Hermione offered the bit of heads-up and assurance. “I know she’d love to meet you.” Oh, Mrs. _loved_ new people, but she’d a level of reasonable caution, but she needn’t with Narcissa.

Mrs. Whitaker beamed at that, “I’m excited to meet her then, oh. You don’t talk much about…” a blank look came over the Muggle woman’s face and then she shook herself, “Oh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention friends before. Not that I can recall.”

“I guess it's never come up,” Hermione shrugged. It had. She talked up a storm about Harry and Ron and what she could about school, when she first started working for the Whitakers’. But everything relating to school went the way of their memories of her name being ‘Hermione’, so. She cleared her throat, “I’ll take these out and be right back—biscuit for Jessie and...there’s cake still in the fridge?” she wondered.

“Yes love.”

Hermione nodded, taking up the cake stands and heading back out to the storefront, Sara and Narcissa were...wow, really getting into something, the Witch absently carding a hand through Jessie’s hair as he entertained himself with bouncing on her knee—he let out a happy gasp and signing ‘ _biscuit!’_ and she smiled, raising her palm to tap an index finger to, to assure him he’d have his treat in a minute. Sara didn’t so much as look up and Hermione figured she’d suddenly develop the ability to apparate to make her attempts at eating an entire platter of pastry, but that suited, it meant she could come back without being empty handed in any regard.

Though maybe that didn’t suit. When she returned to the table, the women fell silent and Sara _glared_ , even as Hermione set a plate of Maple bars in front of her.

“Stacie _Marie_ Greene!”

“Marie?” Hermione questioned, very confused. What just happened?

“That’s your middle name now young lady!” Sara snapped. “Narcissa informs me _someone_ is in the habit of _skipping_ her lunch break!”

“It’s not a habit! It’s an accident, it’s hardly a daily occurance-” Hermione promised.

“Well it’s to be a ‘never-again’ occurrence. Busy or not, you go get Mr. or Mrs. or helll-eck,” she caught the swear in case her impressionable child was watching, “just put the dang ‘be right back’ sign up and take your lunch, if anyone’s that pressed for service they can just deal with it.” 

“Alright, alright, I know-”

“Did you?” Narcissa wondered, sounding doubtful, “My word, Sara, did you realize when one has true understanding of a concept, it is apparently pertinent to not work within that understanding?”

“You know what, Narcissa, I didn’t!” Sara said.

“Okay, I will separate you two, I swear, you’re not allowed to gang up on me,” Hermione informed them, “Especially when I have treats,” she said, placing the little plate of biscuits in front of Jessie and taking the plate of cake she’d balanced on her forearm to place alongside it, grabbing the fork she brought from her apron pocket and setting it on the plate.

“I did not order…” Narcissa considered the cake momentarily, “this delightful looking confection.”

“Strawberry poke cake. Mrs. makes the whipped cream herself,” Hermione said, oh! She grinned, grabbing the little glass bowl she’d carefully rested to sit flat in her apron pocket and praying it wouldn’t spill. It hadn’t! She set it by Sara’s plate, earning an appreciative groan from the woman.

“I swear to God I’ll leave my husband if you keep this up, Greene,” Sara warned, breaking off a chunk of pastry to dip in cream.

Hermione snorted, “I _do_ have that effect on women,” she supposed teasingly, “Poor Mike never stood a chance.”

“What man would?” Narcissa drily wondered. “Thank you-” she struggled for a split second like she’d been just about to say ‘Hermione’ and quickly went into, “darling, for thinking of me.” Sara’s eyes went wide at that, looking to Hermione. Oh honestly. The Muggle woman was ridiculous! 

"Oh always,” Hermione offered back with a wink. “Now. No more tattling on me you two, there’s got to be a million other things to talk about. I swear, out of the lot of you Jessie’s the only one I can trust,” she complained, crouching to press a kiss to the boy’s cheek.

“Hey!” Sara complained right back, “that’s twice for him now, I’m starting to think you’re playing favorites with your customers!”

“Jessie _is_ my favorite customer,” Hermione assured her, smiling as she leaned to be level with the seated woman, “but you are a _very_ close second,” she promised, kissing the Muggle woman on the cheek before moving right along back to the counter, nearing eleven now, things would start picking up soon. She smiled when Narcissa finally picked up her fork and took a bite of cake, clearly a fan of the cool, creamy strawberry dessert. Noted.

Mrs. Whitaker came bustling from the kitchen, a white cardboard pastry box in hand as she greeted, “Sara! Stacie said you were in, oh love I was thinking about you, you really didn’t have to come all this way, I planned on checking up on you, and it would be rude of me to show up empty handed,” she said, setting the box down on their table.

“Mrs!” Sara laughed, “I swear, between you and that one,” she pointed an accusing finger Hermione’s way, “I’m going to cry before I leave.”

Jessie’s brow furrowed at that, having definitely seen the word ‘cry’. He waved and babbled for his mother’s attention and signed ‘sad’?

“Awe,” Sara smiled, “no baby, not sad,” oh _hell_ , she looked to Narcissa, grinning like mad as she held the Witch’s gaze, upturning one hand while with the other she extended index and middle finger to sign, “happy.”

Okay so yeah, the floors were dirty, weren’t they? Um. Hermione was just gonna check. Constant vigilance and all that. She ducked behind the counter red faced as Narcissa wondered.

“I thought Miss Green gave that signal as how one shapes my name?”

“There's no specific sign for ‘Narcissa’. Everyone gets a name-sign. Jessie-bug’s is ‘smile’, mine’s an ‘S’ with the sign for ‘mom’,” she spoke louder, like she was just _trying_ to make sure Hermione knew the woman was actively seeking to embarrass her. “They’re indicative of the specific person. Something about who they are, or what we’d like for them, or how they make us _feel.”_ Sara was going to feel _something!_ She was- well- Hermione was totally leaving jam in the woman’s apron pockets for her to find when she returned to work! That might not be for a while, but vengeance would be _had!_

“...I see,” Narcissa said softly. And then after a beat, a little alarmed, “Stacie?” she called. Oh. Right. She might be alarmed too if it looked like Narcissa suddenly disappeared. Hermione popped up from behind the counter,

“Sorry! Dropped something,” her dignity. Gesturing over the counter, “Mrs. Whitaker! This is my friend Narcissa Black, Narcissa, this is Mrs. Whitaker.”

“Oh! My apologies for not addressing you sooner, I did not wish to interrupt,” Narcissa said, rising from her seat, Jessie squealing as she smoothly set him on her hip to keep her hold as she raised a free hand to the older Muggle woman, shaking politely. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you Mrs. Whitaker, your shop is lovely, and I very much enjoy the cake; it is my understanding you prepared it? Just delightful,” there was the slightest pause as her gaze went to the Muggle woman’s throat before sweeping over the slender but broadly framed woman who stood a head taller than even a heel-clad Narcissa. The Witch raised her hand to smooth over the light, filmy pink scarf around the Muggle woman’s throat, adjusting it a bit for her so it covered her better, as securely as the woman usually wore it, she must have not realized it had loosened a bit. “You look absolutely lovely today,” Narcissa went right along with such naturalness, as if she’d merely done as much because, “I do adore this scarf, wherever did you get it?”

Mrs. Whitaker was struck silent for a moment, before clearing her throat, “My- my husband got it for me just last week, I’ll have to ask him. Thank you...may I call you Narcissa? My, that is such a beautiful name,” the woman complimented.

Oh, Merlin. It was such a beautiful name, for a beautiful woman Hermione could just- oh she could just kiss her! She’d _known_ Narcissa would do well meeting the woman but _gosh._

“Why thank you,” Narcissa said, “might I ask your name?”

“Violetta.”

“Violetta,” Narcissa nodded, affirming for the woman she would most certainly remember it, “That is a gorgeous name.”

“Why thank you, it’s served me well this past decade,” the woman openly offered the understanding Witch.

“Might I ask what inspired it?” Narcissa wondered, “Do please, join us if you’ve a moment to spare.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Mrs. Whitaker agreed, to both apparently as when Narcissa...Black, hefted a wooden chair from another table to bring it over for the Muggle woman to take a seat before she returned to her chair, smiling as she peered into Jessie’s face, scrunching her nose a bit and shaking her head to elicit a giggle from the boy as she replaced him in her lap before looking to Mrs. Whitaker to insure she had had her attention. “John and I—my husband—we went to see La Traviata, it was one of my first outings, and oh, we just had the most wonderful time, and something about the part just resonated with me. I’d yet to land on a proper name. I felt almost silly when I said how well I did like it—Violetta—and John insisted it was absolutely perfect for me.”

“Oh, that’s simply wonderful,” Narcissa breathed, reaching out to rest a hand on the Muggle woman’s forearm, “Your husband sounds like a blessing of a man. How long have the two of you been together?”

“We met during training, when we joined the Royal Navy in oh...my word, 1965,” she shook her head, “Over thirty years with that man and I swear, it feels like we met only yesterday.”

The bell rang, oh. Customers, yup, quarter after eleven was always when people really started rolling in on Saturdays. Hermione stood up straight and smiled, “Welcome to Whitaker's, how may I help you today?”

She lost track of both the time and Narcissa, swept up in the lunch rush, interrupted only by Mrs. Whitaker setting off to handle paperwork in the upstairs office—there was a narrow doorway that led to a stairwell in the wall between the tea shop and the store next door, that led to the apartment above the shop where the Whitaker’s lived. Then there was the goodbye hug from Jessie and a kiss on the cheek from Sara who left her with, “So, I don’t know where you found her but Narcissa? Love her,” she giggled. “Good luck.”

She didn’t need luck! Not with- Narcissa was just- They were just allies, time traveling Witches from the future trying to turn the tide in a Wizarding War, and Sara was a _nutter!_

And Narcissa was...oh God. Oh God! She- yup, definitely felt alarm when she looked to Narcissa’s table to find it empty—no Narcissa, nor her things. And a quick glance around the shop didn’t produce her. She went to the restroom door, knocking to no answer, checking inside just- she hadn’t said anything, had- had she left? Well duh, she wasn’t here but had something happened? Hermione hadn’t felt anything from her journals today, the Present’s Narcissa had written her that morning to assure things were well at the Manor, wished Hermione a pleasant day. Had Draco- oh God had something happened, did he need help? Her present self was helping Ginny with last minute packing for the Express tomorrow, there didn’t seem to be any calamity breaking out at the Burrow but what if-

She was just about to step into the bathroom for the privacy to apparate home to check and see if Narcissa had done the same, maybe she’d slipped into the bathroom unnoticed and gone home to deal with something but a finger tapped on the back of her shoulder and,

“Stacie?”

“Narcissa!” Hermione whirled around, and for a moment it almost felt like being physically dropped from some great height, like she was falling in on herself, the sense of going from near panic-attack inducing fear to being flooded with absolute relief that sent her wrapping her arms around the older Witch, burying her face against the collar of her button-up.

Narcissa’s voice was low, quiet as she spoke almost into Hermione’s hair, a hand coming up to rest on the back of her head as she asked, “Is something the matter, darling?”

“God, I-” she pulled back, banishing the hand on her head as she looked up into the woman’s face to ask, “where were you? You scared the hell out of me!”

“You were rather preoccupied, I thought you would remain as such and stepped out for a moment,” her brow furrowing as her hand came to brace Hermione’s elbow, “oh. I did give you quite the fright. Darling do sit.”

“I- you- wh-”

“It’s nearly gone two, Miss Greene,” there was a rustle of a paper bag as she raised her other hand, oh. There was a to-go bag from the diner across the street. “You’re well due your lunch break.”

“You...oh. Um th-thanks I- it’s two?” and when Narcissa nodded, “Alright, yeah. Thanks for picking up lunch, I’ll check on everyone and put the sign up that I’ll be back.”

Narcissa sighed impatiently, “Well do be quick about it, honestly.”

Well what was she so tetchy for? She was the one that just scared Hermione senseless! Oh crap, she likely hadn’t had lunch yet either, crap. Maybe she was upset Hermione’d kept her waiting. She’d been dropping ‘round Narcissa’s table a few times every hour to make sure she was alright, gotten her more tea, brought a muffin for her, but that wasn’t a proper meal. 

She was quick, made eye contact and smiled to the few customers around and everything seemed in hand. She put the little sign on the counter, made sure the register was locked secure before going to join Narcissa who reclaimed her table, though the older Witch was seated opposite the armchair, gesturing for Hermione to be seated there as she approached-

Oh. She felt it when she stepped in range to take a seat—magic. Narcissa had made certain everyone else would overlook the table while she was gone, and further still the din of the shop was...she could still hear everything but it was like she was doing so through a curtain.

“Too loud in here?” she wondered.

“A double-sided privacy ward,” Narcissa explained, “Another spell of my family’s design. Misapinoa* Black developed it in what we can only assume was her occupation which…is unclear, but suffice it to say it involved secrecy, privacy, and a need to blend in. Spells such as this one are what we attribute to her being one of the longest lived members of the Black family to date.” Oh, Hermione must be staring because the woman let off a soft scoff, “We are not the longest lived people, my family. The Blacks are, if nothing else, rather famous for getting ourselves killed. Not many of us have lived to be 70 let alone lived a full hundred years as Misapinoa did. This ward in particular allows sound to pass through more mutedly as to still hear one’s environment without it becoming distracting, while blending what noise we make with that of the rest of the environment. As to not have anyone see us talking inaudibly, but securing our privacy, _what_ we are saying will be indiscernible, sound as if it is merely lost to the din of those around us.”

“Oh...wow, that’s cool.”

“As will your food be, if you do not eat soon,” Narcissa primly assured her as she pulled a Styrofoam container from the bag, cringing a bit as she shivered, oh. Awe, yeah, the older Witch didn’t much care for the stuff, texture gave her the ‘nails on chalkboard’ feeling, but she set it down in front of Hermione.

“Right, sorry,” she blushed.

Narcissa sighed, “I-” she let out a frustrated sound. “I did not retrieve lunch for you to make you sorry. If I have made it appear otherwise, that is my mistake. I…”

“Hey,” Hermine reached out across the table to rest her hand over Narcissa’s. “What’s wrong? You can tell me. If something's happened, or you want to go home, I’ll help.”

Narcissa shook her head, ‘no’, opening her mouth to say something though her hand slipped out from under Hermione’s to take hold of the back younger Witch’s hand to guide it palm-up, pulling it a bit closer to look at her left forearm, bringing her other hand to push Hermione’s sleeve up a bit, her thumb brushed over her wrist which- uh- that shouldn’t be so- it was sensitive skin she supposed but that shouldn’t have made her feel heat head to toe, dear Merlin. “You’ve not a watch?” she wondered, raising her gaze to meet Hermione’s.

Um...“It broke.” That happened when the wrist it was on got slammed against the floor. She could repair it just- seeing it sort of made her sick to her stomach. Badly enough when she got a wand she banished it, everything she’d worn from when they er...first arrived.

Narcissa nodded, averting her gaze, looking at her forearm instead. “And your wand?”

“I have it,” Hermione assured.

That got her a critical look. _“Where?”_

Hermione smiled, perhaps a _bit_ mischievous, though she looked down at the table top to offer the smug, “Not up my sleeve.”

When she looked up again, Narcissa was staring into the space between them as if she’d just been levelled a challenge she was determined to meet. “Very well.” She pulled Hermione’s sleeve back down, and then gingerly smoothed her hand along Hermione’s forearm before clasping her hand, now neatly trapped between Narcissa’s as the woman considered something momentarily. “I did not...I wasn’t certain what today would be like. It has been entirely pleasant, I assure you, I absolutely...I can see why you would work so hard, take on this job as a sole employee to ease their burden while they transition with understaffing. Your employers are lovely and honorable, Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker both. And Sara is terribly endearing, and well, her son has rather well stolen a piece of my heart,” Narcissa said, smiling fondly. Though her smile dropped as she pressed on, “But I do not like this. I do not like that you have kept this from me, that you have been doing this and all it entails and- _this_ is the first I’ve seen you sit. You’ve been running around all day taking other people’s orders, and- and I certainly do not care for some of your clientele. That man who had you remake his order because he _insisted_ you got it wrong—he only did so to _leer_ at your backside-”

“Oh, yeah. Mister Jacobson’s a git but he tips well and I do promise—his order is _never_ right the second time,” oh, she couldn’t help the bit of a smile that came to her lips at Narcissa’s inquisitive stare. Hermione whirled her right index finger in a pattern the woman might recognize had it been done with a wand, “he had a full head of hair when he first started coming to the shop for his coffee and creeping fix. Somehow it’s been steadily falling out, and I mean, I’m certainly not privy to the man’s personal life but I have just the slightest _feeling_ , he’s been struggling to uh,” she gave a little whistle that pitched upward, “rise to the occasion.”

Narcissa was grinning, absolutely delighted. “As he should, for doubting a Witch’s brew.” Uh-huh. “I suppose...I did not realize your occupation...there are _House Elves_ that do less in a week than you do in a day here and they most certainly use a great deal more magic than what is involved in subtly hexing some lecherous Muggle’s drink. You go everywhere, lift and carry and sweep and carry on conversation, I’m well aware the energy it takes to entertain, I can hardly abide it for the few hours I must do so when we’ve guests, the constant maintenance of a sociable, pleasant atmosphere, and I’m hardly serving throughout it all.”

“To be fair I have a feeling you probably entertain a great many less than pleasant, borderline psychotic people. We hardly ever have serial murderers coming ‘round the shop.” Just that one time. It was fine. “I mean yeah, it can be a lot, but I do enjoy it. I mean...this was what my life was supposed to be like, in a way. If I hadn’t turned out magical I’d just be some Muggle girl working in a shop, saving up for university.” Narcissa didn’t look like she much agreed with that but she remained silent, let her talk, “I like the normalcy of it all, you know? I’m not a Witch whose best friend is destined to destroy the single greatest threat to the world as we know it, I’m not responsible for helping him accomplish that. The biggest crisis I have to handle here is if the milk turns or someone has a bad spill. Little things that I can handle and it...helps. I don’t have a lot of situations in my life that can be managed with the certainty and swiftness of throwing out a carton or mopping up a mess. Most of the time I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, that I’m just ultimately going blindly into failure despite my best efforts because so many things are just entirely out of my control. So it’s kind of a nice break, I don’t feel so-”

Narcissa’s brow creased when Hermione fell silent. “So what, Hermione?” seeking to meet her gaze and catching it.

_So useless._ “Nothing. Sorry, rambling,” she offered, laughing a bit, “I guess I am pretty hungry—did you eat?”

Narcissa just stared at her for a moment like she’d said something concerning. Had she? Oh. Honestly, the woman acted like Hermione was starving to death or something when she was late about meals. “I secured a meal for us both.”

Crap, “You didn’t have to wait on me if you were hungry-”

“Hermione,” Narcissa interrupted, and she felt the tip of Narcissa’s wand brush against her knee as the woman cast under the table, and she felt a gust of warmth wafting up from her casting, to warm Hermione’s food. “Eat.”

“You’re bossy,” Hermione informed her as she opened the container in front of her.

“I am,” Narcissa assured, watching with a critical stare until Hermione looked to her meal, smiling at the burger and chips the woman had gotten her and taking up a chip to bite into which seemed to satisfy the older Witch. She reached into the paper bag once more, withdrawing a plastic container of salad she began taking delicate bites of between bouts of conversation—the older Witch had dedicated much of her day drafting her next journal entry to Hermione’s present self, to get the ball rolling on their plans for Occlusion lessons, how she thought Hermione should address the idea with herself. Though after Narcissa had finished with her salad she reached in the paper bag one more time to withdraw a small cardboard box that held an order of chips for herself, she shot Hermione a little glare at her amusement at that. Narcissa Malfoy liked chips!

So much so she looked indignant when Hermione filched one, giggling before popping it in her mouth before standing and swiftly gathering up their trash in the paper bag, rolling it tightly closed and then she stepped around the table, “Thank you, Narcissa,” she said, kissing the woman on the cheek.

She yelped a bit when the woman took advantage of her bent-over position, wrapping her arms around Hermione’s neck to pull her closer, into a hug she had to crouch to accommodate, “My pleasure darling,” the older Witch warmly assured, rubbing her back. Awe that was swe- okay, her hand was _really_ rubbing along her back, firm, and lower, and lower and-

“...Narcissa. Are you trying to find my wand?”

“My dear, I am merely expressing a form of my undying affection for my _darling roommate.”_

Uh-huh. Hermione shrugged in her hold. “Go right ahead, you’re ice cold right now.”

That had the woman stilling her search before pulling back to look at Hermione, “Pardon?”

“You know. When you’re searching? You’re when you’re on the trail, you’re hot, and when you’re not, you’re cold.”

“Oh really now?” Narcissa wondered.

“Those _are_ the rules.”

The older Witch smirked. “And we most certainly must follow the rules.”

Narcissa did not follow _any_ of the rules. At least it didn’t feel that way to Hermione. Their day was almost uneventful, save for the way Narcissa’s gaze was always on her so very intensely whenever she wasn’t behind the counter, was moving through the shop to top off drinks and bring pastry and check on customers.

And then there was a mere half an hour before they were meant to close. The shop was pretty well dead, Hermione was a little worried Mrs. Addler hadn’t come ‘round, she hoped she was okay.

“Darling?” oh Merlin. Why did Narcissa approaching the counter make her feel like she was in danger? Of an exciting sort, but _still._ The woman smiled all too pleasantly, not scary but like she was trying to lure Hermione into a false sense of security. “You know, I do so love that tea you brought home from here. I daresay the leaves this shop imports are matching, if not better quality than that I’ve found in...more magical parts of the world,” she played like waxing poetic. They were entirely alone, but still. “I was hoping you might allow me to make purchase of more, to prepare at home.”

Oh! She hadn’t realized Narcissa had run out, “You were to tell me if you needed more,” Hermione said.

“I am,” Narcissa assured.

“Right, no problem, let me just get that for you then,” Hermione said, stepping out behind the counter and going to the shelves. There was a ladder, not unlike the ones libraries had, with tracks they slid along so they could be guided along the wall to wherever one needed to be. She took hold of the ladder and slid it along the wall until she was pretty sure Darjeeling tea was _just_ overhead on the top-most shelf. She steadily climbed and carefully read the labels on the canisters nearest her, ah! There it was. She’d only just reached for the tea-

When she heard the _click...click...click...click_ of heels on the floor.

And then Narcissa’s voice, directly below her, warm with her victory,

_“Hot.”_

Well. Hermione was blazing from head to toe now. She- that wasn’t- it was-

Narcissa was just- for all she had to, yes, look _directly_ up her skirt, and Hermione was dearly glad her panties were just black today, but that wasn’t- she just meant she found Hermione’s wand, sheathed at her inner thigh. That was all.

Hermione cleared her throat as she cradled the tea canister to her chest, and stepped down on the ladder, her legs just a little shaky and it certainly didn’t help that Narcissa was wondering,

“So, Miss Greene. I’ve found your wand. What have I won?”

And then the bell rang to announce the arrival of-

“Mrs- oh!” Hermione squeaked when she missed the next rung down with her foot, the one in hand slipping from her grasp and-

There was an arm catching her around her waist, up to grasp- well her breast, to catch her against their chest, one foot grazed the floor while the other was elevated by the hand that caught her under her thigh, and was lowering her to stand instead of falling directly onto her ass. No. She’d fallen directly into Narcissa.

“Really darling, you must be more careful,” the older Witch chastised teasingly, practically purring her words directly into Hermione’s ear before she spoke louder to question, “Are you quite alright?”

“Fine! I’m fine!” Hermione insisted, stepping from Narcissa’s arm and brushing a hand to smooth her sweater and skirt as she turned to make sure, “Th-thanks, that wouldn’t have been any fun—are you alright?” her throat dried _right up_ when she cast a searching gaze over Narcissa to look for anything out of place and caught the end of Narcissa’s own clothing adjustment, she- pulling Hermione against her and up, to keep her from hitting the floor had gotten the older Witch’s skirt caught between them, made it ride up higher on her hips and- so-

Hermione caught the briefest flash of black silky lace that trimmed the top of Narcissa’s stockings which apparently, went only to her thighs and she- that- that wasn’t information that Hermione had needed but now she had it and she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it, dear Merlin.

“Stacie, dear?” a wavering, feminine voice asked.

Oh! Hermione whirled to look to the Muggle woman, smiling wide and greeting, “Hello! I’m so happy to see you! I was worried you weren’t coming in today,” she said, going to hug the woman who beamed up at her, pressed wrinkled lips to Hermione’s cheek.

“Oh I had to give that new bus driver the what-for! Honestly, he had the audacity to correct me on cost of fare. I’ve been riding the bus for longer than that oily-faced stringbean’s been alive! I know how much the damn bus is!” 

“Did you call him that by any chance?”

“Absolutely!” she assured fiercely, Hermione laughed softly, gosh. She wasn’t ever one to be afraid to speak her mind, she supposed.

“Good,” Narcissa affirmed. “He likely deserved it,” she said, looking to Hermione. Oh. She looked serious. “I’ve heard other customers who commuted that way complaining of the very same, that they’d been made to pay more than usual...and they’d all been of a certain age.”

“Oh you precious thing, ‘of a certain age’ pft. I’m an old bitch. I haven’t lived this long through two World Wars to not get credit for it, I am every day of 87 years on this Goddamn Earth, and I never let it forget it!” the elderly Muggle woman insisted, raising her walker an inch off the ground to smack it down again with a _clack_ for emphasis _._

That didn’t sound right- oh! No she was as old as she said, but the bus fare thing, that bothered Hermione. “You’ll let me walk you to the bus tonight, won’t you?”

“I’ve told you, if anyone tries to mug me I’ve got my husband’s machete in my purse,” she said, smacking the large bag on her arm. She did. How she’d never been arrested for it, Hermione wasn’t certain. It made her think perhaps if an officer tried to confiscate it, seeing the old woman shaking said machete at them would have them backing off. 

“Oh I know,” Hermione assured, “but you know I can’t resist escorting a pretty lady to her destination. It’s more for my peace of mind than yours, please Mrs. Addler?”

“Oh alright you rotten thing. Escort to your heart's content,” the woman supposed.

Hermione smiled. “Thanks.”

Narcissa’s brow raised at the woman’s name. “...Mrs. Addler,” she said with some uncertainty, and then, “...how wonderful, Miss Greene has told me so much about you.” So much...and so little.

Mmm, yeah. Mrs. Addler was without doubt the single most precious little old woman Hermione had ever met in her entire life. She was hunched over to stand as tall as she possibly could at 4’11, walked with the assistance of a walker she informed Hermione she had bedazzled herself, every inch of its surface space covered in sparkling red rhinestones, tennis balls to cushion its legs dyed red to match. She was sharp as a tack, catty as could be in the best way, and Hermione loved her with her entire heart.

“Well goodness me, she has?” Mrs. Addler wondered.

“All good things, I quite assure you,” Narcissa was quick to offer, eyes widening with surprise when the elderly woman cackled.

“I certainly hope not! Oh, what have you gone and told your pretty friend here?” and then she grinned like mad, a knowing hum rising from her throat, “Ahh, _you_ must be Narcissa.”

Hermione bit her lip and ducked her face as she turned on her heel and strode over to the counter. She had tea to package and ring up, coffee to make, a grave to dig and crawl into. So. She should get started on that.

“I must be,” Narcissa agreed, sounding delighted. “Miss Greene has spoken of me?”

“Oh absolutely,” the elderly Muggle assured.

“Come, you must join me,” Narcissa invited, gently guiding the woman to her table, “please do have a seat my dear lady, allow me to treat you, yes?”

“Oh that’s hardly necessary-”

“I insist. It is only fair as you’re to treat me to tale of Miss Greene,” Narcissa said as she and Mrs. Addler slipped behind the Witch’s wards.

None of that sounded fair to Miss Greene! 

At least she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She was curious, a bit. She tried reading their lips, but that only made her dizzy, there was this disorienting sensation where she could _hear_ their voices, but not their words, and focusing too hard with the intent of catching what they were saying made their mouths moving look strange—like the spell was manipulating her vision, to make it look like...well the few words she caught made it seem like they were discussing the weather, but she _knew_ that wasn’t what they were talking about and that mental conflict just about gave her a headache so she shook her head to clear it and only glanced up as she worked to make sure the women were okay, not motioning for her or anything while she got tea packaged and Mrs. Addler’s order prepared. The women fell silent when she brought them their things, tea and coffee—well not _silent_. They were _giggling!_

Well. At least they were having a nice time. Even if it was at Hermione’s expense, they weren’t being mean, probably and...it had been nice, having Narcissa around the shop today, seeing her with people. She really didn’t...she really wasn’t against the very thought of Muggle existence. She’d practically been vibrating out of her skin restraining herself until she’d invitation to hold Jessie, and she’d gotten on with Mrs. Whitaker and Sara so well, and she clearly adored Mrs. Addler and that just- settled this cozy, weightless warmth in Hermione’s chest. And it was great to see her so warm and open, it made Hermione feel badly she hadn’t gotten the woman out of the house sooner, as much as she said she disliked entertaining people, she didn’t mind company, seemed to thrive with interaction. That made her feel even worse for the present’s Narcissa. She had a feeling the woman was cooped up in the manor as of late, she hoped her present’s self would be agreeable to Occlusion lessons, give the woman someone to talk to other than...future Hermione? Time travel was a literal trip.

Oh, she felt a pull on her magic from her journal, which was a little funny honestly, she’d just been thinking to write her. Narcissa.

_Good evening Miss Granger, have you had a pleasant day?_

_I have. Yourself?_

_I’ve spent most of my day reading the most delightful text on Arithmancy theory by Arignote. The Muggle Philosopher Pythagoras’s daughter and student. He’d four daughters…_

_And every one of them, a Witch._

_Excellent, Miss Granger. 10 Points to Gryffindor._

_Now, Lady Malfoy that is both blasphemous, a Slytherin giving Gryffandor points, and stingy. If you’d allow me to finish: Arignote, Myia, Damo, and my personal favorite, Aesara*—her work ‘On Human Nature’ has been one of my favorite finds in the Wizarding World, it’s almost heartbreaking it’s been hidden from the non-magical world. I mean I do understand—she speaks from a magical perspective, a lot of it would reveal the existence of magic, but I think respectful alterations could be made, a translation of sorts that would pass on her observations and wisdom without, you know, flying in the face of the Decree._

_Oh I do apologize, Miss Granger. 50 Points then._

_Wow, the first time I earned Gryffindor that many points, it was for ‘cool logic in the face of fire’._

_Well you’ve done rather a similar feat, at least in measure of worth. I’d not gotten to Aesara’s work and now I’ve a recommendation for it, it has most certainly been added to my reading list._ And then, _You’ve nothing of note to mention today?_

_Draco’s safe, we’re having dinner right now actually. His new clothes fit him well, he looks handsome, and happy—Mister Weasley’s talking about his day, kind of going on one of his rambles and Harry whispered something to Draco that made him smile and snort. _

_Oh my child does not snort._

_Sorry, pretty sure he’s a Weasley now, and the Tonks have got their hooks in him, Tonks definitely snorts and Teddy always ends up snorting between laughs when you’ve really got him in stitches. They’re at dinner too, celebrating the return to school I think, and they’re going with Draco to the station tomorrow. Teddy and Tonks and Andromeda._

There was a pause and then, _Andromeda will be with my son?_

_Is with him. Seated right next to him, now. He’s usually fussy about his hair—the twins and Charlie and Bill all have fun with him about it, muss it to mess with him just for his reaction—but she keeps smoothing his hair the way he parts it and he doesn’t seem upset about it. She’s asked about you, Draco gave her some update, and it just about killed me—present me? Because I want so badly to tell her about you, from my writing with your future self. But it’d be pretty weird for me to know things about you, or to talk about you, and it would probably be bad if it slipped I was somehow in communication with a future version of you._

_You wish to add to Draco’s observations?_

_He just talked about how you are, that you’re fine, and in good health last he heard. I know it isn’t my place—I understand and respect that you can’t be in each others lives, that you worry about how it would be dangerous for her given your associations—but she obviously loves you so much and wanted more and I had to literally bite my lips closed to keep from gushing about how much you love and miss her too. I know it's awful for you and I just...I really want you to have each other again._

_I do appreciate your sentiments, Miss Granger._

_You can call me Hermione, you know. If you wanted to._ She caught movement in her peripheral, Mrs. Addler getting her walker ready so she could stand and…Narcissa was doing something with her wand, casting under the table. Undoing her wards maybe? Uhhhh…no nope nu-uh, that was a hex she- we she definitely wasn’t going to just hex some elderly Muggle woman but she was hexing _something._ Something that would be time released, by the looks of it, wouldn’t go off for several hours, but when it did? Yikes. _I have to step away for a minute, there’s something I have to do, but if you need me just write, okay? I’ll write you more when I get home._

She was about to close her journal but, _You have been out of your place of hiding today? All afternoon?_

_Since this morning. You’re with me and we’re safe._

_Excellent. Well, do hurry home and be well, M Hermione. Feel free to write me whenever you wish._

_Will do, have a pleasant evening._

She slipped her journal back into its hiding place in a disillusioned cubby under the cash register, and moved to join Narcissa as she walked Mrs. Addler to the door...exchanging money with her, matching bills.

“You are to pay this ‘Stringbean’ man with this, for your fare home,” she intoned as she pressed the bill into the older woman’s hand.

“With pleasure,” Mrs. Addler agreed, smiling to Hermione, “you ready to make with the escorting, brat?”

“Uh-huh,” Oh. “It’s just up the block,” she assured Narcissa, “I’ll be right back. Are you okay here? Someone should watch after the shop, I can lock up if-”

“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself and this shop from harm in your absence,” Narcissa drawled, before smiling to Mrs. Addler, “Have a most wonderful evening, madam.”

“Same to you dear,” the elderly woman wished, and Hermione held the door open and allowed her to pass through, before following after into the cool autumn night.

“She’s like you, isn’t she? The money will do something to Stringbean?”

Well now it was even colder as the blood drained from Hermione’s face, what- “L-like me? Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t fret it none my dear. My father was like you. My mother wasn’t, and neither was I,” she shrugged. “That’s why I come ‘round the shop, you know? Check in on you. You remind me of him. So does she, my father would do the same, he once did something similar when boys were picking on me in school, stealing my lunch. He did something to it that made them turn green and break out in boils.” Huh. Hermione wasn’t sure what Narcissa had hexed the bill with but she certainly didn’t want to be that bus driver come the end of his shift.

“You...you check on me?”

“Someone has to, I figure. I don’t know who in this world knows you girl, after what you did, who makes sure _you’re_ okay.”

“After what I…”

“I wasn’t sure what you were trying to do to me, last time we saw each other, back when you stopped working there over a year ago. Then I don’t hear a thing about you for ages. Come a month ago Mr. and Mrs. started telling me ‘Stacie’s back’. And I can't help but wonder ‘Stacie who, and where's she gone?’. You turn up, and I can put two and two together, thank you very much.”

Wait- what? Hermione stopped in her tracks a few feet short of the bus stop, and the woman halted, shifted her walker to help her turn a bit to look back at her, blue eyes sparkling with something like the mischief of some secret.

“I’m not like my father, but I could’ve been, you know? Potential that just never produced,” she smiled, as the bus pulled up, squealing to a stop before the doors opened up, “Meeting Narcissa gives me some relief. I’m glad to know you’ve got someone in your corner, Hermione,” she winked. And then she made her way to the bus, grinning like mad as she greeted, “Hey, Stringbean! I got your fiver right here.” Glad to hand over the exorbitant bus fee, hex and all.

...she...she hadn’t realized Mrs. Addler- she was a Squib! That-! That gave her some resistance to magical manipulations, certainly the variations used on Muggles, she- Hermione must have looked just barmy rewriting their history together to replace her name with her alias! The woman had just stood there, blank faced and watching when Hermione cast and she’d just- Hermione had felt...it wasn’t a great feeling, tricking everyone or making people forget, it made her feel like garbage, manipulating everyone’s memories. She really must have looked like a nutter—everyone had a moment of reorientation after she cast, where they were a bit dazed, they wouldn’t remember her casting and she could get out of range of them, so they wouldn’t remember having seen her at all, but Mrs. Addler had seen her cast, cry, and flee. And then the next time they saw each other, when she came back to work the woman acted like not a thing had happened, called her Stacie without question-

She loved Mrs. Addler.

“...are you alright, Miss Greene?” Narcissa’s voice startled her. Oh! Crap! She’d just been standing at the now busless bus stop. The older Witch’s hand rested on her shoulder, “Hermione?”

“I’m really tired,” she heard herself confess. Oh, her eyes were a little wet, not badly but she shook herself and wiped at them with the back of her sleeve before looking to Narcissa, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dawdle. I should go clean up, close things down.”

“Mister Whitaker made an appearance, as did his wife, she’s returned to handle the Kitchens, and he’s joined her, insisted he wants to walk her to and from the shop as its dark now, that he can at the very least sit with her while she works,” she looked concerned, “is he...is he unwell?”

“Emphysema, he’s in the middle of a flair. He gets short of breath easily, can’t get up to much when it's bad. There’s things that bloom toward the end of summer, early fall that give him allergies. It’s...I can’t do much, magical healing and potion requires interacting the person being healed’s magic. But I warded the apartment thoroughly to keep allergens out, it's hard for me to tell but I did my best to reach the shop from up there.”

“Ahh, I did wonder at that. I saw your spellwork, yes, you extended into the shop rather nicely. They’ve no muggle spy cameras in their apartment I suppose.”

Hermione shook her head ‘no’. “You can see magic without casting diagnostic spells?” or had she just cast under the table again?

“If I am intimately familiar with the caster and their magic, yes,” Narcissa breezed right along, “You saw Mrs. Addler off then? She was well?” Hermione nodded. “Good. Well then, come,” Narcissa said, linking arms with her, hugging her arm to her side as she led her back toward the shop. “Lets finish our business here and get home, shall we? What is your schedule tomorrow?”

“Most Sundays are off days unless someone reserves the shop for something—we get the occasional reservation from groups who want to use the shop for like, poetry slams or improve, musicians, or meetings of some sort, it ranges from spectacular to so bad it circles back to amazing. Nothing on tomorrow though.”

“Excellent. Then you will rest—I do not want to hear your alarm, Miss Granger, is that clear?”

“Crystal, bossy Miss Black,” Hermione teased as came to the shop door. Or, “Oh...wait, Mrs. Black? You didn’t wear your ring today.” Actually she...she couldn’t remember the last time she saw it. She’d not worn it at all lately.

Narcissa looked almost regretful but, “I cannot say which I would prefer. That in itself should tell you.”

Ahh. She got it—after all if she enjoyed getting to play ‘Stacie Greene, Average Muggle’ a few hours out of the week, Narcissa probably got some reprieve playing single, not having to talk about her horrible husband like he puts the sun in the sky to the faces of people he’d gladly see murdered or worse. “Miss Black it is then.”

Narcissa leaned against her, resting her head against Hermione’s and breathing deep before saying, “I do adore-” she struggled momentarily, words catching in her throat, “your shop, Miss Greene.”

“It is pretty great, isn’t it?”

Narcissa nodded her agreement as they entered the shop.

And then she helped. Narcissa sat in the armchair, but she’d her wand out under the table quietly everywhere Hermione went around the shop, at least all the tables and floor directly around Narcissa, Hermione merely had to put on the act like she was sweeping up or wiping at a table but it cleaned completely in the blink of an eye and she could move along faster, and when she moved out of range of where Narcissa could reach, the woman stood and stretched, announcing she’d like a change of scenery as she moved to another seat, continuing to assist, so...Hermione was done in record time and things were as clean as could possibly be to boot.

“Hey, everything’s set, we’re heading out,” Hermione said as she leaned in the swinging door to the kitchens. Oh gosh! Poor Mrs. Whitaker, she really was trying to clean up and while Mr. Whitaker couldn’t get up to much, the man- he’d faint white powder on his lips, mostly wiped away but still, a trace of it there, and a trail of white spots of powder led from the back of Mrs. Whitaker’s hand, all the way up the sleeve of her flowy purple dress, the woman’s cheeks pink as could be save for what Hermione supposed must be sugar on her cheek, and Mr. Whitaker looked alight with his mischief, seated on a stool at his wife’s side.

“Ahh, splendid,” the man rasped his thanks, honestly, he shouldn’t be playing around with powdery substances, she was a little worried he’d breathed it in! But he didn’t seem like he couldn’t breathe full stop, and he looked happy so. Gosh, she loved these people to pieces. “Stacie, we cannot thank you enough-” he coughed, waving assurance to his wife when she rested a hand high on his back, “we appreciate your hard work.”

“Oh absolutely,” Mrs. Whitaker agreed. “I don’t know what we would have done, we had to fire that whats-his-name. And with Sara out of commission...we’re lucky you showed up when you did, thank you, truly, for taking on so much until we’ve more help at hand. We’ve interviews set up all next week.”

“I know you have to be careful, don’t rush on my account but, thanks,” she was grateful for the work, getting to really save up, but she’d really only come to them for her part-time gig back. Now she wondered...gosh she worried maybe last time around they’d had to close down. Losing employees and with Mister Whitaker being so under the weather and Mrs...having cameras around helped, on a level but people weren’t shy with hatred. It wasn’t safe for her to work all by herself, interact with a mass of unknown customers who might take some great offense that the person making the coffee and tea and pastry they so enjoy isn’t their bigoted idea normal. It always made Hermione a little sick and sad when she saw the couple out sometimes and Mrs. couldn’t be herself. But her home was always safe for her, and her shop too, and it was to stay that way. She’d been working on something like a variation of warding against allergens—something that would make bigoted Muggles turn a blind eye to this place, but she wasn’t certain what that would do to their business, not everyone who frequented the shop knew Mrs. Whitaker, and there were a lot who didn’t realize, and might feel differently if they did.

She hadn’t thought to bring it up with Narcissa though...the older Witch was brilliant with magic, and she was always coming up with all sorts of ideas—Hermione hadn’t dreamed her tag idea would do half the things Narcissa thought it was capable of. She might think of something Hermione wasn’t, or know something she didn’t.

Though uh…she knew some things now.

Narcissa Black was actively trying to kill her. Vows be damned, she was pretty sure.

She hadn’t- it was an acci-

It was an accident!

At least on _her_ part!

…maybe Narcissa’s too but she had a feeling it hadn’t been accidental at all and she wasn’t sure what that meant.

Oh. Right. So, Hermione turned back into the shop to get Narcissa and go only to find,

“Narcissa! Be careful!” Hermione chastised, the woman was- she was up on the ladder! Climbing with the tea canister in hand, that was dangerous! She had a feeling Narcissa Malfoy hadn’t had much use for ladders before in her life—if she could openly use magic in the shop she’d just levitate the canister back to its place but- Hermione could have gotten it! It was her job after all, and it was her stupid fault, she’d forgotten it!

She uh…wasn’t likely to forget other things, though.

She went to the ladder to hold it secure in place, be there to return the favor if Narcissa slipped and fell and…accidentally returned another.

Hermione’d sticking charms that kept her socks secure just above her knees. Narcissa Malfoy apparently preferred doing things the old-fashioned way. Or, er, the non-magical way. She knew this, because she looked up.

She looked straight up. and came away with the sight of Narcissa Malfoy’s very sheer, very black, very lacy garter belt, delicate suspenders pulling her stockings taut and securely attached to her panties, the outermost creamy curve of the underside of her bottom peeking out-

“I quite assure you darling, my wand is most securely up my sleeve.”

… “I- it- I was- you could- you shouldn’t be up there! You could get hurt! Stop being barmy and come down this instant Narcissa Black!”

“Very well,” the older Witch relented, descending gracefully, though she brushed against Hermione as she planted her feet on the ground once more, turning to smile like she was having just the best of times at Hermione’s expense, far too amused! There was nothing amusing about- she-!

“Well come along darling, let us depart. Do you plan to wear that interesting article of clothing home?” she questioned, eyes coasting over her from head to- well, apron.

Hermione sighed, grasping at the ties to pull them undone as she headed for the counter announcing, “The apron stays at the shop-“

“A pity.”

“Oh I’m sure we’ve plenty of buckets for your tears somewhere in the attic!” Hermione assured.

“Have I made you testy darling?” Narcissa wondered, sounding pleased with herself.

“You’re testing something alright just- behave! I’m- I need to lock up the register and check the restroom and grab my things and we’ll go. No more,” she waved in Narcissa’s general direction, “until it’s time to go.”

Narcissa smirked, sauntering over to the table where she’d left her briefcase, she collected her things before going to stand with her back to the door, watching Hermione with silent amusement the younger Witch pointedly ignored, she had things! to do! Narcissa could wait!

And she did. Very patiently. She didn’t say a single word until Hermione finished closing up shop and gathering her things, locking the doors behind her so no one could just waltz on in with Mr. and Mrs. in the back, they’d their own keys.

Hermione breathed a tired sigh as she turned her back on the door to face Narcissa, who was peering down at her as if deciphering something, debating.

“We were in the middle of rather the important discussion, when Mrs. Addler interrupted us.”

“Discussion?” Hermione asked.

“My victory in finding your wand. I won, obviously that implies a prize is to be rendered.”

“Well...what is it you want, Narcissa?”

Now she felt very warm in the chilly night, as Narcissa stared at here with such intensity in her gaze she thought perhaps she was about to say something astronomical in its importance. Like she _wanted_ to say something that she physically couldn’t, in fact it looked like she was thinking very hard about what she _could_ say, and then she stepped forward which uh…Hermione was pretty well already had her back against the door, and when she did open her mouth,

“Is there anything at all you would deny me, Hermione?”

Deny her? Huh? “No.”

“Nothing at all?”

Uh…if she was really pressed for something? “Murder?” Hermione supposed, “Even then it would depend on the situation?”

Well she looked almost scarily pleased that Hermione wasn’t entirely opposed to committing murder in her honor. It would have to be like! Specific circumstances! She wasn’t a murderer but sometimes, yeah, bastards needed to die—case in point, Voldemort. “Your limitations with me involve murder, and that is all?”

“...yeah?”

Okay yeah, she was tired. Exhausted, to a point of hallucination. She was under the distinct impression Narcissa Malfoy was about to kiss her.

And she did. She leaned forward, and closed the space between them to kiss her on the cheek, pulling back to hold her gaze and say, “I wish to learn the language of hand signs. So I might better communicate with little Jessie.”

Hermione smiled at that, _“Really?”_

“Of course.”

Hermione let out a happy little squeak and Narcissa looked surprised when she rested her hands on the woman’s shoulders to help her pop up on her toes to kiss her on the cheek, for some reason that time it sent the woman blushing. “That’s so great, he’ll be so excited! Of course I’ll teach you!”

“Excellent.”

When they returned home, Narcissa’s hand was in Hermione’s the very instant she stepped out of the car, pulling the younger Witch along, into the house.

“We’ve a delivery waiting us—you,” Narcissa informed her as they entered the living room, accio’ing the black bag Severus sent them things in—supplies and a very pointed thank you note that read more like a death threat in return for the lemon bars Hermione had sent him last week. Git. What had he sent them now? Had Narcissa needed something?

…Narcissa had sent something. The present’s Narcissa. _You’ve nothing of note to mention today?_ She’d-

She’d wanted to know if Hermione had gotten her present.

“…What’s this for?” Hermione wondered as she took the wine red, velvet draw-string bag in hand.

“It is for you, Hermione,” Narcissa said, looking…excited and albeit impatient. “Well? Do open it.”

Hermione blushed feeling…well she wasn’t sure what. Grateful, a little shy that the present’s Narcissa had thought about her, gotten her something-

Calming Cream. The present’s Narcissa had gotten her-

“This is really sweet,” Hermione smiled, stepping forward to hug the Narcissa before her. “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” Narcissa assured, hugging her back. “I do hope it is of benefit to you, if you’ve need of more, do let me know. I wouldn’t-”

“Have me do without?” Hermione nodded against her shoulder, “yeah, I get that,” she supposed as she pulled away. “This stuff really is the best, um…if you ever want to use it-”

“I know where to find it,” Narcissa supposed. Then, “Darling do go rest, the bathroom is yours if you wish it. Shall I charm the water for you or would you wish to attempt it on your own?”

She’d shown her how over breakfast that morning, she was pretty sure she’d gotten it down, and she wouldn’t know until she tried, would she? “I can get it,” she said, “Dinner-“

“I’ll handle our dinner arrangements, Miss Granger.”

“Like…dinner-dinner or did I do something to make you go all ‘Stepford Wives’ on me again?”

“Some man named _Stepford_ has multiple wives?” the woman questioned incredulously, and Hermione giggled, shaking her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the sentiment of that reference.”

“Muggle horror-flic that involves murder and creepy robotic housewives.”

“Like on the Doctor Who? There are robots that can mistaken for wives?”

“I don’t know that you’d be much into horror but maybe we’ll try watching it sometime and you’ll see, we can fast forward through the scary parts but uh…last night you kind of were the scary parts. Some of them, anyway.”

“I…I do promise my dinner plans do not involve horror of any sort,” Narcissa gently assured. “Go—bathe, and we shall eat and we’ll journal our presents selves and watch mindless television until you wish to retire.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“Certainly,” Narcissa nodded. Though when Hermione went to the stairs she was stopped, turned to look back at the older witch when she said, “Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“I truly do- I would like to say I a-,” however much she might ‘like’ to say whatever it was, she looked like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

“Narcissa?”

“I adore your sleepovers,” she seemed to settle on, though she did seem sincere, “I…am not accustomed to sleeping alone and I find they are a comfort to me. I suppose I merely wish to extend something of a blanket invitation.”

“Pun intended?”

That had the woman relaxing a bit at least, she nodded. “If it pleases you.”

“Always,” Hermione assured. Huh. She… “Sure? If you want.”

“I’ve a great many wants, Miss Granger. I don’t know that it is right of me to allow you to meet them.”

“I don’t see an issue so long as I want to meet them. No worries Narcissa, I’m fully capable of voicing when I don’t want to do something.”

“You absolutely must,” Narcissa insisted, looking almost sick with her worry, “There’s a great deal I can’t- there are things I am incapable of articulating, if ever I- if ever I put you to discomfort or overstep my bounds, do not hesitate to speak up, put me in my place-”

“Narcissa-“

“If I were to hurt you or lay detriment to our friendship I would be devastate-“

“Narcissa!” Hermione cut her off, and the older Witch looked to her with some uncertainty.

“Yes?”

She wasn’t sure but somehow it felt like the right thing to say, like the best way to assure her, “I adore our sleepovers too.” She adored just about everything she did with the older Witch. Even when she went full Stepford wife, or had fun at her expense. She really…

She really liked Narcissa. In a way that broke her heart a little bit. Loved her in a way that made her feel pathetic.

But Narcissa smiled her relief, and that always had a way of making things seem better. “I am glad,” she said. “Thank you, Hermione.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes:  
> *Matter-Measure is a substance I made up, I couldn't find an equivalent for what I was looking for potions-wise in canon.  
> *Cassiopeia Black is a canon member of the Black Family and Narcissa's great aunt, who never married or had any children, do with that what you will (we stan a cool Lesbian auntie)  
> *Numerology and Grammatica are mentioned like they're a single title. They're two separate works associated with one another, written by two separate authors. It's a set Hermione likes so well she considers taking it on their journey in 7th year but ultimately decides against it since they don't necessarily count as a necessity.  
> *I'm more familiar with ASL but I did my best with British Sign Language given the setting of this fic, and I was absolutely delighted to find that while there are several differences, especially in that it's a great deal easier to sign with one hand in ASL compared to BSL (I wrote the scene in ASL first, realized whoops, nope, that won't do and switched it up to BSL only to discover most of the letters and word signs I needed from the require both hands in a space I have Hermione with one one free but I think I managed alright? If something looks stupid wrong let me know!) the languages, on a physical level feel as if they mirror each other nicely and it's just really neat.  
> *Misapinoa Black is one of the longest lived of the Black family line, most members of the Black family don't, in canon, live long full-Wizard lifespans, Misapinoa is one of the few on record actually living to see her hundredth birthday, so I took that to be an indication that, if she would have developed a spell, it would be the sort that might save your life through allowing a magical person to blend in to environments magical and non-magical without drawing attention to themselves or their business.  
> *Arignote, Myia, Damo, and Aesara are all philosophers of Pythagora's who are believed to be his daughters. Aesara's work "On Human Nature" is only preserved in fraction, and here we have a magical explanation for that. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! 🖤 at this point I make no promises on the specifics, I have goals and dreams for the next chapter to meet, we'll see what haaaaaappens, ya'll's guess is as good as mine. See you with another chapter in week/week-and-a-half.


	6. All That is Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to Hogwarts! Our Current Timeline pals deal with the start of the new school year, adjusting to new friends, new schedules, and new professors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE BACK!  
> WE GAY!  
> THIS CHAPTER IS NEARLY NOVEL LENGTH SEND HELP  
> I'm genuinely sorry for so much time between updates but I promise you, if there isn't an update, I'm either working on it or I'm dead. Assume whichever option comforts you the most to console any frustrations with my slowass posting! 
> 
> Shout out again to Inkheart9459 for bearing with me through the writing process and dragging my ass for my chronic case of WBD (Wordy Bitch Disease) and just in general cheering me on up to the point she's presently chanting "POST IT! POST IT! POST IT!" so. It being posted 🖤

_A bubbling cauldron boiling over. A surge of vile green-black acid pouring to splatter the woodfloors underfoot, wafting thick ghostly-white, noxious fog to coast along the spilling liquid’s surface as he wrenched his left arm from his father’s grasp…his mother’s screams pouring from her in agony, anguish tearing from her throat to plead,_

_“Go, Dragon!_ Now!”

A hand on his chest, jostling him awake, “Draco?”

He shot up in bed, gasping for breath, opening his eyes directly into emerald ones shining in the low light of _lumos_ at the end of Potter’s wand, lax in his hand even as Draco’s was currently pressing the tip of his wand to the other boy’s throat, unarmed hand grasping a fistful of Potter’s sweatshirt. “Bloody-” Draco loosened his grip, the signal from his brain just defaulting to both hands, hands falling to his sides, his wand bouncing off his lap and clattering to the floor.

“You okay?” Potter softly questioned, voice rough with sleep as he raised a hand to rub at his eyes, shaking himself a bit and blinking before his eyes trained on Draco again. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No I don’t bloody want to- I- you just- you shouldn’t wake a dreaming Wizard, I could have- you could have been hurt.”

“I think I’ll take my chances thanks,” Potter shrugged, unbothered. “You had hold of your wand, I’d rather risk a little jelly-legs jinx than have you accidentally cast on yourself in the middle of a nightmare.”

Jelly legs? If he was lucky. Merlin he’d felt the beginnings of _Diffindo_ at his lips when he woke, he’d _…_ it was bleary now, a whirl of horrific memory but he _had_ flung a blind ‘diffindo’ at his father, it was pathetic, it’d missed, but he’d _tried_ to do _something_ to break the man’s concentration, anything to make him stop- “You could have been hurt. You can’t ever do that again, Harry.”

Oh Merlin, that made the boy _grin_. This big, brilliant show of teeth as he said, “Wow, you definitely need to get some more sleep. That’s the first time you haven’t called me ‘Potter’ in weeks.”

“Yeah. Sleep. We’ve the train first thing. Go back to sleep Potter, you did your good deed for the day, before sunrise even, I’m sure your Order of Merlin will be waiting in the post come morning.”

Potter just chuckled a bit, amused at his attempts to...he wasn’t sure. Be an ass? Was he _trying_ to be an ass? He was, he just wasn’t sure why. Probably something fucked with his head. “Yeah well, you know what they say—let no good deed go unfinished-”

“It's un _punished,_ Potter.” Pretty as he was, Merlin the boy could be dense. He did that sometimes, got little phrases like that wrong—he’d asked if Draco’s new wand ‘passed mustard’ when he finished his purchase at Olivanders, not ‘passes muster’, and he thought ‘suposably’ was a word until Draco corrected him. Been a ruddy chore, that. The boy clearly had been having Draco on, they sat on the Weasley’s couch for the better part of five minutes, Draco repeating ‘ _supposedly, Potter. It’s suppos-ed-ly!’_ Potter squinting at him like he was the barmy one until realization dawned in his face and he went _‘oh! Suppos-_ ed _-ly? Cool, thanks, I’m always getting that one wrong.’_ Bloody saviour of the Wizarding World, everyone. 

“Yeah maybe—you’re doing your job, let me do mine. Good deed isn’t done until you feel better. Are you going back to sleep?”

Hell no. “Of course.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, voice on an upward pitch with his supposing before he leaned to his side, laying over Draco’s legs and over the edge of the bed to reach down, ass in the air as he- his hand his the floor with a few soft _taps_ as he- he wasn’t bloody wearing his glasses! Which should honestly be illegal, he should not be _allowed_ to walk around with zero barrier between those world-famous eyes, and the rest of the population. He had to feel around for Draco’s wand to pick it up off the floor, but he did it, hoisting himself back upright and Draco snapped his attention to his own lap just a split second before it was painfully obvious he was- Potter was the one who put his ass in Draco’s face! It was hardly his fault! Where else was he supposed to look?! Potter returned his wand to his hand, popped up off the bed, and then-

He left. Stepped right over his cot, stupid! He spent the rest of summer on a cot between Draco’s bed and the door! What kind of nonsense—they were wizards! But Transfiguring something that would be sturdy and comfortable, meant to hold weight was a trick in itself, making it keep shape in the long term? Potter insisted he was comfortable, and Merlin could the boy sleep like the dead when he didn’t…

Maybe that was why Draco was being such an ass. Because he _felt_ like one. Because it wasn’t like _he’d_ offered comfort when Potter struggled similarly. He thought…he thought he was giving the other boy his pride, not making any note or fuss when he was waken in the night by shuddering breath in the cot nearby, Potter mumbling to himself whispers that ghosted at just _awful_ things, from werewolves prowling the school grounds, to…it sounded like sometimes they were about Sirius. Twisted something in his chest, he’d think it was his heart if he had one, at the thought of how much Potter mourned the man. He’d…he’d not a single clue the loss the other boy felt at his godfather’s demise. But he’d not exactly been in the correct circle of people to know how dear the man had truly been to him, until recently. Ugh! It wasn’t like Weasley made any fuss either! But maybe…maybe he _would_ if he woke. He seemed to know Potter had nightmares, Weasley and Granger always checked on him come morning, asked how he slept, the few times he was visibly exhausted Hermione had pecked a kiss to his temple, asked if he was sure he didn’t want to try potion. He’d shrugged, mumbled something about his scar still making him dream he thought, and _sometimes I dream about snuffles._ Sirius, Hermione’d said when Draco asked. Like maybe…perhaps the boy didn’t much mind nightmares if they were his only chance at seeing Sirius again.

Oh Merlin, his brain gave him the distinct, horrific thought that perhaps it was under cruciatus, forever in his dreams were his only future context for seeing his mother again would exist. Which was- it was barmy! She was _fine!_ Alive, at least. He would see her again. _He would_. Just…

“Hey,” Potter’s voice startled him! And he realized to his own horror he was- he wasn’t _crying_ but his eyes _might_ \- she was his mother! He’d cry all he damn well pleased! Just maybe not in front of Harry fucking Potter! He wiped furiously at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, another new emerald green jumper courtesy of Mrs. Weasley, Potter’s hand on his shoulder, warm and squeezing with gentle comfort as his weight settled on the bed as he sat before him, his other hand offering a frosted-over glass of water. “I was serious, if you need to talk…everyone gets nightmares, Draco.”

“I don’t need to talk I-” he swallowed, fists clenching in his lap, “I just…” he sighed, “is that…is that what you’re supposed to do? Talk about them, when your…friend, has nightmares?”

“If that’s what that friend needs, yeah.”

“It was stupid. Just…my Marking Ceremony. Mother getting hurt. I…”

“You miss her,” Potter sympathized, the hand on his shoulder moving only to take hold of one of Draco’s hands, wedging his fingers into his balled fist to unclench Draco’s hand, smoothing his fingers along the crescent lines his nails left in his palm as if checking to make sure they weren’t bleeding before clasping hold of his hand. “It’s okay to miss your mother. I…never really knew mine but I miss her, I probably always will, I think. You actually know your mother, have more to miss and she’s…you’ve got to worry about her. I wish we could do more. I…I mean I write to Hermione, and she writes to your mother. She promises your mother sounds fine that…”

“…that what?”

“I don’t…I’m not going to pretend I know what your life is like but…if you’re worried your father might…if your mother is ever in trouble, she has a way of communicating that to Hermione, code or something that tells her she needs help.”

“What good does that do, mother can’t just traipse off out of the manor whenever she damn well pleases-” oh hell he hadn’t meant to say that- was going light-side addling his mind like it had apparently done to Rubeus Hagrid?

“Hermione…the one I write, anyway…has um, she says she can get to your mother to help if she ever needs it. So,” he shrugged. “Hermione protects her friends. You’ve seen that already. She wouldn’t say she could help if she couldn’t.”

“Granger’s…she’s really looking after my- my mother?”

“Both of them, yeah.” Oh Merlin that still made his head hurt sometimes. His mother doubly existing in this timeline…Granger to boot. Potter pressed the ice cold glass of water into Draco’s hand, “Here. I’d have gotten you potion but there’s only a few hours before we have to get up, I don’t know the dose for that.”

Draco huffed softly, raising the glass to his lips, “You really are backwards Potter—everyone knows a glass of warm milk sends you right off after an upset.”

The other boy shrugged, finger messing at a fray in Draco’s blanket he’d suddenly found very interesting, “Never done that. I’d always go get a glass of water to calm down after a nightmare.”

“Some Muggle tradition?” Draco wondered. How strange. “Your aunt would bring you chilled water when you’d an upset?”

He kept his gaze down, finger still playing with the frayed yarn as he snorted at that, “Aunt Petunia wouldn’t get me a glass of water if I was on fire. No, never one to cry to my aunt and uncle about a nightmare, it was just something I’d do for myself if they forgot to lock-” he caught himself, “when I could. Water from the tap but wintertime the pipes get so cold the water’d come out freezing and…dunno, I’d always wake up feeling too hot like…well I guess now I know it was magic, that feeling like magic is about to burst from your skin? Jarring temperature always helped distract me from that, cooled me down, I could usually go back to sleep okay after that.”

…there was …so much of that Draco wanted to question but not a single one felt safe to press. He had that feeling again, like he was sitting on a steep precipice and if he leaned too far he’d take a fall he wasn’t prepared to walk away from. “ … _now_ you know it was magic?” Draco felt was safe enough to ask, “Your aunt grew up with your mother, right? She had to have known about wild magic, she never talked to you about it?”

“She knew about it yeah, I guess. I um, I didn’t know about magic until Hagrid.”

“Hagrid?”

“Um, he’s the one who came to collect me. When I got my acceptance to Hogwarts? _Yer a Wizard Harry_ ,” he dropped his voice, put on a near-perfect impression of the oaf’s garbled passings for proper speech. “First time anyone thought to tell me.”

“But you- your parents were murd-”

“Uncle Vernon always said my father was a worthless penniless drunkard, drove drunk and got himself and my mother killed in a car crash— didn’t have the decency of taking me out with them no, I survived with only this ‘scratch’,” he huffed a laugh, raising his face and rubbing a finger along his scar the- the one on his forehead. He’d another, on the back of his left hand, _I mustn't tell lies_ , he could see in pale shiny letters that made him sick to his stomach. “Leaving him and his poor Petunia to raise me. They don’t…they don’t much care for Magic. They hate it, I think they were kind of hoping I’d turn out a Squib or something, despite evidence to the contrary.”

“You never…you… _no magic_ , you’d no clue- not ever? Not until you were _eleven?”_ that wasn’t- that wasn’t right! He- He was _Harry Potter!_ Granger, yeah, he got that, it wasn’t her parents’ fault they didn’t know anything about magic until their daughter was invited to magic school. But Potter, he was born to magical people! The _Potters!_ He was practically a pureblood! He should have- did his aunt and uncle not understand who he was? That he was responsible for saving the world as they knew it? He’d…Merlin, he’d not a single clue about anything when he showed up at Hogwarts, hadn’t he? Draco’d thought he was just stupid, that dumb look on his face he had, looking at everything like he could hardly believe it, simple things like floating candles and talking portraits. The first conversation Draco could remember having in his life was with his grandfather’s portrait—mother’s father. He never got to talk to him much, father didn’t much take them ‘round to the little beach house on Marseille, but there was a time they’d visited...he’d been very little, it was the vaguest sense of memory, just his mother bouncing him on her knee, the cadence of her voice talking, that of another replying, warm and soothing, the wrinkled face of an aged Wizard with his mother’s smile grinning down at him.

“Barely even then, but I caught on eventually. Took about a month at Hogwarts before I could go without questioning my sanity, wondering when I’d wake up in my cupboard from this wild fever dream.”

His…cupboard.

_I’ve had worse setups._

“If…if you ever need, er…I understand there might be things, knowledge common to those who grew up in the Wizarding World that might have fallen through the cracks for those raised outside the magical world, that isn’t covered by Hogwarts curriculum. If you have questions or come up on something you’re curious about I…I’d help you.”

“Like Wizard truces?” Potter wondered, a bit drily. He’d asked about it and uh…Draco had been his usual charming self.

“I didn’t- I didn’t realize you had a good reason, not knowing. Sorry.”

Potter’s brow shot up at that, “Hold up, I’m sorry—my ‘auditory processing’ isn’t the best, so I think I misheard—did Draco Malfoy just apologize? To me?”

“I can apologize! Rarely. Hardly ever when I’m wrong. But sometimes when I am, I can and I...I am. Sorry. So. Auditorily process _that_ , Potter.”

The other boy just laughed a bit, “Alright, alright. Yeah, if I have any questions, I'll run them by you.”

“Good.”

“Are you? Good that is. Feeling like you’ll sleep?”

Draco shrugged. Something about how Potter had said...cupboard, and hadn’t even realized it, seemed like he thought he’d just said ‘room’, like that was what that word meant to him. That left this awful twisting in his stomach. He didn’t feel much like sleep or taking another night from Harry that would hold a proper bed. “You can have your bed back Potter, I- I don’t think…I think I’ll just go downstairs and read or something.” Wait for Granger or Weasley because now he had _questions._ “There’s only a few hours until we’d have to get up anyway.”

“You’re staying up?” and when Draco nodded, “accio _Grammatica,_ _lumos,”_ he called wandlight again as the book fluttered over from the nightstand into Potter’s hand. He tucked his wand behind his ear, light above his temple as he shifted to sit alongside Draco, handing him his book before stretching his arms overhead and putting them behind his head as he reclined on the edge of the bed, just barely squeezing in alongside the other boy. “Alright. You read then, I’ll just be here.”

“Why?”

“Keeping you company. Now quit whinging and read your book, nerd.”

“I am not a nerd—I am a gentleman and a scholar, and I demand to be treated as such.”

Potter snorted at that, “Apologies, m’lord,” he snarked, hand flourishing before him the way it would as if he’d bowed, even as he remained reclined and…keeping him company, huh?

“You’ve got a smart mouth Potter.”

“What else am I going to kiss smart people with?”

“Smart…people?”

“You know? Human beings? You’ve been around them your whole life? I mean I’m even decently sure you _are_ one, though do feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.” that- nope. He was smirking. He knew what he was doing! Being- just-

“Potter!”

“Yeah?”

“You- you’re-“ Draco sighed, frustrated. Mostly. “You’re just going to sit there while I read?” the other boy nodded, eyes closed, “…you’re falling asleep as we speak, aren’t you?”

“Just resting my eyes,” Potter promised, “’m still right here, if you need me.”

Well that wasn’t- he couldn’t just- he didn’t just get to say things like that and then bloody _drift off!_ Sleep like a damn baby! Potter fell asleep, and he fell asleep _hard_. For a moment Draco was almost concerned enough to check his pulse, Merlin. But there was a steady enough rise and fall to the Wizard’s chest.

And then he started snoring. So, sleeping _like_ the dead.

Which sorted. He picked up where he’d left off in _Grammatica_ , until he could hear the clatter of Mrs. Weasley beginning to get breakfast underway. Which meant any minute now, he would hear the door up the stairs from Weasley’s creak open to announce that Granger was awake, going to offer to help Mrs. Weasley. 

If she was going to be so helpful, she was going to help him! If she wanted to! And she would because...Granger was helpful. Merlin, she really did throw herself right into their truce, she wouldn’t even abide ‘Ronald’ bringing up Draco’s less-than-sparkling behavior toward her in the past. Though Weasley hadn’t...needed much more than a single reprimand on the matter, it had been weeks since Draco crash landed into their lives and now they’d a sort of comradery. Enough to know if Ron had woken to find Draco having a nightmare he might have done something to wake him, made certain he was alright, offer to get his mum—that was Weasel’s go-to, like perhaps he wasn’t certain _he_ was qualified to console, but he’d the ability to find someone who was. Then end up waking Potter, because Ron wasn’t the ‘hand (and eventually head) on your shoulder, let's talk about our feelings' type, he was a ‘I don’t much know what to do with emotions other than to replace them with belly-shaking laughter’ sort...he truly was a lot more clever than Draco had ever pegged him for, he might not necessarily be booksmart but he’d a quick whit, an ability to bounce off of anything into something truly hilarious—Draco had truly wanted to crawl in a hole and die when he was left practically starkers, but Ron had gone off on some tangent that started with how Draco was getting ahead of himself, dinner wasn’t even over with, and somehow worked its way to some ramble about Draco being infamous for redefining ‘casual Fridays’, that- it was stupid, an utterly inane rant but Draco’d barely been able to catch his breath and he’d managed to feel _better_ about it all. 

But maybe that was the point. Potter’d made sure he’d something to replace his clothing almost as swiftly as it had disappeared, and Granger had helped but she’d been more concerned of his emotions, over the physical. She’d taken his hand under the table and given it a reassuring squeeze and later she dropped in on the boys’ room while she had Ron helping his mother clean up dinner and Potter was in the shower, she came ‘round to talk, if he needed it. She didn’t let him wave her off and take his word it was ‘fine’, she sat and waited and...truly some witchcraft had to have been involved because she’d left with Draco’s confession that yeah, he was hurt, and he felt stupid for feeling hurt, he’d been expecting this he just...hadn’t, on a level. There’d been some stupid, pathetic thing in him that said maybe father would come around, maybe he’d _stop_ being a Dark Lord boot-licking coward, maybe. Which had honestly been baffling, he hadn’t much expected the Muggle-born to care quite so much, to feel _sorry_ his sack-of-shite father acted true to that title. To want to comfort him about it. But then she did all sorts of things Draco had never expected she’d do for him of all people.

_Oi! Back off Parkinson. Look for trouble with Draco and you’ll find trouble with me._

He’d always been on the other side watching as Potter and pals did as much for one another, took up for and defended their friends. He’d always thought it pathetic, that they had to rely on each other like that. Crabbe and Goyle wouldn’t deign to do as much for him, never, and he’d more than returned the favor in their direction. Oh, they could stroke his ego, they were rather good at that but that was them defending themselves from Draco’s ire and nothing more. No one had...he’d never had the sort of friend that heard insult lobbed at him, and took offense on his behalf, felt the need to guard and fight back, and having it present itself without question? He never dreamed anyone, let alone Hermione of all people would do something like that, but she just did it! And he realized to his horror it wasn’t pathetic after all. It was a source of _strength_ to rely on your friends, power he’d never had access to before. 

And it made him wonder if that was how it was supposed to work—friendship. Everyone...bringing something a little different to the table. Potter was hyper-vigilant about making sure his friends _felt_ safe, Weasley was _always_ primed to set off nonsense that left his loved ones forgetting their worries if even for a moment, had a way of making things care-free, for all he did that through his own care. And Granger was there to make certain that underneath it all they were _actually_ dealing with the issue at hand, that they were coping and going to be alright. 

He hadn’t known what to do with it at first, and now he did. He understood the requirements now; he had to find what _he_ could bring to the table. A first. He usually had House Elves for that.

“Mate?” Ron’s voice rasped from his bed as he squinted at the light coming in from the hall once Draco had carefully extracted himself from his Potter-laden bed and dressed to go catch a moment of Granger’s time. The Weasley boy sat up in bed like the act took a great deal of effort, not unlike drawing oneself up from their own grave, as he rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake himself up for some reason. “S’early for breakfast innut? You okay?” Ah, there it was. The reason. Merlin’s entire coin purse, these people were unrelenting.

“I’m fine,” he assured, “You and Potter get some more rest. I’ll make sure Granger wakes you in time to scramble for breakfast and the train.”

“Mmm, you’re a pal,” the boy said, grinning with sleep-laced appreciation as he flopped back to be horizontal in bed once more and _instantly_ resumed snoring.

He no more than stepped out into the hall than, “Oh! Draco! Good morning,” Granger greeted pleasantly, smiling as she nodded her approval when she realized they’d both dressed for school for the first time in months, “It feels a little weird when it comes time for uniforms again huh? It’s always a little relieving to not have to think much about what you’ll be wearing.”

“I must say I rather prefer a sharp button up and sweater to Potter’s hoodies.” Oh, she giggled at that, smiled brighter. Good, yeah, he was- he could do this. Draco Malfoy was an academic, damn it, he’d gotten straight O’s last term...nearly, Father had some influence in his A in Transfiguration raising a letter-grade once term was up, but if he genuinely pull an O in bloody Arithmancy, he could do that in friendship. “Can we...I need to talk,” he said. Used that phrasing because it seemed like what he was supposed to do— _if you ever need to talk, I’m here,_ she’d said.

And she was, “Absolutely,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her. She led him down the stairs, turning once she hit the bottom to look up, mouth open like she meant to say something but then she smiled as he ducked his head to avoid hitting it, and then she waved to Mrs. Weasley.

“Good morning!”

“Oh good morning my loves!” Molly Weasley greeted, near sing-song the cadence of her voice, the woman was almost disastrously cheerful come morning. She smiled up at them as she conducted rather the symphony of spells that had their breakfast underway, “Oh, don’t you look so sharp in your uniforms, very good—watch Ronald come down in a tee and sweats forgetting what day it is, Merlin bless that boy. Draco, oh my dear your uniform fits well? What of your shoes love, not too pinchy?”

“Everything’s very comfortable,” he assured, “thank you.” 

“Draco and I were just going to go for a walk, pick a few blueberries for the train,” Hermione said. They were?

“Excellent thinking my dear,” Mrs. Weasley encouraged, “yes a nice healthy snack and you won’t have to pay those exorbitant cart prices. I’ve biscuits and treats packed up for you but some nice fruit certainly won’t be amiss—be a dear and bring some for breakfast, won’t you?”

He hadn’t known they were going blueberry picking in the first place, but now? “Absolutely, Madam Weasley," he agreed, "Fresh blueberries coming right up.” 

“Oh you sweet boy, honestly!” she waved him off, she didn’t put much on titles which felt strange, Lady Zabini would eat him alive if he referred to her as anything less than ‘Lady’, he just about challenged Blaise to a duel the first time he heard him call his mother ‘Narcissa’—he did challenge him but mother put a stop to his ‘nonsense’, insisting she’d told the young Zabini he could address her as such in the privacy of their home.

“Come on,” Hermione said, casting to summon a handbasket to her as her free hand took hold of his, and she began pulling him along. He knew where the blueberries were! Potter showed him, second day in, so he’d picked some before—for himself, once the appeal of having Harry Potter pick them for him wore off and was replaced with a need to- well to reciprocate and then do it himself in future for fear of indebting himself. Who just _does things_ for people without expecting something in return?

Everyone in his life, recently. He’d ask Merlin to help him but at this point it felt greedy in a way he, for once, found he couldn’t enjoy.

Granger pulled him out of the house and around the winding path alongside, letting go of his hand as she fell in step with him and then raised her wand, and he felt the security of a privacy ward draping over them. “Outside’s the most private with a house full of people,” she said, and he nodded his agreement.

“Allow me,” he said, holding out a hand to take the basket from her. It earned him a little glare that said she could very well manage to do so herself, mixed with a near-grin because yeah, it probably struck her as nice of him he supposed. It was just- it was what you were supposed to do! She was a Witch, and he respected her, so courtesy was therefore, to be offered.

“Thanks,” she supposed, and then amicably, “What did you need to talk about?” though it seemed like she’d jumped to her conclusion as she voiced her question, her hand was on his wrist then as she stopped, stopping him with her as she assured, “If you’re nervous about school, it isn’t going to be easy but Snape wouldn’t let anyone get away with hurting you in his House, and you’re still Prefect this year, someone would have to be stupid to mess with you and sink their points and- oh!” she gasped as if the thought had just occurred to her and it absolutely delighted the Witch, “You can do your rounds with Ron and me!” Merlin help them, time travel truly was a menace to the foundations of the way the universe worked—Hermione Granger was _cheerful_ at the prospect of spending time with Draco Malfoy. And it didn’t entirely displease him either, save for perhaps,

Draco scoffed. “And Parkinson,” he saw fit to remind her.

“Good,” Hermione smirked, something mischievous that smacked closer to actual evil, “The more the merrier.”

_“You little mudblood bitch!”_

_He expected fire from Gryffindor's Golden Girl but what he got was Numerology slipping from Granger’s grasp as she flinched, paled and looked like she might- He wasn’t certain if he should step up and steady her or step back and call for a bucket, “Better than a prissy pureblood bitch, Pansy. Does mummy dearest know you still slag around with Finch-Fletchley? I thought not—if you’re careful it’ll stay that way.” It would stay that way regardless, he had better sense than that_ — _he boy was a Muggleborn, granted he couldn’t have the best judgement if he was pining after Pansy, but it certainly wasn’t his parents fault and Rowena Parkinson was a vengeful bigoted Witch. Justin Finch-Fletchley wasn’t the Muggleborn he was concerned about at the moment! Tonks was already on Pansy, towering over her, popping her gum in her face as she questioned the girl as to just what she thought she was doing throwing slurs around in a peaceable shop, and does she know what verbal assault is? Because surprise! She might just get charged with it! So Draco rounded on Granger, bracing her elbow as he quietly questioned, “Hermione? What can I do?”_

Holy Hell, if word got around- it made him a little sick now, realizing Granger had been tortured like that, and worse she’d been helping him and he- he hadn’t realized saying it would mean activating a curse scar, that didn’t make him feel any less remorseful that it had happened. He just prayed Granger would take up occlusion, even if it meant...ugh. Probably learning from Severus. Until then? People had just better watch out because, “I swear I’ll jinx her into next week if she so much as thinks that nasty word in your presence.”

Her nose crinkled up like she didn’t much like the sound of that, “I like to think she’s at least _thinking_ it every time she sees me, that my in general existence puts a damper on her day,” she said as they drew near the blueberry bushes out the side of the Burrow, plucking a few to deposit in the basket on Draco’s arm. He joined in kind. Mother never could much get him into gardening, he was pretty sure she’d be absolutely shocked to hear him brushing so close to that arena, picking blueberries with Granger on a Sunday morning.

“That’s how you used to feel about me, Granger?” 

“ _Used to?_ Who’s to say I’ve stopped?” she smiled when Draco snorted, shaking his head.

“I’m not worried about school—that’s not what I want to talk about at least,” he said, “What do you know about the Dursleys?”

Hermione’s hand stilled before she could take hold of her next chosen berry and she looked up at him, “Harry say something that sound...off, with them?”

“Perhaps.” Absolutely.

“It’s Harry’s business, I’m not airing it with you unless you’re already in the know.”

“He told me about how his uncle spewed some rot about James Potter being a drunk who got himself and his wife killed in a ‘car crash’? And he made mention of a cupboard.”

Hermione shivered, “Yeah it- the- they’re disgusting people and the fact that Dumbledore-” she shook again, letting out a frustrated growl. “We understand in a dire emergency, Voldemort can’t touch him in a home imbued with the magic of his mother’s sacrifice but- well. The only reason I haven’t turned up expelled for egregious conduct against a school official is the fact that he lets Harry Summer at the Burrow now. Holidays too. If he ever has to go back there? It’ll be too soon. Fred, George, and Ron had to literally break him out of their home at the start of second year—we hadn’t heard from him all Summer and we were just worried sick. Molly and Arthur...didn’t quite get it at first, I don’t think. I think the adults sort of figured that Dumbledore wouldn’t do anything to put Harry in danger but...that’s basically all he’s ever done, he seems to live for getting Harry into dangerous situations on some level or another. But it’s bad, like sometimes I’m scared for Harry’s...mental health, bad. He doesn’t talk about it much, but Ron and I are pretty sure he...they had him living in a cupboard under the stairs—that’s what his Hogwarts letter was addressed to!” she was furious to note and yeah, oh yeah. He- that- they were on rather the same broom, there. People in charge of protecting the future savior of the Wizarding World had known damn well what he was living with and they turned a blind eye to it for- for what? “And the way he talks sometimes it sounds like-” she sighed, “I don’t know. He doesn’t put it to words so I won’t do it for him, it’s so not my place. But I wish...I dunno, I just wish we could help him more.”

“They kept his magic from him, for eleven years,” Draco rasped. That was just- that was just awful.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah they um, they pretty well hate magic, magical people.”

“Is that...common with Muggles? Is…” his mouth worked as he searched for the right way to phrase it, “Your parents...they don’t…” he got this...feeling, he wasn’t sure why. But the way it sounded when he arrived was that Granger had spent her whole summer here too, and from the sounds of it...there’d been a little talk about Yule hols, when Draco first arrived the Weasley’s had been animate that he could spend Christmas there, they’d made mention that Potter would be too and Mrs. Weasley had asked Hermione if she was still certain she’d be coming too, her parents truly didn’t mind her not going home for the holiday? She’d...apparently spent last Yule at Hogwarts, alone, Harry said later. “Your parents aren’t ill-at-ease with your magical status, are they?”

Hermione smiled in a way that struck him as a little sad, but she shook her head ‘no’, “They were really very good with it right from the start. Mum got a little overwhelmed, she was just shocked to discover magic existed really, and it was scary for her to send me off into a world she didn’t know a thing about. Dad...it seemed like from the moment McGonagall announced I was a Witch it just felt like something clicked into place for him, like ‘oh yes, finally, this makes sense’.”

“You haven’t been to see them much this summer, it sounds like,” Draco said just...just making sure. That sounded...well it sounded wonderful, if it was true, he was glad her parents had met the news so well, had taken it in stride.

Hermione shrugged. “They understand my wanting to be around for Harry and Ron, the Burrow isn’t under any sort of secret-keeping and if anything happened- well I can’t well do anything from Muggle London,” a strange look came over her face then as if she’d just realized she’d misspoken. “Well. Nothing for them if there’s an attack here that I’m not previously aware of,” she amended.

“Granger. Is my mother in Muggle London?”

“I’m decently sure,” Hermione said. “From things your mother has mentioned and I...I do know someplace safe there, it makes sense that’s where I’d take her to hide out through, you know,” she gestured vaguely, “now.”

“It’s safe?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t think to take her there otherwise. It’s...off all Death Eater radar, no one would ever think either one of us would be there.”

Draco nodded, relieved. Mother promised they were safe. And she sounded like she was comfortable wherever they were, and...happy? Mother sounded happy, which meant her time with Granger can’t be too unpleasant. Current Hermione seemed like she liked mother well enough, so, he supposed maybe they got on? 

...they really must be getting on. Because Granger took mention of their future selves to say,

“Your mother wants to teach me Occlumency.”

“She suggested you take up Occlumency?” he half-questioned, half corrected.

“Not so much suggested as she ‘formally invites’ me to join her present’s self in the Room of Requirement tomorrow night. Apparently it’s very important that I learn.”

...it was, Merlin, the girl didn’t even have half a clue as to how much. She thought...she chalked her ‘issues’ up to a symptom of anxiety...disorder. Which is a thing she confessed to him she apparently has which felt...strange and frightening. Strange to have Granger willingly admit what could be a point of weakness to him of all people, and frightening that he uh...well mother had tried before, to convince him to consider seeking some sort of assistance with his own stresses, father wouldn’t have abided such talk but she’d vowed that if he needed to see a healer, even one that dealt in the barmy practice of ‘mental health’, she would make a way for him. Hermione had been shy, but not...ashamed. Maybe she didn’t know it was embarrassing or...maybe it wasn’t supposed to be embarrassing, he wasn’t sure. She said the reaction she was having was coming from her magic which, yes, it was, that much was absolutely correct, and she assumed that since she’s dealt with symptoms of anxiety since early childhood, perhaps it’s affected her magic to be symptomatic likewise, that it’s developed a reaction to the stresses associated with getting singled out, made to feel she has to defend her existence. He’d felt...badly, as he drew his own conclusions and left her with hers, especially when she looked so perplexed over it, embarrassed that for some reason _now_ of all times her magic was suffering such an issue, that _surely_ she should be well over the fact that blood bigotry exists, she’d had years to get used to it, why, all of a sudden, was she developing some sort of psych-magical disorder?

But… _mother_ was going to teach her? Not Severus? That wasn’t…Draco had studied the practice, had it down…well enough. He’d gone to mother and asked if she might teach him, since she was such a skilled Occlumens—Legilimency was something of a birth talent of hers and she’d picked up its counterpart proficiently, to the point the Dark Lord mightn’t even realize she _was_ capable of Occlumency, so thorough was her layering of faux-memories and thought she offered up as fodder for sifting through as if they were her present mindset. He’d heard the slimy bastard mock that he knew her mind, and mother did nothing to prove to him otherwise. But when Draco’d asked if she’d teach him, she was immediately agreeable that he should learn—just not from her. She’d arranged for Severus* to teach him, instead. When he made question of it, she’d smiled and said ‘I’ve little issue disillusioning you to the idolization of your darling godfather’. Because teaching Occlumency it…yeah, afforded the opportunity to know another person’s mind, he’d not been able to attack Severus much but the man had allowed him to, a few times, as a method of both teaching him _how_ to do so, and how see how he might be able to defend himself from such an attack. He caught a few glimpses of things…flashes of Death Eater ritual he hadn’t had much context for at the time that had still managed to be unsettling he just…hadn’t been sure why until he’d been tossed into the inner circle. And uh…he’d seen glimmers of Snape’s rather pathetic crush on Lily Evans, that had thoroughly disillusioned him at the time, that the man had been capable of being attracted to a Muggleborn though now it bothered him on the account that the man ridiculed her son at every turn because he was _hers_ and she’d not reciprocated Severus’s feelings, apparently. Though that wasn’t…he’d met with Severus before his Marking Ceremony, to stow his things that were ultimately rescinded by father, but the things that were left from that encounter were his questions of his Godfather and their answer—he’d been shocked to learn that Severus wasn’t truly dedicated to the Dark Lord, not only did he grovel at his feet at the man’s beck and call, he utterly _despised_ Potter. _My job isn’t to_ like _Mister Potter, my job is to_ protect _him. Allowing myself petty pride to fuel genuine disdain both in thought and feeling? It goes rather a long way to disguising my alliances before the Dark Lord, my mind must appear open to him, you realize._

That was neither here nor there. Mother was…she was truly comfortable with Granger to the point she would risk…he wasn’t sure. At the time he saw it as mother simply fearing Draco _was_ idolizing his godfather too much, that he would emulate his mistakes—like allying with the Dark Lord, as Severus had in earnest, in his youth, an example Draco had very nearly followed. Now he wondered if maybe there were things in _her_ mind, things she’d done, things about herself she wasn’t…proud of. Things she wished to spare Draco knowing. But she was willing to risk as much with Granger? Felt at ease with displaying things she mightn’t necessarily like about herself or her past? It was…better, than Severus being brought to task. He’d done a piss poor job teaching Potter to Occlude, and the Potion’s master getting to know Granger’s most intimate thoughts would only agonize her, give him things he could use against her if he wished and he just might, he mightn’t be their enemy but Severus Snape was no one’s friend.

“…a little dangerous, but honestly you’d be absolutely legendary, not a single Slytherin could hate you if you mooned the school from the astronomy tower-“

“Granger what the devil are you even-“ Draco was only just able to catch his voice in his throat as his gaze snapped from staring blankly at the bushes before them, to the mischievous smile on Hermione’s face. “You’re a nutter, you know that?”

“Certifiably,” she amusedly assured.

Draco shook his head. Merlin, was Granger actually funny? “What the hell was that even about?”

“Teaching you to pay attention when I speak, Malfoy,” she playfully chastised, jabbing him in the shoulder with an index finger, “you totally spaced on me and here I thought I had the most marvelous idea to cheer you up!”

“I don’t need cheering up, Granger.”

“Oh…” she said, supposing, “So...you _don’t_ want to see your mother, then?”

See mother? “…I said absolutely nothing of the sort. What are you on about?”

“If you’d been paying attention—I asked if you’d care to walk me? Tomorrow night, after dinner—if you wouldn’t mind, there’s safety in numbers and you know,” she shrugged, casually. As if it were the simplest thing, not a big deal at all. “Draco?”

...he trusted mother to keep her word, that she was genuine in her aspirations to keep Hermione from whatever torment her future self had endured. But if he figured out exactly who it was going to be, on his own? Yeah. Draco was struck with the realization he would truly duel a Wizard in Hermione Granger’s honor. That...was apparently what friendship was, her drive to rail against Pansy when _he’d_ been the target of Parkinson’s ire, he discovered just how that happened, because he felt the same happening in himself now.

Draco nodded, very serious as he said, “Of course, it would be my pleasure. Anyone tries anything, I will make certain they dearly regret it.”

She looked amused at that! He was quite serious! She giggled, “I’m not asking you along like I genuinely need a bodyguard or something. I’m not expecting any actual trouble and I can sort well enough for myself, thank you.”

But she _doesn’t,_ not against whoever hurts her so badly they leave a curse scar in their wake. “We’re at war, Granger it isn’t pertinent to ever be without allies it- just- we’re-” he swallowed, cheeks blazing as to his own horror he heard himself say, “we’re friends, Hermione, we’re to look after one another.”

Hermione blushed in kind, so that sorted, “Thanks.”

...there was one question more, Draco had that Granger...well he couldn’t ask Potter, he would rather curl up and die. And Weasley wasn’t likely to keep his questioning in confidence. But Granger...she’d know the answer, surely and she was big on not sharing what wasn’t hers to share. And she...she would answer him and not make him feel stupid for having asked, which she should really, it _was_ stupid, it was _inane_ but they were due to leave for the train in a matter of hours, and…well that meant _sitting_ on the train. He’d have to face them, eventually—Slytherin. But they’d planned a longer respite, for Draco to sit with Potter and his friends, get him acquainted with his new allies, make it clear who he was with and what he was about these days. But uh…he might prefer jumping into the snake pit sooner than planned if… “Boot going to be joining us on the train?”

“Terry Boot?” Hermione confirmed and when Draco nodded. “He might pop by and say hi, but he won’t be sitting with us or anything…” and then, “did you hear he and Harry were a thing at the beginning of Summer?”

Saw it with his own bloody eyes. Draco shrugged, “Might’ve, Potter hasn’t brought him up though so I was just curious.”

Hermione bit her lip momentarily as if considering something and then, “Well…they broke things off rather quick, not even a week into the Summer? They’re still on good terms but…it was pretty plain Terry is more of a ‘just looking for a bit of fun’ bloke, and Harry…” she looked to Draco the way mother did sometimes, this warm knowing look like she knew she was pressing something he mightn’t wish to address outright, gentle. “Well when Harry loves, it’s for keeps.”

And now Draco was wondering if popping a few blueberries would choke him to death which, you know, fine, or if their juice would help with how very dry his throat went at that. That wasn’t- it didn’t have anything to do with hi-

“Is there anyone you’re dating, Draco? We hadn’t asked but…I mean I’m glad you’re here but I’m sorry if recent events have complicated things with someone you care about.” Well, his betrothal to Astoria was certainly off now, but he wasn’t exactly weeping buckets over it.

“Why? You interested, Granger?” he drawled, deflecting perhaps.

She snorted at that, “Don’t get me wrong—you’re very handsome, and I’m not wholly opposed to Wizard kind, but I’m more a Witch’s Witch all told.”

Oh. It felt…it almost felt like the moment just before he executed one of those ‘death-defying’ Quidditch moves, as mother so often called them, for the very first time. The excitement-mixed-fear, hoping for the best while expecting to go crashing into the Pitch. A bit much, given it was just five bloody words but he’d never said as much before, “More a Wizard’s Wizard, myself.”

She looked absolutely delighted to hear him say so, “So you’ve a boyfriend then?” and even more- Merlin how happy could a person get? Wasn’t there a limit? It was no wonder this Order lot could just whip Patronus’s out for taking quick messages. All he did was shake his head ‘no’! “Ron’s bullocks at it but Harry trusts my judgement when I have a good feeling about someone. If you ever need a wing-woman, I’m your girl,” she assured with a little wink. He was…albeit red faced and wasn’t quite up for saying much more to that. But Gra- Hermione. She offered a gentle smile and looked to their gathered berries, “These look great, we should get them to Mrs. Weasley,” she said, linking arms with his and pulling him along down the path ‘round the house once more. “Oh! How far are you in Grammatica? I’m a little stuck with chapter five of Numerology, there’s this concept of double-inverting your base equating charm when converting runic numbers into English and I just can’t quite wrap my head around it? The wand work feels…it feels more natural to rotate my wrist clockwise after the flourish but it calls for anti-clockwise and it’s driving me a bit barmy.”

“I’m only on chapter three of Grammatica, but the table of contents makes it sound like maybe there’s correlating chapters? Chapter Five is about Runic translation if you’d like to look at it.”

“Would you mind? Maybe you could look at the wand instruction in Numerology, you might be able to figure out what’s got me tripped up?”

Hermione Granger was asking him for help. With learning something. And he honest to Merlin felt…happy to help her? Glad she felt she could ask him for as much? Excited that they might figure out something cool together he- Blaise was brilliant, sharp and intelligent but he got bored with Draco’s ramblings—he was the only one Draco had ever rambled to, other than Mother, the young man didn’t always keep up but he did listen for a time, let Draco get it out of his system. But the way Hermione went on sometimes it…well over the past few weeks they’d been accused of what Potter and Weasley called ‘geeking-out’. Hermione had a habit of ranting, herself, apparently and gotten Draco swept up in it—he hadn’t realized she usually spoke only to herself, people didn’t usually respond with anything more than affirmative sounds that told her they were still listening. It was…not unlike incindo meeting kerosene—you get a marvelous blaze to illuminate the subject at hand. Or it might just burn the library down. Either way, knowledge was in some way consumed.

So they returned to Molly Weasley with their wealth of blueberries, the woman so giddy over their pickings she took Draco’s chin in hand and drew him down to press an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek, it was rougher, fiercer sort of affection than the warm, delicate kisses mother gave, but just as loving and sweet enough it sort of made his heart ache.

And then they summoned their texts and sat down, side by side at the counter, Draco reading through the instructions Numerology had to offer while Hermione looked for more clarity in Grammatica’s corresponding chapter.

“How are you holding your wand when you first start casting your initial equation?” Draco wondered. Hermione’s wand dropped into hand from her sleeve and...she just held it as she’d grasped it when it came in hand. Which was what most but not all casting called for, Grammatica and Numerology were written for N.E.W.T. level and above, after all.

Draco pulled his wand from where he kept it tucked in his left sleeve, and then held it upside down, tip pointed toward himself. “The way its described, you start down, and then transition upward like this with your flourish,” he said, twirling his wand through his fingers, careful to not pass the hilt and keep it in hand as he grasped it secure in its upright position and finished the anti-clockwise motion the text instructed.

“Oh! I- I didn’t realize- that was so cool, would you mind showing me again?”

Draco nodded, and after a split-second’s thought, he switched to his non-dominant hand, he was decently sure he could still pull it off with his left hand instead of his right, demonstrating once more and Hermione nodded, copying him with her own wand and then looking to him for some indication of having gotten it right. Oh, “Yeah, you got it.”

“Brilliant, gosh, I’ve never thought to cast that way. I mean I’ve _considered_ variations in wand wielding but I’ve never much experimented with them for fear of casting on myself unintentionally.”

Figures the Muggleborn Witch would come so close to figuring out something that...yeah, she would have seen often enough growing up to realize that might be what this spell needed if she’d been raised with magic. “You um...your instincts are good, Hermione, you listened to yourself and figured out it wasn’t right, trusted your magic, that’s um...well it’s excellent,” he commended.

There was a pathetic sounding groan from the stairs behind them, “Seriously? We’ve got less than twenty four hours left of no-school and you lot are- ow!” came Weasley’s sharper groan as he hit his head as he hit the bottom step, rubbing at his forehead as he plopped into the kitchen...he’d his school shirt on, tie a mess, crooked and mostly undone, and...boxers, a single sock on his right foot. Followed after in form and fashion by Potter trailing down the stairs, shirt half-buttoned, tie loose around his neck, school trousers wrinkled all to hell, bare feet on the stairs as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, glasses only just falling to land on his nose before they could get smashed between his forehead and-

“Da-arn,” Potter caught himself, before quietly hissing, “ruddy step,” though he smiled when he took in the sight Weasley had, of Draco and Hermione at study together. “I was wondering where you went. ‘Mione pull you into studying already?”

“Draco just helped me figure out Wakefield’s numerical runic translation charm, I think it could-” Hermione stopped, “too early?” she guessed as Weasley fell into the seat across the counter from them looking like death plied with a warming charm.

“I need pepper-up poured directly onto my brain,” Weasley groaned as he rested his head on the countertop. He shouldn’t have stayed up playing Exploding Snap—Fred and George had started a miniature tournament of sorts in the Weasley’s living room that went well into the evening, Draco had been the first boy in the house to head for bed at a reasonable hour, he’d not heard the other boys follow suit but he’d a feeling they’d stayed up well past midnight. Draco opened his mouth to make that point, when Potter made the- just- the most ridiculous noise!

“Mmm,” Potter said as he sat across from Draco, his attention drawn to the platter of pancakes Molly was setting on the counter, “Mrs. Weasley, are those blueberry?”

“Hermione and Draco were dear enough to pick some,” Mrs. Weasley was happy to praise, albeit pointedly, “ _They_ rose early, helped with breakfast, and they’re dressed appropriately for school.”

“I’ll be dressed by the time I reach the train,” Weasley whined into the counter.

Potter’s attention was back on them, grin breaking out on his face as he said, “You two went blueberry picking?”

“It was Draco’s idea,” Hermione fibbed, with the truth of, “he carried the basket and everything.”

Potter’s grin grew bigger and he leveled it entirely at Draco, “Really?” and when Draco could only nod, dumbly, “Thanks,” he said, emerald eyes alight with warmth, “Blueberry’s my favorite.”

Was it? Well. Good. Nice. Cool. Good. 

Ginny Weasley was the last of the Weasley clan to join them at breakfast, everyone was up and about by the time she entered the kitchen...through the front door, pulling Luna Lovegood along after her. Here Draco had thought the youngest Weasley had gone to bed early and that was why he’d not seen much of her last night, but no, she’d gone off, had something of a sleepover at the Lovegoods and was only returning to her home to fetch her trunk, informing her parents that Xenophilius Lovegood had agreed to get she and his daughter, their things to the train since they’d extra persons to transport to King’s Crossing.

“Oh of course darling, have fun,” Arthur cheerily permitted as he turned the page in his newspaper.

“Ginerva Weasley you stick together and you wait for us at the entrance to the platform, or so help me!” Mrs. Weasley fiercely intoned, “It is tradition, young lady!”

“Oh yes,” Arthur readily seconded his wife, “do wait for your mother to see you off, dear.”

“I will, I will!” Ginny complainingly agreed, dashing up the stairs.

A spindly finger tapped Draco on the shoulder, and he looked up from his breakfast to see Luna Lovegood...directly in his space, eyes blinking as they stared directly into his. “You decided to do the interview!” she announced cheerily, as if he’d informed her of as much.

“Have I?” he wondered.

“Oh yes, I can see it in your hair, it has a quiddity like your essence is ablaze, burning vermilion! You’re certain of your truth now and you want people to know it!” Luna assured.

“…vermilion?”

“Red,” Hermione whispered helpfully...unhelpfully, what the devil did that even mean?

“No Luna, no interview, not right now anyway.” It would be one thing to...try and lead by example in front of his peers, but to speak out so publicly, in something like the Quibbler? It wasn’t as popular as the Prophet but...gaining popularity and credibility given both recent events and articles concerning a certain Mister Potter and the uh, attack on the Ministry. He wasn’t...he would do his part. Support Potter’s people. But he wasn’t going to do anything unnecessary that might lead to backlash for his mother.

“Oh. You don’t know you’re doing it yet,” Luna said as if sad, with genuine sympathy for him. And then she brightened, deciding, “That’s okay, you’ll find out! I’m sure you’ll tell yourself soon! You’ll let me know when that happens?”

“Certainly,” he assured.

She pecked a kiss to the tip of his nose of all places as Ginny’s footfalls and the _thunk thunk thunk_ of her trunk sounded on the stairs. Luna left him with, “Vermilion suits you!” before going to meet Ginny as the girl appeared, dragging her trunk behind her, calling,

“Love you!” to those gathered in the kitchen, as she took Luna’s hand again and made for the door, “See you in a bit!”

“Be careful love!” Molly called after her as Ginny pulled open the door to take her leave, startling a bit and then smiling as a voice greeted,

“Whoa, Wotcher Gin,” Tonks said, stepping around the youngest Weasley as she entered the Burrow, a soft,

“Oh! Good morning Ginerva, Miss Lovegood,” another feminine voice greeted pleasantly.

“Good morning Mrs. Tonks, Mr. Tonks! See you at the station!”

“Oh certainly, be safe Miss Weasley. Miss Lovegood, tell Xenophilius I say ‘hallo’,” Teddy Tonks said.

“Oh I’m certain daddy knows you’ve said ‘hallo’ before, I think he’s heard you say it even. You’re very smart Mister Tonks, you know all sorts of words,” Luna’s compliment filtered into the kitchen, Nymphadora Tonks and Ron snorted while Fred and George guffawed, earning a reproachful glare from their mother.

“Why thank you my dear,” Teddy could be heard saying, “Do have a pleasant day, and if I don’t see you before you leave, have a most successful school year.”

Andromeda Tonks stepped into the Weasley home, husband just behind her, his hand resting on the small of her back. Not quite like he was guiding her, just...seeking contact with the woman, Draco wondered if that was a Muggleborn thing or a…’loving relationship’ thing. The Weasleys weren’t improper but they had seven children for a reason—Mister Weasley never left the house without a kiss from his wife...or even a room for that matter, really, and there’d been one evening he caught the boys...Bill had a flask of Firewhisky, seemed like something he sipped from to dull pain from old injuries. Draco...well he’d heard of alcoholism, it didn’t often afflict Wizards, magic held some defense from addiction, but when it _did_ sink its claws into a Wizard? It was the stuff of nightmares. Bill certainly wasn’t the youngest Weasley, but he was still _young_ , especially for a Wizard. If he was already sipping Firewhiskey before 5pm, to aid the pain of one problem, he might be headed for another.

Mother had the most wonderful charm, old Black magic she would use from time to time, she taught it to Draco when he wouldn’t back down from Quidditch, to use after hard practices or matches, something that eased his every ache and sent taut muscle liquified, not literally of course, but it certainly felt as much. So Draco practiced to make certain he’d gotten it right, and then when next he saw Bill Weasley reaching for his flask, Draco offered him water plied with the charm, and asked if he would consider trying it first. It had been late in the evening in the Weasley home, the Weasley children gathered in the living room around Ron and Hermione having a go at a game of Wizard’s chess, and everyone went quiet, even the chess pieces still in motion on the board, Weasley’s pawn tiptoed its way to take Granger’s bishop who offered a muted cry of defeat before carefully lying down as if he was well aware something was happening. Bill’d regarded Draco with some caution but accepted the glass, sipping at it—his shoulders relaxed immediately and he blinked a few times before a smile spread across his face and he declared Draco’s solution _bloody brilliant_ . Draco did try to teach the man the charm but...well, he’d figured it mightn’t work for him. One had to be a Black, or bound to one in order to use most of their magic, but Draco assured he’d keep Bill supplied, to just write him if he was running out, no he needn’t pay it was _water_ , charmed water, it hardly cost a thing to provide, if Bill just sent along his empty flask, Draco could refill it without issue. 

This resulted in Potter’s hand, low on his thigh, grasping with what felt like appreciation as the boy smiled his pride, and Bill passed his Firewhisky around, let them all have a drink from what could now go back to being purely a beverage for livening a situation. Mister Weasley caught them at it, looked about as if to ensure his wife wasn’t around before taking the flask from Draco and having a swig himself he gave a satisfied sigh after before whispering, _“You children have fun, I’m just glad you’re doing this in the house—no apparation till morning, alright?”_ and then he’d taken another swig and passed it back to Draco as he spread a look across his children, _“Don’t tell your mother.”_ Though it was likely very obvious to the woman that, at the very least, her husband had imbibed drink. She came down not a moment later to do last rounds in the kitchen, prep things for breakfast making and make certain the space was clean before heading for bed, and to his horror Draco bore witness to Arthur Weasley, grinning like mad as he crept up behind his wife as she stood at the sink, his hands ghosting along the back of her arms before slipping down to smack against her backside he took firm handfuls of as he pressed his smile against the shell of her ear and began speaking lowly, eliciting a giggle from his wife before she shushed him and insisted, _“The children will see us Arthur Weasley you- go, upstairs with you, I’ll be up in a minute.”_

It was..albeit scarring, in its own right, but...heartening strangely enough? Sweet to see it...was alright to care about someone, openly, unashamedly. And it made his heart ache for his mother, she...she hardly had such a marriage. Father’s hand on the small of mother’s back was always pushing her forward, keeping a firm hand on his wife to manipulate her movements, and she certainly wasn’t giggly with enthusiasm at her husband’s advances or looking wholly rejuvenated the morning after...in point of fact, looking at the spread before them now at breakfast—an overly full English breakfast, quite literally every breakfast food readily available at table—made Draco wonder if the Exploding Snap tournament went unhindered on the eve before their return to school because the heads of the Weasley household had been otherwise preoccupied.

His time with the Weasleys and the lighter side of the Black family had revealed a great deal about what love and family was supposed to be like.

“Wotcher Draco!” Tonks greeted, coming to wrap an arm around Draco’s neck, hugging him almost uncomfortably tight as she mussed with his hair! “Looking spiffy today in your new duds, gonna go out there and drive all those Witches wild.”

“Shove off!” Draco complained. Mostly. He didn’t like his hair mussed! Didn’t mind it terribly though, certainly not when Tonks’s nonsense was followed shortly by her mother shooing her away and coming to wrap her arms around Draco’s shoulders, smoothing his hair back into place. Oh, the woman was still a Black through and through, had a level of stoicism to her that never relented but she’d looked...nearly in tears when first they met, Friday evening after they returned to the Burrow after shopping. She joined them for dinner and she took one look at Draco and unshed tears gathered in her eyes as she reached a slightly trembling hand to card through his hair, whispering _“Heaven above, you look just like your mother.”._ Most people associated his looks with father but...well he rather liked that, that mother’s sister of all people saw her in him. It made him hope that’s what his mother saw, too.

“Good morning my dear boy. I trust you children are excited to return to school.”

Draco’s “Of course, Aunt Andromeda,” overlapped Hermione’s, “Oh absolutely!”, Ron’s small, miserable groan. Potter shrugged, offering back,

“Good morning, Mrs. Tonks.”

“Mister Potter,” she returned warmly, raising her hand to brush through curly raven hair. “All your years at Hogwarts, I trust you’ve at least _heard_ of a hairbrush?”

“It just does this, I swear,” Potter bashfully insisted, smiling as he patted his hair as if to prompt it down. Though it would only be a matter of moments before- yup. ‘It just does this’ _he_ does it, wrangles a hand through his hair, pushing it up and back, like a nervous habit that exhibited itself at any given time, he constantly mussed his own hair and Draco, personally, found it both offensive and delightful. He should definitely stop, but also never.

What Draco found truly offensive, was their method of travel to Kings Crossing. He’d expected...they’d portkey, or broom flight, or perhaps a carriage.

It was a type of carriage, he supposed.

That horrible blue monstrosity Weasel and Potter crashed into the Whomping Willow, second year, was very well and truly alive to this day, and Arthur Weasley would be driving it, with his family, the Tonks’, and _Draco_ , to the station.

Could he walk? He mightn’t make it in time but he’d figure something out. Walking was good. Portkey? He’d take portkey sickness again, it was fine.

“You can sit with me, yeah?” Potter asked as they stood on the front lawn, watching as Arthur and Teddy loaded the vehicle with their trunks.

...maybe it was fine.

The car was...miraculously capable of holding them all, for all it had looked very small from the outside. Their trunks were in the far back which stretched to contain them, he realized now that he was actually in the vehicle, Arthur Weasley had apparently spent a great amount of time spelling the ‘car’ up one side and down the other. He and Molly sat in the front seats, the row directly behind them was where Andromeda slid in, and she seemed to consider something a moment before patting the space next to her and inviting,

“Miss Granger, won’t you join me? We so rarely get the opportunity to be acquainted.”

“Oh! Of course,” Hermione readily agreed, seating herself at Andromeda’s side, “It really is great to see you again, Mrs. Tonks, thank you for coming to see Draco off safely.”

“You may call me Andromeda, if you like,” the woman supposed, raising a hand to thread a finger through one of Hermione’s curls, “So, what is the most brilliant Witch of her age looking forward to studying this year at school?”

Hermione launched enthusiastically into tale of her aspirations for Ancient Runes, and her excitement for N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy and History of Magic, _gosh_ that had to be one of her favorite classes, she said. Aunt Andromeda paid polite attention, for all her eyes were brown like Auntie Bella’s, she looked rather a lot like mother does, he thought, when she was keenly interested in deciphering a person.

“Ron, scoot,” Harry instructed, waving the Weasley boy on, further down the next row of seats before gesturing for Draco to go ahead. He didn’t much care for having a seat in the middle, but it was closer to his aunt and- oh. It mightn’t be a security thing necessarily but with Tonks and Teddy taking up the rear row, Draco was rather surrounded on all sides by family and friends, Potter seating himself at his side, hand resting on Draco’s knee as he quietly informed him,

“The car can get kind of loud, and it’s...fast, we’ll be at King’s Crossing in no time*,” he assured.

“First time in a car?” Teddy Tonks asked from behind them, his hand rested on Draco’s shoulder, giving a warm, assuring squeeze, and when Draco nodded, “How exciting! Oh, you needn’t be afraid, it is perfectly safe. Andy was terrified of the things when we first started dating but she warmed to them in time.”

“They have their appeal when they’re parked,” his wife drawled from the front row before neatly resuming her conversation with Hermione.

“Oh gods,” Tonks whispered at that as if horrified. What? The vehicle they were in was currently parked and thus far, that was how Draco liked it.

“I was going to name you Mercedese, but your mother won a bet,” Teddy teased his daughter who went pink—literally from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes Draco was certain.

_“Dad!”_

“Teddy, do behave,” Andromeda cautioned, “I _will_ come back there.”

The man was beaming, smiling ear to ear. “Is that a promise, my love?”

“It is a threat.”

Teddy seemed absolutely delighted, sighing almost dreamily as he looked between Draco and Harry, “I get to grow old with that woman, can you believe? Merlin knows I don’t know what I did to be so blessed.”

Tonks was seated, neck reclined back on the curve of her seat as she stared at the ceiling. “I always tell myself I’m never going out in public with you two ever again and yet, here I am,” she raised her head to look to Draco. “You’re lucky you’re my favorite cousin—I’m only in this mess because of you.”

“I’m your only cousin,” Draco saw fit to remind her.

“Yeah. That just means you used to be my least favorite cousin, full offense.”

“Fair enough.”

What wasn’t fair was Mister Weasley starting up the car _as_ he announced he was going to do as much, a little warning would have been nice. He startled and- well he might have reached for Potter. And Potter might have taken hold of his hand. And then it felt like something of a challenge, like neither was relenting in their hold, they would see which would crack and let go, first. And it certainly would not be Draco, no. Out of sheer competitiveness. And fear.

Driving was horrifying and muggles were sadists, Hermione Granger must come from the stock of fearless, unflinching warrior people, he realized, that was how she got sorted into Gryffindor. What would have taken at least two hours by broom, took all of a half hour to whip through traffic unseen, from Devon to King’s Crossing with a half hour to spare before their train departed. A half hour of break-neck speed paired with...strange but enjoyable music coming from the car’s radio. The first six minutes of which were occupied by some rhapsody of sorts, a longwinded, constantly-shifting distressing tale about murder and needing escape that Uncle Teddy and Tonks were singing along with rather impassionedly—every word. When Draco made question of who they were listening to, Potter said, “Queen.”

“Of where?” got him an amused smile from Potter and Hermione giggled and shot him something of a sympathetic look before she informed him she thought he’d rather enjoy Queen once he got to know his work. That didn’t answer his question!

Potter was the one to release his hold on Draco’s hand, ducking out of the vehicle to help with the wrangling of carts and trunks since Muggles were about, they couldn’t very well float them through the station Draco supposed.

“You children have an excellent and safe school year,” Mister Weasley wished them from the driver’s seat as he would be staying with their vehicle, “I’ll see you at Christmas, do write if you need anything, anything at all. That goes for you as well Mister Malfoy, do not hesitate to write. Even if it is just word on how you’re faring, I wish to hear all about your Wizard Chess conquests at school,” the man intoned, looking in the mirror over his head to look at Draco where he stood with the others at the back of the vehicle.

“Yes sir,” he said. That helped in a way, felt like a comfort to have an adult he trusted wanting to know how he was, knowing he could write him. It hurt in that it reminded him he...probably couldn’t write mother, not the present’s one anyway, certainly not like he could before. If father discovered she was receiving correspondence from him? Or the Dark Lord? There would be hell to pay and his mother would be delivered the bill.

Aunt Andromeda made to assist Hermione with removing her trunk from the back of the car onto a waiting cart, but Uncle Teddy beat her to it, insisting he could surely get it even as Hermione cautioned him it was really quite heavy. The Wizard insisted he had it well in hand as he determinedly grasped hold of the handles to pull it onto the cart. And then emitted a very...masculine sound, that was most certainly not an ear-splitting shriek of pain, upon his success.

“Darling?” Andromeda fretted as her husband remained hunched over like perhaps he couldn’t stand upright just now, his hand was grasping at his lower back and she placed her hand there now. There wasn’t anything terribly obvious, Draco only realized she was casting because he was so near the couple, and noticed the subtle...glow, like the skin on the back of her hand was shining, like perhaps direct sunlight was hitting it, no Muggle would make much note. What it was, he wasn’t certain. The Black sisters had talents, birth powers. Mother her abilities with mental magics, Auntie Bella was adept in Dark Magic from infancy, and Andromeda...well. He didn’t know. He hadn’t thought to ask her, they’d only just met and he wasn’t certain just how to bring it up without risking mention of her estrangement.

“Wh- good heavens girl, what’s in that?” Teddy asked Hermione whose hands were balled up against her chest as she stared, utterly apologetic,

“I’m so sorry, I have a lot of books!” she defended, “Um...here!” she said, digging into the leather messenger bag resting on her hip to withdraw a silvery water canister, she looked about as if to gauge their surroundings before turning her back on them to face the back of the car, wand peeking out of her sleeve as...a very familiar incantation dropped quietly from her lips, earning her a confused look from Andromeda and a bemused one from Draco, honestly. She saw Bill’s failure to cast and ‘most Brilliant Witch of an Age’ or not, she hadn’t more magical maturity than a Wizard nearly ten years her senior! Well. If Time Magic hadn’t been brought to bear. Still, it was a bit much, her assumption she could cast something a world-renowned Curse-breaker had been incapable of with any succ-

Draco stared at Hermione Granger, as Teddy Tonks sipped the water she offered and gave a relieved smile,

“Ahh, well that’s just marvelous, thank you my dear,” Teddy said, straightening up with ease then and he began pushing the cart laden with Draco and Hermione’s trunks up onto the sidewalk. Potter and Ron were already near the entrance to King’s Crossing with the cart their possessions were on, with Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, and Teddy led them to join them, though the group ahead of them began moving as they neared, heading into the station.“My Andy has a little spell like that.”

“Yes...I do,” Aunt Andromeda said, drawing her gaze from the water canister in her husband's hand, to the Witch who had provided it as they walked. 

What the hell had mother done?

“I swore a Wizards Truce with Hermione!” Draco offered up, voice strained, and Hermione looked to him, confused.

“...yeah?” she hesitantly confirmed, uncertain just why he would bring it up now. And in the middle of the Muggle’s side of King's Crossing. Yeah. Whoops. But there was a great deal of business around them, no one was paying them much mind though he did feel more secure when he felt a privacy ward drape over them.

Draco met Andromeda’s gaze, “I used to- there’s a certain slur that used to be a part of my vocabulary, and I used to call Hermione by it a great deal,” he offered like a confession, and it was but more than that, it was...hopefully reasoning outside of the realm of ‘my mother is currently time traveling with Hermione Granger and must have-’...something. She’d done _something_ with the future Hermione that affected the present’s ability to cast _Black family magic_.

Teddy grimmanced slightly, gaze softening as he regarded Draco, “That unfortunately isn’t very surprising given your upbringing but...you seem to know better now. You’ve grown, Draco, and I’m very proud of you for that,” he commended.

Oh hell, he didn’t need to be proud over it! And the notion certainly shouldn’t lodge a lump in Draco’s throat! He was trying to _do something here, damn it!_ Draco nodded and said, “I exchanged vows to never say that word again. She reciprocated with vows to not hold my past use of it against me,” he looked to Hermione, “so we’re bonded in a way I suppose.” He let the implication hang that their newfound allegiance, sealed with a bit of magic is what gave her such access to Black family magic.

That got him a critical stare from his Aunt because that wasn’t how Wizard Truces worked and she likely well knew it. Or maybe she didn’t, it wasn’t like the woman worked in curse-breaking or the Ministries Rites and Rituals* department, and not everyone was a know-it-all that walked around with facts that weren’t wholly pertinent to them rattling around in their head. There was no other reasonable explanation to be had, so maybe it would do? It...it must have, because his Aunt visibly relaxed at that. “You’ve a bond of friendship,” she supposed.

Oh Merlin fuck him Hermione nodded, smiling as she said, “We do, don’t we?” she offered a little laugh, “It really is wild after all these years but Draco’s a brilliant friend.”

“I am not!” the insistence shot automatically from his mouth. That got him the closest to a genuine glare, true anger at him from Hermione Granger. The girl stopped, adults halting a few steps later once they realized their younger counterparts had stilled, Hermione’s hand grasping hold of Draco’s forearm.

“You absolutely are, Draco Malfoy!” she argued.

His mouth worked momentarily, caught off guard, “I- I am?” was he?

“Yes! You’ve been really great these past few weeks. I mean when this all started? You realize we expected the absolute worse, right? But you’ve been nothing but considerate, I mean you really helped Bill, we were all worried about him, and I mean you...well you saw how bothered I was over that word and you...well I was honestly worried I’d never hear the end of it, when you came to stay at the Burrow, I thought maybe you might not use it _all_ the time, but you’d, you know. Save it to pack a punch when you really wanted to cut me down to size. But no, you immediately went for a Wizard’s truce, you dispelled that worry _and_ treated me with the same respect you would a pureblooded Witch. And you’re smart and yeah you can be prideful about it but you’ve also shown you can use that to help people you care about, either by helping them with that knowledge or helping them understand it. And you say the funniest things sometimes,” she complimented, followed with, “and sometimes you say the stupidest things, like claims that you aren’t a good friend. Because above all else Draco? Underneath it all-”

“It can’t be above all else _and_ underneath it all-” Draco sniped, this was- she was being absolutely-

“You’re a good person,” she pressed on, sense be damned. “Only a good person would make the choices you’ve been making. From decrying blood supremacy in the middle of a death eater ceremony, to- I mean Draco, _you_ were more upset about what happened at Flourish and Blotts on my behalf, than I was. I mean Pansy was mean to you mostly. But her little jab at me and my,” she shrugged, “my upset with it...you were really sweet. I mean you made sure I was okay and you carried my things- you introduced me to frosted butterbeers over it! Who does that other than an amazing friend?”

Oh. Oh Merlin...he was getting excellent marks in friendship after all, wasn’t he? How? All he could manage to say was, “...you...you lot’ve been nothing but decent to me too, so,” he shrugged. Yeah, no, he was pretty well botching this. “If I’ve been a good anything it’s just- learning by example!” he trotted out, sighing, “you’re...good friends too. Best I’ve come by—and if you repeat that to those two, I swear to Merlin-”

She hugged him. Hermione Granger wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him forward and down to hug him, his chin resting on her shoulder.

...on her present’s self’s shoulder.

Her future self?

Hermione Granger stood with her arms around Draco, and with her back against the far wall several yards away, ducked in an alcove of the station wearing...a black trench coat, a hat on her head some sort of dark grey ball cap with it’s brim drawn downward a bit to help hide her face. She stood facing the train station entrance, decidedly _not_ looking in their direction since, yeah uh...looking at her present’s self was _not_ advisable, what the devil was she even doing here?! Draco hugged back the Hermione at hand, holding her tightly to him for a moment which had her patting him on the back like she thought maybe he needed the comfort which- not the thing to focus on now, but Merlin. He needed to think. Okay, wait...there was this sense...she thought they couldn’t see them. Crap. The Future Hermione cast privacy wards to keep them from seeing her. Draco could only do so? Because he was _standing_ in those same wards, cast by the _present_ Hermione. Shit, how did he get her away from here without seeing herself? Why was _she_ even-

Mother.

Just a short distance away from the Future’s Hermione Granger, stood his _mother._ Her- her future self, it _had_ to be, she couldn’t be here. Oh, no, yeah it was definitely- it wasn’t the now’s Narcissa, no way. She- Merlin she was _beautiful_ . His mother was always gorgeous but- but _this?_ His mother always had this...frailty, like she was just trying to get by and the best way for her to do that, as she was often powerless in the face of Father, the Dark Lord, was to shrink in on herself, make herself small so they felt big. And she did that in a literal sense, she kept her head down when necessary, and she- well sometimes he worried, when he hugged her. She just felt so _small_ . The Narcissa Malfoy at Kings Crossing? She stood tall, at her full height without reservation and- and she was a good distance away but-...she was dressed just as...er...like Hermione, wearing a black trenchcoat, a knitted cap on her head, her hair drawn into a braid that hang forward over her shoulder to make it less noticeable, large sunglasses that covered her eyes well. She looked...healthier, like perhaps if he hugged her he mightn’t feel how very sharp her elbows were, every dip in her ribcage. Even in a braid her hair was longer, shinier, and she just- she looked _happy._

Well. She was looking right at him, from him, to Aunt Andromeda, and back again. She felt she was free to because she was safely behind the Future Hermione’s warding, but-

“Hermione? I have something to say, I’d rather my aunt and uncle not hear,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” she pulled back a bit to look up at him, and then to Andromeda and Teddy waiting for them a few steps away, “they’re out of range, I didn’t cast very wide, it wouldn’t do for others just passing through to slip in and out of my wards and startle people by going from noticeable to unnoticeable and back again,” she said, looking up at him, “what did you need to tell me?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders to make certain she didn’t risk turning around as he looked over her head to where mother stood. She’d moved—still in the same spot but she was reaching back, like she’d reached for the future Hermione, and the girl had accommodated, clasping his mother’s hand while keeping her gaze from her present self. Merlin, mother just- she looked overcome, was shedding a few tears as she squeezed Hermione’s hand, pulling her gaze from Draco to look to the Future Hermione, stepping nearer and speaking intently, so very _glad_.

“It's...it's something I want you to have the experience of hearing, because I can’t talk like this with your...journal-version of you,” he chose his words carefully, and when he glanced down a short moment to verify she was on the same page, she nodded. “So remember this, store it away in that big brain of yours,” he intoned, the girl letting out a soft, surprised sound when he hugged her. So he could put his gaze safely on the Hermione this was meant for. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done, for everything you’re doing. Thank you for saving me, my mother. Thank you for taking care of my mother.” For keeping her safe, keeping her healthy, making her smile.

Maybe Hermione made his mother smile too much.

Mother had pulled a bit on the future Hermione’s hand and the girl closed her eyes tight to make certain she didn’t look on them. And then mother looked over her shoulder at Hermione before turning entirely to face her, stepping nearer until she stood over the younger Witch, soft smile at her lips as she leaned down...as far as she physically could, it looked like. Which was strange, because she’d no difficulties with her range of motion, not to any severity that would keep her from bending forward the way it seemed she was trying to. Her shoulders heaved with a bit of a sigh, and suddenly she regained her ability to move forward, leaned the rest of the way to press a kiss to Hermione’s cheek, warm, lingering a moment in which Hermione grinned, saying something that made mother smile, before taking the younger Witch’s chin in hand to guide her to look up at her, so she could open her eyes and focus on his mother’s face as she spoke. Hermione nodded, taking mother’s arm, and they began heading for the station entrance, mother casting one last look at him over her shoulder.

“Um...Draco?” the present’s Hermione said, voice muffled against his shoulder, “I think it's really sweet you’re working on processing this right now, and I really promise I’ll try my best to remember, but um...well not to be rude but we’re going to be late for the train if we don’t, you know. Get moving.”

“Right.” Yes. The train, it wouldn’t do to be late and- and no one he kept company with would question him journaling because what _the fuck_ had just happened?! Mother- Mother had-

...mother had _tried_ to _kiss_ Hermione Granger. And if she truly had a hand in the improvement he’d seen in the woman?...oh Merlin she may well deserve it.

That didn’t mean he liked it! What the hell did the future Hermione think she was doing?! Did Mother even like Witches? Apparently! She- _she_ was the one making the moves there and- well there wasn’t anything- vows only restricted the person who took them. So there wasn’t anything stopping _Hermione,_ nothing magical anyway _._ If they had...somehow managed to couple, if Hermione’d an active interest in the woman, she could...initiate things. She was smart, she likely would have known mother had been after more than just a cheek kiss if they were pursuing something more than friendship. Hermione hadn’t done anything more than walk with her, arms linked the way her present’s self’s was with Draco now, and she’d certainly nothing more than friendship here. And whatever for?! Why _didn’t_ she think of his mother that way? She was _beautiful! Granger_ should be so lucky!

...was so lucky.

...his mother was _pining_ for Hermione Granger.

“Are you quite alright, my boy?” Teddy questioned gently as they approached the wall that guarded platform 9¾, Potter and the Weasley’s standing in wait, Ginny begrudgingly the victim of her mother’s death-grip as she clutched her youngest to her chest one last time before sending her off. “Don’t be nervous. You won’t be without allies and if ever you need anything, anything at all, you can always come to me.”

“Do you feel ill, Draco?” Hermione worried quietly, looking up at him with some concern. Good! It was her- her future self’s bloody fault! But he couldn’t say that could he?

“Bit of a headache.” Time travel was, in and of itself, a headache of epic proportions, and he did truly have painful pressure blooming just above his eyes now, it had started in the startled moment he realized the risk of the Present’s Hermione laying eyes on her future self. He- he wasn’t sure what he felt, exactly, at what he saw. But the last thing he wanted was- he still liked the girl, didn’t want her driven mad or disappearing from time or whatever the hell the consequences were!

Her brow furrowed at that, “Do you need potion?” she questioned, hand reaching for her messenger ba- did she- had she brought along potion? Oh Merlin that made him feel...he wasn’t sure! He- he couldn’t be entirely _shocked_ really. Malfoys didn’t know much kindness, if _this_ was the sort of care Mother was receiving from the future Hermione? If she’d managed to retain this level of softness and compassion even after...whatever the hell happened? It was understandable that Mother would...would flourish under that. And when flowers flourished under the sun’s light. they reached for the source of the brilliant rays responsible, didn’t they?

He’d been...the sort of person Hermione’d described him as didn’t sound like the sort of person he ever thought he’d ever be. But maybe he was now. Maybe he was flourishing into something better, something more. He’d certainly been...reaching. More and more, he found it a growing habit to reach out for the people who surrounded him these days, that he could call friend.

Like Hermione. And Ron. And...and Harry. The latter two had abandoned their carts to wander over to them, join Draco and Hermione,

“Everything okay?” Harry checked.

“Lookin’ more ghostly than usual there mate,” was Ron’s offered jest-laced concern, to soften the weight of how openly he could want to know, “what can we do?”

“I’m fine.” He was, really. How could he be otherwise?

“We’ll find seats fast and have a car to ourselves, the train is usually relaxing,” Hermione said, like that might be just the ticket.

Aunt Andromeda drew nearer, gaze sweeping over him before she raised a hand to brush his hair back from his forehead, smooth it the way she did. It was nice, distracted him, he supposed, from his headache since now it wasn’t quite so bad...Hermione did have a habit of being right, perhaps he did just need to relax, he did so now under his Aunt’s offer of comfort and the sense of pressure in his forehead dissipated. “Be well, dear boy. I will expect word from you, you understand?” he nodded. “Excellent. Do your best, stay safe...and enjoy your school year as much as possible.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tonks gleefully intoned, clapping him on the shoulder.

His Uncle swept him up in a hug...with an encore performance provided by Molly Weasley, Merlin! She only released him _just_ in time before a lack of oxygen sent him unconscious, he felt certain if she’d squeezed him a moment longer he would have surely blacked out. But the second he was free...well. This was really it, wasn’t it? Gods above, he was...he was going to _miss_ these people.

“Thank you, all of you, truly,” he said as he looked between the four adults waiting to see them off. And then he grasped hold of the cart handle to push it through to the platform for he and Hermione, the Witch wrinkling her nose at him for taking the task from her, and then...something happened, he wasn’t sure what. But her gaze went to Harry and the boy grinned and declared, “Bet!” and then there was a scramble of sorts, Hermione jumping to seat herself on the trunk at the end of their cart while Ron did likewise on his and Harry's. Ginny let out a squeal of, “Luna! Hop on!” to the Witch at her side, overlapping Hermione’s voice as she twisted about to look at Draco and order,

“Draco! Go! Go go!”

Oh hell it was a race, wasn’t it? Well he certainly wasn’t about to start the year off losing to Gryffindor. No, that wouldn’t do at all. A grin tugged at his lips as he pushed the cart forward as hard as he could, to the clamor of adults calling after them that this was _inadvisable_ they needed to be _careful_ and _whoo!_ From the ever responsible Nymphadora Tonks.

The din of their calls faded the instant they crossed onto Platform 9¾, peals of giggles rising from Hermione, punctuated by a delight-riddled startled squeal when the cart jerked as Draco stopped and then remembered he’d Potter and Ginny Weasley hot on his heels, he only just maneuvered himself and Hermione out of the way, smiling like mad as he caught his breath, lost to him more from laughing than his efforts to beat the other, and he came around to offer a hand to help Hermione down, the Witch smiling as she accepted and hopped off the trunk, descending on Harry and Ron with an outstretched arm leveling her index finger at them as she decided they’d apparently been thoroughly, “Burned!”

“Oi! You cheated—you have a Seeker on your team!” Ron argued.

_“Oi!”_ Harry returned, indignant, “the hell am I?”

“Too slow, Potter,” Draco jibed, pleased when it had the boy smiling at him.

“Oh am I? Well I’ll have to work on that,” he supposed as if accepting some great challenge.

Rubeus Hagrid was standing on the train platform, aiding in supervising student arrivals, and Slytherin’s weren’t much known for their bravery. A group of them, with Blaise and Theo Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, Nott, and Pansy glaring daggers while Crabbe so cleverly coughed into his hand around a muttered, _“Blood-traitor,”_ and Draco felt magic rising in his blood, his wand finding its way into his hand when he heard Nott laugh and then follow suit, coughing to cover the start of, _“Mud-”_ thankfully followed by, “ _lover.”_ So. The bastard lived to see his way to the train.

Hermione’s hand was on Draco’s wand arm, and she’d stepped in front of him- right. That oaf of a teacher was watching and it mightn’t look great if Draco was spotted drawing his wand on another student, even if he hadn’t gotten around to anything remotely as satisfying as jinxing them. “Ignore them,” Hermione said, shifting to turn and face him only once she let go of his arm and was certain he’d slipped his wand back up his sleeve. “Come on, let’s go find a car.”

They filed into line to get on the train, a group of...they could be Ravenclaw First Years or Fourth Years honestly, Draco couldn’t much tell the difference, between them and Pansy and pals. Blaise looked utterly bored, the way he did when he was trying to look disinterested, instead of...appearing however he might be feeling. Maybe he hated Draco’s guts and didn’t want to risk a detention for looking murderous. Or maybe he was only trailing after the others because that was what served him best just now. Huh. It was early, and if memory served Blaise Zabini rolled out of bed, had a House Elf magic his clothing tidy and neat on his person, and sauntered out the door, cramming a slice of toast into his mouth before his mother apparated him to the platform directly, their Elves having taken care of sending his things along…Draco’d a similar ritual in the past, he’d thought it something to make fun of, the fact that Weasel and his lot always had to do the work themselves, of getting their things to the train. But apparation, thrill that it could be, paled a bit, in comparison to the fun of their cart race…anyway. The point was. Blaise hadn’t been up very long, and he’d been dressed for likely no more than the past ten minutes, so he didn’t necessarily _need_ the reminder Draco was about to provide but…well, the lack of necessity would either soften the blow of him not reciprocating, or quell the fear he'd lost his friend. And regardless…he wasn’t certain who among Slytherin would think to offer such a reminder to Blaise. Even…even if the boy didn’t much care for Draco after his decision to defect, well. Ron and Harry had been on the outs before, when the Weasley boy thought his friend was lying about his admission to the Goblet of Fire, and it but when it mattered? When it was important, Ron had apparently seen to it Harry was prepared, cautioned with tell of his upcoming dragon fight—a matter of Harry’s health. This was much the same. Blaise could hate his guts all he liked, Draco would still bear in mind to do this, the same as he always had since it became pertinent come Second Year.

So he watched until Blaise’s gaze idly stared into the space near Potter and his friends, a space that Draco now took place in. Draco raised his arms overhead, stretching high and twisting left, then right, before lowering his arms to stretch low behind him, fingers laced as he finished stretching his chest well. There was the barest beat before Blaise did likewise, and...well hell, he couldn’t help but smile a bit at that.

A hip knocked gently against his, Hermione’s gaze going from Blaise to Draco as she softly commended, “That was really sweet.” Oh. Oh hell he hadn’t meant to- there was the split second panic that he’d inadvertently outed his friend, especially to a Muggleborn but…well, she might be an insufferable know-it-all but she’d likely only know _that_ if she’d the context for it. Safe binding practices weren’t exactly spelled out in their _History of Magic_ text. It took _days_ of scouring Hogwarts library for resources on the subject, after the morning Draco woke to Blaise shaking him awake before sunrise, sitting on his knees on the foot of Draco’s bed—knees digging into Draco’s _shins_ —shirtless and hissing out _“What the_ hell _am I supposed to do with these?!”_. In retrospect, they could have gone to Pomfrey…written one of their mothers, but there was a mix of panic and the idea that they could figure it out, of course they could! No one needed to know—ever, as far as Blaise had been concerned at the time. He’d been so embarrassed. So Draco breathed nary a word about the boy’s growing er…problem, merely lent him his school shirts and sweaters as Draco was a bit bigger than the other boy, at least at the time, and that gave a measure of concealment while they searched the library for solutions. Figured out how to properly bind the boy’s chest safely and comfortably. Hermione wouldn’t have a reason to know about such things unless she knew others who needed as much and…she sounded proud of him, that she’d seen he’d been offering reminder.

He didn’t want her to be proud of him! Well. He didn’t _like_ that it pleased him so very much. Especially given- well everything! Mother couldn’t be serious!

But what if she was? It was weird for him, strange to even consider. But he...he wasn’t in his mother’s place. He didn’t know what was going on inside her head, her heart, or in her day-to-day even. She’d never...made _him_ feel shame, for what felt to him like aberrations in his make up, his inability to _want_ to perform the basic act, the single purpose for which he was put on this Earth—to be a perfect Pureblood Wizard, marry a perfect Pureblooded Witch, and make perfect Pureblood heirs. He did have a sense of shame over it, but it wasn’t something his mother put there, she would never- she’d always...she just wanted him to be happy.

If mother caught him wanting to kiss the raven haired Wizard seated next to him on the train, nothing would be said of it. Not unless _he_ wanted to discuss it with her for some reason. And then it certainly wouldn’t be met with criticism or disdain.

So Draco didn’t write his mother like he thought he might, like he’d wanted to in the heat of the moment, to demand answers he now deemed unfair. But he did end up journaling—no sooner had they all sat down than he felt the familiar pull on his magic that said a message was being left for him.

_Have a most excellent year at school, my darling._

_Thank you, mother._ And after a moment’s consideration. _I’m glad to see you looking so well._

_Thank you darling. Hermione said she suspected you might have seen us—she didn’t realize her present’s self would have cause to cast privacy wards and we didn’t think it wise to have my magical signature lingering in the station as evidence that I had been there today. She relayed her memories of your thanks to her future self—it was very well done, Dragon, I am very proud of you._

_Blaise might not hate me,_ he reported, instead of addressing that. He was good at _displaying_ pride, but that was more...arrogance, than anything else. False, puffed up, pretend belief. That crumbled underneath him when he realized the true darkness, the horror of the path he’d once been set upon and he realized he hadn’t a thing to be proud of, not his name or his lineage or his father. But maybe...maybe he _was_ someone to be proud of. Perhaps.

_That is excellent to hear, Dragon. He did visit the manor momentarily yesterday, late in the evening, as I recall now. We did not speak, I only just saw him paying visit to his Aunt’s memorial while I was in the library, but I did hope that was a sign he isn’t set against you. Still, be cautious, Dragon. Know well you can trust Misters Potter and Weasley, and Miss Granger._ There was a pause and then, _She’s made mention of something, that you’ve trusted her with something she won’t break confidence with me on. It was something that appeared in her memories early this morning, when we were preparing breakfast._

...we? Did mother- _Mother, do you cook?_

_I will have you know, young man, I most certainly do,_ and then, _now._ Ahh. The only thing he’d ever seen Mother make was popcorn so yes, it would have been strange to discover she’d been concealing the ability to do more than that. It must be something...of Hermione’s doing. They’d been making breakfast this morning...oh.

_Don’t pester her over it. Tell her I say thanks for not blabbing my business, even if it is to you._ It was something she’d hear from him, soon enough.

Returning to Hogwarts had been...as complicated as he’d feared. Worth it, but Merlin was he glad when it came time for lights out and he was safe and sound in his own bed, curtains closed, under warm blankets with the security of...magic. Familiar magic woven into the fabric of his curtains.

It should be familiar, he’d only just had it coating him head to toe all through the Sorting Feast. Their first meal back, he was absolutely expected to sit with his House and...well while word of his change of heart had spread, there were still several weary looks he earned from those seated at Gryffindor table, he wasn’t necessarily trusted, he hadn’t expected he would be. But he trusted his...friends, were spending their dinnertime conversation, setting that to rights. Whenever they weren’t casting. Seven times throughout dinner, while Draco sat in the midst of those in his Year, seated between Goyle and Bulstrode, Draco felt what he realized to be _protego_ coasting over him. Hermione, Ron, Harry. He only realized it was protego, specifically, when it came into use—he heard several whispers perfectly in time with one another of a joint effort at Slytherin table to quietly cast " _Slugulus Eructo”,_ and Bulstrode and Goyle, Crabbe who was seated across from Draco, went flying from their seats to the din of protego deflecting his House-Mate’s Slug-vomiting Charm, the force of repelling magic sending the students directly around him off balance and falling to the floor. That got laughter from the other tables, critical looks from the Head Table as McGonagall called for quiet and Severus leveled...well he raised an eyebrow and that was the end of that. Those who had fallen brushed themselves off and returned to their seats, and Protego didn’t deflect anything else.

How the bloody hell did they manage his bed? Charming it. There were protections woven into the curtains now, things that ensured his own privacy, would deflect jinxes, hexes, curses, the curtains only moved at his hand. No one could approach his bed and mean him harm, he thought, he’d heard someone approaching while he was occupied getting his sleep clothes from his trunk. He’d gotten distracted because he found things he hadn’t put there, waiting in the top of his trunk. Severus’s doing, he was certain. There were offerings from the Future Hermione—an emerald green sachet of Jasmine tea leaves from some place called _Whitaker’s_ with a note that said his mother had informed her it was his favorite, wishing him a safe and happy school year, along with the addition of a wand sheath. He’d been reading over the instructions that came with it, how to place his wand with the top at his wrist, on his wand-wielding arm, when he heard footsteps approaching, then receding and he’d turned to find Crabbe looking perplexed like he’d been about _something_ , he just couldn’t remember _what._ Draco had chalked that up to the boy’s usual brand of intelligence, or lack thereof, but now he supposed he’d been making some move against Draco but stepped within range of his bed’s protections and been made to forget what he was doing, encouraged to move along and take himself back to his own side of the room.

A few nights ago something came in the post, four parcels delivered via a Hogwarts Owl, to Hermione. She’d not opened them downstairs...not at first, he supposed. It had been a second time Draco woke in the night to find Harry and Ron missing, and when he peaked out into the hall he’d seen low light downstairs, heard whispering. Hermione hissing, _“Ronald, it’s fabric, delicate, stop wielding your wand like you’re trying to etch through stone!”_ and _“Sooorry, that went right over my head!”_ and then Harry’s soft laughter, _“You guys, shh. We’re nearly done. How am_ I _the one keeping us on track?”_ met with his friends’ chorused, _“Sorry.”_ s. It had sounded like they’d been up to something and Draco hadn’t been particularly interested in _what_ , he was _tired_ , he’d only needed to...well, make certain that the other boys’ absence didn’t mean something dire, and it hadn’t. It meant…

It meant they were good friends. _His_ friends.

“Open up, asshole. I know you’re awake.”

Draco sat up in bed at the quiet demand, pulling the curtains open to permit Blaise as the boy climbed into Draco’s bed, seating himself for all of a moment, tensley silent as he regarded Draco with a long-ish stare before pushing himself forward and wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck. For all of a moment he thought the action meant to kill, because the boy would sooner choke Draco out than anything else, even when they were on the best of terms. But no, no. Blaise was _hugging_ him.

“You ever do something like that without telling me first, I’ll fucking kill you,” the Wizard hissed fiercely in Draco’s ear, oh _hell_ was he- was he _cry-_

When Blaise sat back, his eyes were wet and he wiped at them with the back of his sleeve, but that was all the waterworks Draco got. Good. Ugh _It’s okay to cry_ , he could still hear Hermione’s opinion on the subject. It wasn’t that he’d make the other boy feel shame for crying, just- the mere thought of actually inspiring that tearshed made Draco’s insides twist painfully, he wouldn’t like that, not at all. “Oh most certainly, the next time I plot to betray the Dark Lord I’ll owl you first and foremost.”

“You could have been killed, you ass. What the hell were you even thinking? I-” Blaise sighed, as if impatient. “I don’t...understand. What happened? This...I mean taking the Mark, following your father’s footsteps, was all you’ve ever wanted.”

“I’ve _never_ wanted to be _like_ my father, thank you very much. But I have always aimed to please him, some sick thing where I want his approval or something,” Draco offered, laughing bitterly. 

“Just explain. I...you’re a git, but you’re probably the closest thing I have to a best friend. Not that that’ll last long—you can go ahead and start calling me daddy, because the second your father’s out of the picture, I’ve got my sights set on being your mother’s second husband.”

Draco snorted. Blaise wouldn’t believe just what mother’s sights were set on, for the moment father was at last out of the picture. Not that that was happening anytime soon. “Good luck with that.”

“Sorry, shit joke,” Blaise apologized for some reason. The boy shook his head. “Look I just mean, I don’t get this, but I want to. So talk.”

Draco’s heart just about leapt out of his chest at his startle, when Goyle’s voice sounded, “Yeah. Talk.” Oh he was up, seated on the edge of his own bed, next to Draco’s. He’d left the curtain cracked when he let Blaise in.

“The hell you wanna listen to him for?” Crabbe complained from his bed, burrowing against his pillow like he was trying to block out the noise they were making. “Why do we _care_ why he went barmy and betrayed us and the Dark Lord.”

“Veronica.” He wasn’t sure that was exactly the best way to go about it, but her name fell from his mouth without much chance for second thoughts. Crabbe sat up straight in bed, far faster than Draco had ever seen him move in his entire life, eyes narrowing as he glared at Draco. “Veronica Crabbe.”

“You keep my sister’s name out of your damn mouth, Malfoy, you don’t know who the fuck you’re-”

“So you know about her then. Do you know what’s happened to her? To her husband?”

Crabbe paled at that, swallowing. “I...wh- what do you-?” his fists clenched in his lap, bunching up his blankets, “I haven’t...I haven’t heard from her all summer. She- she usually writes to me on my birthday.”

“She would have liked to, I’m sure,” Draco said, feeling sick. “Vincent I’m sorry to tell you but the Dark Lord had she and her husband brought to table.”

“B-but she...I mean she- they weren’t hurt- she’s a Pureblo-”

“And a blood-traitor. You’re familiar with the term?”

Crabbe blanched at that. “She- her husb- oh gods, their _children-_ ”

“I don’t- I didn’t hear mention of them,” Draco offered gently, “if...they’d been discovered, I’m certain they would have been, er...included. No one so much as mentioned,” mudbloods, “heirs.”

Crabbe nodded, fat face crinkling up something awful as he buried it in his elbow, sniffling up a sob.

“Shit,” Pike sighed from his bed as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Everyone, up," Draco ordered as he rose up from his own bed to stand, Blaise already had his wand out as he stood.

"Why, pray tell, would we listen to you?" Nott spoke from his bed, eyes still closed. He'd woken with the others but had pretended to sleep still, either to listen in unnoticed or simply to avoid whatever was going on.

"Do you want the blood of innocent children on your hands?" Draco wondered. "Because that's what will happen if word leaves this room and falls on Death Eater ears. The Dark Lord does so hate to leave unfinished business, good as he is at having it."

Crabbe let out a strangled, horrified sound and Goyle crossed the room to sit on the edge of his bed, patting him on the shoulder like the motion was foreign to him, even as he sought to comfort someone who was supposed to be his friend. Hell. Maybe these assholes' biggest problem was they'd never been brought up taught just how to truly have friends. Though neither had Harry Potter, he'd a more dismal upbringing than any in Slytherin that Draco knew of anyway, that the boy knew how to brush his teeth was nothing short of a miracle, let alone friendship. Did _everyone_ in Slytherin struggle this way? No. No, there were several tightly-knit groups scattered amongst their years, friendships that were fiercely loyal. The problem with _them_ was their parents having always poisoned them against one another, petty jealousy between _them_ of who among them were the Dark Lord's favored, and their need to live vicariously through their children who would hopefully rise above their peers in their Lord's eyes. Mother was the only one in Draco's life that ever encouraged the practice, having a friend in Blaise. Father thought it clever manipulation at first, that Draco was growing so close to the other boy _'keeping your enemies closer'_ and all that. He found it utterly ludicrous when he heard Blaise and his mother had been spotted going into Muggle London for some _Muggle's_ funeral, by the looks of their garb and mourning flowers, and Draco had shrugged. _Well? Come on boy,_ think. _He wouldn't hesitate to bring you low with information like this. I only halted tell of this rumor so_ you _could assume control of it, use it as proper blackmail._ Draco had offered a "Yes, father." at the time, the first of now multiple such times he'd said as much without ever intending to truly do as his father wished.

Nott sighed, cracking an eye open to look at the blubbering boy before he rose up in bed as if the action was physically draining him of all life. "No one here wants that," he decided for them. That was what his ego needed, to go through with this so Draco didn't much care.

"I hate to break it to you but once your Marked? That's a primary responsibility. Obtaining the blood of innocent children, torturing them, their parents. Family fun to be had by all," Draco drawled darkly, the other boys flinching at his words. Good. Maybe they'd listen. But for now? "Everyone circle up, wands out. We're to make a Wizard's vow to Vincent," he instructed, turning about to level a look of challenge across their numbers. The did as he said, coming to stand around Crabbe's bed, wands grasped by their tips, hilts extended to the boy as he worked to silence his sobs. "Vincent Crabbe, by my word and my honor, none who mean harm shall learn from me of the children of Veronica Moreau nee Crabbe, on pain of twining our fates in full. Should I dare break this vow, their pain is mine, their fate to be felt as my own, and so it is."

Crabbe looked up at him utterly aghast, in the darkness of their rooms he could see plain what might have been imperceivable in the light of day, that Draco's wand glowed with the power of his vow. He looked about to the faces of those gathered at his bedside, Pike and Nott offering reluctant nods as if to say that _yes._ They were _all_ going to take such a vow. And then he swallowed, looking up into Draco's face and grasping hold of the hilt of his offered wand.

"And so it is."

They repeated Draco's vows, every one of them, Blaise and Goyle with more swiftness and certainty but still, it got done, and that was what mattered. 

When they were through, Draco cast to send a handkerchief Crabbe’s way, it landed in the boy’s lap and he took a moment to catch his breath before taking it up and using it to wipe at his face, sobs still working through him as he said, “Talk. Wh- what happened and why- what’s it got to do with,” he gestured vaguely as if toward the whole situation.

And so he did. Draco took a seat at the edge of Crabbe's bed, the host of his roommates gathered, and he talked until he was certain he wouldn’t be able to, come morning, but he wasn’t planning on stopping until he’d said all that needed to be said. The Sixth Year Slytherin Boys dormitory stayed up well past lights out, listening to tale of Draco’s summer, getting acquainted with what it really means to become a Death Eater.

And maybe...maybe they listened. He hoped so anyway.

Hermione’s concerned, “Draco?” overlapped Ron’s _growl_ and Harry’s, “What did they do to you?” as Draco met them at the entrance to the Great Hall come morning. Harry’s hand was on his wrist, pulling him behind him so Harry was between Draco and Zabini and Goyle, Crabbe and Nott who...had all followed him down to breakfast, wordlessly, but in a way that didn’t make him feel wholly threatened so he supposed that was something. They looked threatening now as they entered a sort of glaring competition between themselves and the Golden Trio. Hermione raised a hand to Draco’s face, first to guide him to look at her and then to feel at him for fever, _damn_ this girl, honestly. 

“What happened?” she questioned quietly.

His, “Nothing, we had much to discuss,” was overlapped by Nott’s,

“We didn’t bloody _do_ anything to him, Granger,” he snapped at _Hermione_ for some reason, for all _Harry_ was the one who made question of them. Draco wasn’t certain if Nott blanched because he glared at him, or because Ron balled his fists while Harry stepped directly into his space to meet his gaze fiercely.

...why was he _jealous_ of Nott? Envied him his position? For all he didn’t wish to resume his former candor with his newfound friends, he uh...huh, he supposed he might miss being on the other side of Harry’s ire. Perhaps he’d have to find benign ways to earn it, in future.

“Think _I_ was talking to you, mate,” Harry ground out, voice deadly low, oh sweet _Merlin._

“What the hell did you snakes do?” Ron seconded Harry’s demand.

“Malfoy’s fine, Weasel,” Blaise snapped at the ginger boy. 

Ron closed the distance between them, getting right in Blaise’s face as he countered, “He doesn’t _look_ fine, Zabini.” He looked-! Like he lost a duel, honestly, his hair wasn’t quite as neat as he could usually get it, and he knew he looked paler than usual which was honestly quite a feat, truly set off the dark circles under his eyes.

Blaise opened his mouth to respond to that but...his mouth worked momentarily, like perhaps he’d gotten distracted. And then, without menace, “I mean it, Weasley. We just broke curfew by about twelve dozen hours to talk.” Mmm yeah, twelve dozen hours felt about right, Merlin he was tired.

Hermione’s brow furrowed, regarding him with sympathy, “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten, and I think there’s some leftover pepper-up in my bag. Did it um, go well?” she wondered. Though she got her answer through,

“Oh look, it’s the blood-traitor and his little mud-” Pansey’s voice was crooning as she and a few girls from Slytherin passed by, cut off by,

“Fuck off, Parkinson,” from Nott and Goyle raising a hand to clasp hold of Crabbe’s wand arm, to stop him from drawing on the girl. Yeah, ‘blood-traitor’ might hit a little too close to home for Vincent, from here on out.

“Lay off of Draco,” Goyle said.

Daphne Greengrass had been walking at the edge of Pansy’s pack—she was never one to join the girl’s clique as it was, but she _had_ stood on common ground with them, insofar as Draco’s defection, but with Nott voicing defense of him?...well. Wizard’s weren’t wholly alone in the inclination to think with their nethers. She perked up and came right to Nott’s side, both physically and in,

“Yeah Parkinson,” Greengrass agreed, “Get over yourself already.”

Parkinson’s mouth dropped open, indignant and incredulous as she looked them over like they’d all gone mad, “You can’t be serious? Malfoy defied the Dark Lord, he’s betrayed us all and he’s colluding with _Potter_ these days! You can’t-”

Blaise rubbed at the back of his ear like perhaps it ached, saying, “This isn’t a kennel Parkinson, take your bitching someplace else.” Harry and Hermione snorted while Ron Weasley grinned like mad, wholly impressed.

A strangled sound escaped Pansy for a second before she blushed head to toe, shooting a final glare at them before stomping off, friends timidly trailing after her as she stormed into the Great Hall.

“Good one, Zabini,” Ron complimented.

“Good ones are all I got, Weasley,” Blaise returned.

“Alright,” Harry said, relaxed and the way the Slytherin boys were staring at him, like he’d just done something foreign and offensive gave Draco the impression he was smiling at them now. “You lot’re welcome to join us for breakfast, if you’d like.”

Nott scoffed at that, “We’re _not_ sitting at Gryffindor table.”

“Heads or tails,” Harry replied, pulling a Sickle out of his trouser pocket. “Heads we sit at Ravenclaw, Tails, Hufflepuff. Either one’ll be glad to give up room for diplomatic peace-making between rival nations.”

“I’m not sitting with Hufflepuffs,” Nott scoffed. “Or Ravens for that matter, it’s much too early for blubbering about feelings or being bombarded with useless facts.”

“You won’t be,” Harry assured, as he flipped the coin into the air, catching it sharply in the palm of his hand, “You’ll be sitting with us, Gryffindors, your favorite right?” he teased as he slapped the coin onto the back of his other hand to reveal their results.

Hufflepuff house was very pleased to have them, as it turned out. They took seats in a gap between the Fifth and Sixth years and were met with surprised looks that turned into, ugh, big smiles. Far too much energy in them for this gods-forsaken hour. Though he’d a brighter outlook on things after Ron snatched up a pitcher of orange juice he poured into their goblets and Hermione passed Draco a vial of Pepperup. He carefully doled out equal portions into he and the other Slytherins with them save Daphne who smirked and laid challenge with the question that wasn’t it _obvious_ that _she’d_ gotten her beauty rest? Nott snorted, “No,” chortling into his goblet as she smacked him on the arm with the back of her hand. _Merlin_ it was always a wake up, the heating sensation that started with the peppery taste, heat dropping to his stomach only to shoot back up, rising up through his throat and into his head, he and the other Slytherin boys shaking their heads as if to clear them while steam shot from their ears for the briefest* of moments, a perk of sharing. They wouldn’t be wired for hours on end, nor would their ears continuously steam until they wished they’d never taken the damn potion to begin with. It was just enough to perk them up for the task of filling their stomachs and better endure Hermione’s need to launch straight into comparing schedules the very moment they got passed around—there was House Unity all around when Severus and Magonagall found their wayward wards seated at Hufflepuff table, the Heads of House sharing a confused look over the situation.

“We've got Defense Against the Dark Arts up first. Whose teaching that this year, I wonder?” Hermione questioned, leaning back and away from the table to crane her neck and examine the Head Table for any new faces and found none.

“Huh. Dunno, Dumbledore didn’t announce anything about it last night,” Harry said, “whoever it is can’t be worse than Umbridge.” Though he grimaced at that, rapping the knuckles of his scarred hand against the wooden table top.

Hermione nodded her agreement as she resumed her seat proper. “We’ve double Potions after lunch, you and Ron have got a free period before that though while I have Arithmancy...oh!" Hermione said, eyes scanning over their gathered schedules on the table top, reading her Slytherin counterparts’ upside down and she offered a little smile, politeness that grew genuine as she looked at Draco’s and said, “We have Arithmancy! We’ve got the same classes today, oh yay!” with utter sincerity that drew up the brows of the other Slytherin’s at the table while Draco fought the smile tugging at his lips at their surprise.

Ron groaned, garnering further surprise when his only complaint was, “Great, double Potions means double Snape on a Monday. No offense to you lot just, it’s already _Monday._ She murders the weekend. 52 weeks a year! Ruddy serial killer that Monday is, but does anyone even try to stop her?”

“Why do you assume Monday’s a woman?” was Harry’s question.

“What? You think women _can’t_ be serial killers? Is _that_ what you’re saying?” Hermione wanted to know, “Because if I put my mind to it you lot’d be dead and nary a suspect list would bear my name,” Oh, that got a delighted smile out of Greengrass, she cackled and raised a hand for a high-five.

“Exactly!” Daphne agreed, “Of the people at this table who do you think has the most experience cleaning up blood?” she asked, wagging her brows at the boys. Blaise shared a dry look with Draco.

“People with periods definitely have the advantage,” Hermione said, and that pulled a spark of surprise from Blaise as he smirked, regarding the Muggleborn girl with curiosity.

“ _People_ with periods?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged. “Not everyone with a uterus is a woman. Just like not every person with a penis is a man.”

“‘Mione, we’re at breakfast,” Ron complained. “Don’t call it that.”

“What? Penis?” Hermione wondered innocently. And then with all the maturity of a First Year she leaned into Ron and declared, “Penis, penis, penis!” directly into his ear, smiling as he squirmed, smiling despite himself as he groaned.

“You wouldn’t like it if I was saying the- the ‘v’ word!” Ron was certain.

“Wouldn’t I?” Hermione wondered. “Which ‘v’ word is that?” she questioned as if daring him to say it, but the boy ground his lips and shook his head, ‘no’. 

“Vagina,” Draco offered, grinning when Ron blushed nearly as red as his hair.

“Vagina!” Harry chortled at his friend’s discomfort.

“Oh, _vagina?_ Well,” Hermione seemed wholly amused as she raised her goblet, “I like vagina just fine,” she said as she sipped at her orange juice. Oh Merlin, their quiet amusement turned to open laughter all around when Weasley choked on his toast.

Harry shook his head, “Okay Granger-Danger, give Ron a break,” he said, sliding his schedule closer to her, “Go ahead, tell us the damage,” he invited.

Hermione snorted at that. “What _damage?_ You two have _five_ free periods!” she complained, Ron and Harry hooting and high-fiving over Hermione’s head. Though she was more than pleased with, “Draco! You have Arithmancy and History of Magic with me! Oh Blaise-” she stopped, looking to the boy, “May I call you Blaise?”

“...I’ll allow it for now,” the Wizard supposed.

Hermione nodded, “You’re in Arithmancy too, oh Crabbe, so are you.”

Draco raised a brow at that, “You passed your Arithmancy OWL?”

Crabbe shrugged at that. “I guess,” he offered hollowly, already dreading it.

“Your father,” Draco supposed.

Crabbe sniffed, “Yeah. Some rot about Curse Breakers.”

“He wants you to be a Curse Breaker?” Ron asked, uncertainly.

“The best way to work against something is to know how it works,” Draco offered. “Curse-breaking would at most help him understand how er...to get around preventative, protective wards. Things the Ministry uses to guard against Unforgivables, and at the very least? Gringotts isn’t a workplace to sneeze at.”

“You don’t want to be a Curse Breaker?” Hermione supposed to Crabbe who sluggishly raised his gaze to meet hers, and he shook his head ‘no’. “Well what do you want to do?”

Boy looked startled to be asked as much. Draco was startled at the answer. “Broom maker.” _Broom making? Vincent Crabbe?_

“Arithmancy is absolutely necessary for that,” Hermione said, “so at least you’ll be taking proper courses to do exactly what you’d like to.”

“It’s stupid. I’m rubbish at- Arithmancy’s the pits.”

“You don’t enjoy it even a little?” Hermione supposed.

“‘Course not. It’s- I’m stupid. I only made it ‘cause of bribes.”

“No one is stupid Vincent Crabbe,” Hermione Granger informed him. “I absolutely _love_ arithmancy, it’s my favorite subject after Ancient Runes. Draco’s already going to study with me-”

“I am?” Draco wondered.

“Yes I decided so once I saw it on your schedule, keep up,” she primly informed him before her attention returned to Crabbe. “As long as you can be cool, we’ll help. I have an Arithmancy study group I run with multiple Years, if you’d like maybe you could join? That might help with bringing you up to speed.”

“Not studying with a bunch of Gryffandors,” the boy groused.

“It’s a multi-house group. Daphne’s sister is in it, Astoria? And Theo, your little cousin is too. He’s Slytherin.”

Nott swallowed harshly to avoid choking on the bite of eggs he’d just taken. “Theo?”

Hermione shrugged, “Nott sounds like I’m saying ‘not your little cousin’, which might sound strange, sentence-structure wise.”

“So what, we’re all on the first name basis now?” Nott questioned Draco.

“Yeah,” Draco supposed. “If you want to actually be a person for once, have a go at making real friends? First name basis is apparently a requirement.”

Harry snorted. “Is it?” he wondered drily.

Draco smiled. “Yes, Harry, it is.”

Oh, that sent the Wizard’s cheeks pinking a bit, that dumb, goofy grin spreading across his face. “Good to hear.”

“So? You’ll join us?” Hermione hoped to Crabbe.

“Why would you want to help me?” he wanted to know. “The hell is your game?”

“No game. You’re Draco’s friend, and you need help,” Hermione reasoned simply. As if he _wasn’t_ the son of a man who hurled _Avada Kedavra_ at her at the end of Fifth Year.

Crabbe shrugged in kind, looking uncertain but, “Maybe. Not saying ‘no’.”

The Witch nodded before moving right along to, “Okay so, we’ve all got Defense and Potions. Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, and Astronomy...looks like I’m on my own for Ancient Runes...oh, nope, Blaise! We’re Ancient Runes buddies!”

“Ugh no, no ‘buddies’,” Blaise said as if the word carried a stench most foul.

“Co-conspirators? Cohorts? That makes it sound like we’re up to no good,” Hermione appealed.

“...cohorts works.”

“Draco and I have been reading through the new edition of Numerology and Grammatica—it’s amazing! There’s the most wonderful chapter on the conversion of Runic numbers, Draco was brilliant help figuring out the magical portion of running the equation Wakefield describes, but I have it down nearly perfect now I think and it’s going to come in so much handy in Ancient Runes...at least in getting homework done,” she lightly complained. “Professor Babbling’s always so _specific_ about spellwork on exams.”

“Babbling flies me ‘round the Pitch with that ‘show your wandwork’ nonsense,” Blaise groused.

“Who _cares_ how I got to the right answer so long as I got it without cheating!” Hermione agreed. “I swear, the _moment_ I have my diploma that woman is waking up to toads in her desk or something.”

“Well damn, Granger, I was thinking more ‘drawer full of snakes’ but toads might be interesting.”

“I thought Ancient Runes was your favorite,” Draco teased Hermione.

“It is!” she insisted. “Which is why she’s one of my _least_ favorite professors. I _love_ Ancient Runes, I want to learn everything there is to learn about the subject and having a subpar Professor kills me. I spend more time working around her nonsense demands than actually advancing my knowledge on the subject, if I could have access to the advanced-texts in the library on the subject without being enrolled in the class proper? I’d take the free period and spend it learning everything on my own.”

“You mean how you spend your regular free period already?” Harry drawled.

“I only have the one this year, on Tuesdays,” Hermione said as if in thought, “I’ll be prepping for study group. Those will be Tuesday and Thursdays,” she offered for Crabbe’s benefit. Draco’s too, he supposed.

Breakfast had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. No one got hexed, or poisoned, or punched. And their group didn’t immediately separate upon exiting the Great Hall. Goyle even stood aside as if holding the door and allowed Hermione to pass through ahead of him on the way out and then he walked carefully alongside her, as if he knew it might make the small Gryffindor girl nervous to have him lurking after her, but he caught her in quiet conversation Draco couldn’t quite hear, just the occasional eager nod on Hermione’s part, and then Draco could swear he saw her say something about it being ‘sweet’ of Goyle and it sent the large Slytherin’s cheeks pink as he shrugged.

They took their seats on their respective sides of the Defense classroom, the aisle between their tables, Crabbe and Goyle took seats directly behind Blaise and Draco who were seated directly across the aisle from Harry and Ron, the Gryffandor’s Patil girl, Parvati, she sat alongside Hermione behind them. Well, she made to—Daphne approached and her, “Move,” had the courageous Patil playing it smart, as she stepped back from the chair she’d clearly been about to pull out, and let Daphne sit alongside Hermione, whispering up a storm before class could start. Nott was behind Goyle, Pike joining him...oh, because Nott waved him over with crooked index and middle finger, which meant he wanted a _word._ He hadn’t been very vocal at breakfast, but he’d spoken when spoken to, and he hadn’t said anything nasty about anyone’s poverty level or Blood status, and Pike had been just as resistant as Nott had been, last night. Draco hoped that _word_ was in their favor, that at the very least, he shouldn’t go around continuing to make himself an enemy of Potter and his friends for the time being.

Draco just about jumped out of his skin as footfalls swiftly, near silently clipped down the center aisle, overshadowed by the billowing of robes as their Professor’s _very_ familiar, “Silence. Open your texts to page 342, today we begin with a revisionary lesson on Shield Charms after your dismal instruction of last year.”

“Professor Snape?!” Hermione, aghast, was the one to voice the question that had knots forming in Draco’s stomach. What the _hell?_ He was supposed to be teaching potions! He- he was part of their communications cover!

“One point from Gryffindor for the astounding ability to state the painfully obvious, Miss Granger,” Severus drawled as he turned on his heel to face the class once he was at the head of the room. “As of this morning, I am officially this years Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor,” his beady eyes narrowed on one of the hands that shot up at the announcement, “Yes, Miss Bones?”

“How will you teach Potions if you’re taking over Defense, sir?”

“I won’t,” the words dripped darkly from his throat. “Now. Page 342. Mister Nott, what are the three primary wand motions for standard shielding?”

“Uhhh…” Nott droned as if uncertain. Harry sneezed quietly...falsely, he’d heard the Wizard sneeze before and was never such a reserved affair, he always gave off something that looked and sounded like a man ejecting a demon from his body. But he’d got Nott to look his way and then his arms were crossed on the table before him, hands hanging over the edge between his chest and the desk, and he was swirling his index finger in three distinct patterns. “Of course Professor, allow me,” Nott said as he rose from his seat to step into the aisle and demonstrate.

“Passable,” Severus supposed, “Two points to Slytherin.”

Class passed without incident, Harry and Ron walking with the others to go take their free period, though Blaise made to hang around outside the door once he realized Draco wasn’t immediately leaving, staying to catch a word with his Godfather. Crabbe went with Blaise and Hermione looked to Goyle who dawdled likewise and promised him, “I’ll be right out, I just have a question for the Professor.” Gregory nodded silently, doing as he was told, and the moment he stepped out, Hermione cast to secure their privacy in the split second before Draco hissed,

“What the hell, Severus?!”

“I would remind you, Mister Malfoy, you are a student in my classroom and I am very much still your Professor.”

“Sir, the notebooks. What do we need to do?” Hermione asked. “Who took over your post? Will they be keeping your addition of potions notes to the curriculum? We can just secure duplicates to turn in for grading if that’s the case. I mean...would it look strange if we kept our journals with us?”

“Only if someone comes to suspect they’re not for class notes,” Draco groused.

“This arrangement is new, I was unaware Albus wished for me to take this post until just a spare month before the start of term. I do assure you all may still go according to plan, now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve other students to attend and you’ve a class,” Severus dismissed them with a wave of his hand, “I will not abide a loss of points to Slytherin for tardiness.”

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh as another Year’s students began filtering into the classroom, and Draco shrugged, falling into step with her as they took their leave, catching up with Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise.

Draco wasn’t certain why Goyle was following them, he thought perhaps he’d simply wished to walk his friends to their next class, Draco couldn’t remember a time he’d ever walked to class without both Crabbe and Goyle at his back. But the Wizard didn’t break off from their group when they got to Vector’s classroom, no, he walked right alongside Hermione, holding the door open for her as she entered and followed her all the way to the front of the class where Professor Vector was just beginning to write instruction, though she paused to regard them when they approached.

“Professor Vector,” Hermione said...sounding distressed. Draco watched from where he and Blaise took a seat, claiming a long table with Crabbe who sat in the third seat. The Slytherin boys watched with some interest at whatever the Gryffindor girl was playing at. Was she...she was lying, obviously, because, “Greggory says you didn’t accept his application to Arithmancy even though he absolutely passed his OWLS in the subject. Surely there must be some mistake?”

“Oh! Mister Goyle I- I quite assure you I didn’t see you on my list of students who chose to be added to my N.E.W.T. Arithmancy course if your OWLs met the mark.”

“Are you certain?” Hermione questioned, sincerely saying, “Gosh, I promise you he truly did mean to. He came straight to me when he realized there’d been some mistake, asking if I’d talk to you about it, he was worried perhaps he’d done something to make you not include him even though he worked so hard to be in your class.”

“Oh I…” the Professor looked to Goyle, utterly remorseful, “I don’t know what happened Mister Goyle but I quite assure you I did not exclude you maliciously. Oh I feel just awful. I will adjust your course schedule, absolutely. Feel free to join us today and I’ll make certain Professor Snape has your schedule corrected before next class. I’ll get you a spare textbook. Too, we’re going through Numerology and Grammatica this term. I’ll be lecturing today, but you will need to secure a copy as soon as possible for supplemental reading.”

“Thank you so much for understanding Professor,” Hermione said, looking up at Goyle who was still catching up it seemed to...being placed in Arithmancy? “You can share with me until you get your own,” she promised and he nodded, following her to the table Draco and the others laid claim to. “Will I cramp your style or can I sit here?” she wondered.

“Oh you most certainly cramp my style,” Draco assured, “but you’re free to sit,” they’d be sharing textbooks anyway. “What the devil was all that about?”

Goyle shrugged. “Got an E on my OWLs. Didn’t sign up for Arithmancy. Didn’t think Vince was taking it,” he said quietly, looking to Crabbe. “Asked Hermione if she thought I could still get in. I figure I can help you better if I’m in it too.”

Crabbe swallowed, nodding slowly. “Thanks,” he said, looking to Hermione then, “Thanks Granger.”

“Of course.”

Lunch was a much more...and less tense affair than breakfast. The company they kept, this time at Ravenclaw table, was easier, Nott and Greengrass joked along with Harry, and Hermione was going over a few things from Arithmancy with Crabbe, addressing questions he had on things from lecture, Goyle sitting and listening, occasionally offering his own advice—rephrasing things Hermione said in a way that Crabbe caught onto just a bit better. Blaise talked to Draco but gave up when Draco wasn’t very talkative, and struck up a conversation with Ron instead, leading the Gryffindor boy into biting argument over the Cannons piss-poor prospects for their next Quidditch season. Hermione was nervous too, he could tell, she was only so intently helping the Slytherin boy now because it distracted her, her meal sitting untouched much like his. Draco wasn’t quite so capable of finding distraction just now. What if this was where it all went wrong? His mother was already in so much danger, what if this jeopardized the mission, somehow? Their potions professor might tell them to discard their journal assignment, that would make it noticeable when they kept theirs around, could be seen still using them, or- or what if they seek to collect them for grading or altering and find it questionable that they can’t open Draco and Harry and Hermione’s-

He felt a hand on his knee under the table, Harry had taken the seat next to Draco, and he took a moment of Daphne and Nott bickering to look to the blond boy and quietly intone, “Eat. Going hungry isn’t going to make it better. It’s going to be okay. Whatever it is, whoever it is? We’ll handle it together,” and then, even softer, guarding the most secure of their secrets against Draco’s ear, “your mother will be safe,” he promised with surety.

Surety he could not have had in the moment. It had been blind faith. Gryffindor goodness, hoping for the best and feeling its certainty without a shred of evidence or experience to support it. The sort of faith that came from a person who, if they’d their way of things, if they were in charge of the hands fate delt? They would seek to deal nothing but goodness, no sweeter god would exist in the pantheon, not the one Draco subscribed to, anyway, if Harry Potter held such power.

Draco picked at his lunch, and steeled himself as they approached the potions classroom, half expecting and half hoping to find their instructor waiting there, just to…’rip the band-aid off’, as Hermione called it, explaining some horrible healing method where muggles stuck sticky bandaging to their skin that, upon its need for changing, was best dealt with through ripping it away as quickly as possible as opposed to dragging it up and off, pulling painfully at their skin. But now he wished for that, something quick and painful over something drawn out and torturous, but he got the latter. He got to sit across the aisle from Hermione, Harry seated on her other side, and _wait,_ the minutes dragging painfully, tugging and tearing as every last student filed in and took their seat, classroom abuzz with anticipation. Snape wasn’t teaching potions this year, what was on?

“Has anyone heard who’s taking over for Snape this year?” Longbottom voiced the question for all to hear, “Who’s signed on as Potions Master?”

The very second the clock hit the top of the hour, there was the steady _click, click, click_ of heels on the dungeon floors.

And once again a very familiar voice had Draco nearly jumping out of his skin, but in the absolute best of ways.

“Potions _Mistress_ , Mister Longbottom,” came the correction from the woman herself, and Slytherin broke out in audible gasps, Hermione whipping about in her seat to lay eyes on the Witch steadily making her way down the center aisle, blonde locks held secure in a bun at the back of her head. She came to the front of the class and turned to face them, a pleasant smile on her face, Professor’s robes open to reveal a long, form fitting Slytherin green dress, silvery Dragon Scale heels gleaming as bright as her pale blue eyes did as she regarded her class. Mother. The Present's Narcissa in startling form, a stark difference to her future self. She was well put together, appeared practically perfect in every way before them but _Merlin_ she looked- she was so drawn, pale gaunt cheeks given life by blush that wasn't put there by sweet words but her own hand and cosmetic spell, perhaps. Her Robes looked almost too big for her, her dress revealing just the barest outline of her ribcage. She'd been thin before but _this_ looked like perhaps she'd not eaten a proper meal in weeks. And there was a sort of exhaustion, strain in her eyes that none but he could tell was there...though Hermione was seated in shock but regarding the woman with concern, so perhaps it wasn't _only_ him. But there was victory there, also, and despite all that was so very worrisome, she was standing tall, taller than he'd seen her at this point in her life, anyway, as she addressed her class. “Good afternoon. You may well know me as Narcissa Malfoy. Given my associations, to avoid confusion or over-consideration of my ties, you're to address me professionally, as Professor Black.”

* * *

  
  


Narcissa Malfoy was her potions instructor.

Narcissa Malfoy was her Potions _Mistress_.

It was the Professor herself, who brought up their journaling assignments, everyone pulled the journals they’d been given, most staying closed but a few students, mostly Ravenclaw, opened theirs, so. So did Hermione. _Mrs. Malfoy? I don’t know if you’re busy right now, or if your memories of this year have developed yet but would you care to kindly explain just what is going on? What’s happened?_

_Good afternoon darling. I’ve told you you may address me as Narcissa._ She had, but that felt rude! She was Draco’s mum! And now she was her _Professor,_ oh Merlin! _Are you having a pleasant return to school? You’ve settled nicely, I hope?_

Oh! She had to suppress the urge to growl her frustration in the middle of Professor…Black’s? Professor Black’s introductions. When she looked up to make certain she wasn’t drawing attention to herself, getting too visibly worked up over ‘note-taking’ she saw Draco—seated faced forward, but she just caught his gaze as he chanced a look in his peripheral, clearly and he offered just the most subtle nod to indicate his appreciation for her taking the opportunity to write his mother’s future self to figure out just- what the hell was going on!

_I’m fine just very confused and I would appreciate some elaboration! Please. And thank you._ Oh…maybe the woman wanted, _Thank you for the shortbread, it is literally very sweet of you._ She wasn’t certain how the woman had managed it, but when Hermione arrived to the girl’s dorm, there had been something of a…care package? At first it startled her, made her stop breathing altogether because the last time she’d gotten anything like that, it had been delivered via owl, from her parents. They sent along the occasional basket of creature comforts she mightn’t have easy access to in the Wizarding World. Merlin, she’d been terrified for a moment her spells had somehow failed or glitched or something in some horrible, spectacular fashion. But no it wasn’t her parents who were responsible—there was a black wicker basket on her bed, a finely spun thin, silvery knitted blanket that was charmed somehow to be…warm and cold. It changed based on her preference in the moment, she realized—she’d been freezing when she made it out of the shower and crawled into bed last night, and the blanket had warmed her right up. Then when she grew too warm, the blanket became soothingly cool, like when one flips their pillow over for the cold side. On top of the blanket had been a package of some sort of Magical brand of coffee, a delicate dark blue porcelain mug and a…enchanted percolator kettle—she was to fill it with grounds and it was charmed to fill with water and heat itself and she could have a cup of coffee waiting for her by the time she was done dressing for breakfast. Then yes, the shortbread, that was somehow what struck her the most—it was her absolute favorite, a Muggle product, Glenfiddich Shortbread. She’d been utterly confused until she found the parchment card that explained.

_A delighted squeal pierced the air, “Hermiiiiiiiione, do we have a secret admi-a-wer?” Lavender Brown asked excitedly, coming over to hop onto the edge of Hermione’s bed and dig into the basket as if she’d been invited. Though the first thing she picked up was, “Coffee…ew. Oh, but you like it, don’t you? So? Who’s it from?”_

_The note disintegrated the moment she’d finished reading it, charmed to do that she supposed, “No one,” Narcissa Malfoy, “just a friend.” Her friend was Narcissa Malfoy._

There was a pause after her thanks, like perhaps the Future Narcissa had to think on it a moment? _Ahh. I am pleased I’ve done as much for you darling, but your thanks might be more appropriately directed to the present._ Oh…the present’s Narcissa had- huh. That…was nice? _I dislike having to doubly explain myself, but perhaps_ there was a pause and then _You’ll remember my explanation, perhaps it is best I express these ideas in writing, I can best consider how best to convey them. There are plans afoot, the Dark Lord’s. There are things he wished for Draco to carry out in this school year, and now the task falls to another. In the present, I have put myself forward as a plant within the school to aid this person—I’ve plans to discuss this with you when we meet for your occlumency lesson this evening, I believe I will let myself explain further, there._

_Are you okay? Now-you. You’re beautiful of course, just, you don’t look well, that’s mostly why I’m writing._

_Are you worried for me darling?_

_Well yeah, I just said you don’t look well! And Draco already worries about you and this has clearly taken him for quite a shock. He hadn’t a single idea this was happening—why?_

_I’m drafting a message for him that I will pen into his journal shortly once I’ve gathered my thoughts,_ Narcissa promised, _I did not mean to keep this from you. You’re also upset with me about this, we just got off the phone with one another. There are…restraints I had to work within, requirements, to place myself at Hogwarts. It was a delicate thing I have been working on for the past month, the things you find so concerning are a result of that, but through it the certainty of my success was brought to fruition. This happened only this morning, however. I woke to memory of the confirmation I would be permitted to leave Malfoy Manor and pursue the role the Dark Lord has given me. Do you trust me, my darling?_

_Of course._

_I would ask you extend that same trust to my presents self. She is, after all, me. She cares for you a great deal._

_She doesn’t know me._

_She does, in fact. She knows the woman you’ve become. It gives her an idea of the woman you are now._

_That this sounds like we’re four different people instead of two is,_ Merlin help them, _confounding._ _Time travel is absolutely the stuff of headaches._

_I hope you merely jest. Do not dwell on it if it distresses you, darling. I only mean to assure you of my present self’s intent._

Some much needed assurance. In the next instance, Hermione’s heart startled in her chest, badly enough her wand nearly dropped into her hand because of the resounding _crack_ of a wand slapping against her desk, right alongside her journal which she closed on reflex and looked up to see-

“Miss Granger am I boring you?” Narcissa Malfoy questioned so sharply it caused Hermione to flinch as she met the woman’s gaze.

“N-no, of course not Professor. I was just taking notes.”

“Oh were you? On what, pray tell—my impeccable fashion sense or my overall splendor? Because I am certainly not in lecture yet, Miss Granger. I said quills down, and I do not stand to repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear-”

“Have you some hearing impairment I’m unaware of? No? Well then, if you weren’t hearing, you weren’t listening. Your scribbling certainly had nothing to do with this class.”

“I- I was just-”

“That will be five points from Gryffandor, Miss Granger,” oh _crap!_ That was six points she’d lost them today! Vector awarded her ten for _an exemplary show of House-Unity_ , for speaking up for Goyle but still! “Points and detention.”

“Detention?!” Ron and Harry voiced, indignant.

“Don’t think I won’t include you Mister Weasley, or you, Mister Potter, do not expect me to give leniency toward the resident celebrity.”

“Mother!” Draco pled, “It’s not like-” his eyes went wide in his head as his mouth foamed up with soap, oh dear Merlin! Hermione half-expected snickers or giggles, especially from the Slytherins and Gryffandors but everyone was deathly quiet like the action had struck fear more than humor, especially followed so swiftly by a tone Hermione never expected the woman to take with her own son.

“That will be _Professor_ from you, _boy,”_ Professor Black seethed and Draco’s mouth cleared of her spell when he nodded. She returned her attention to, “Detention, Miss Granger. Tonight, straight after dinner!” she demanded, and then, gesturing with her wanded hand a bit “I trust your social calendar can conform to that.”

Oh it wasn’t a gesture. It was a _Sign_. Narcissa’s hand around her wand, she was holding it with her thumb raised against its side, her hand in what was basically a ‘thumbs-up’ around her wand, her gesture a subtle rolling motion before her. _Fine._

Because everything was fine. This was just- oh, it was _subterfuge._ It was _brilliant!_

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione readily accepted. She’d been going to, anyway, it was _detention,_ arguing about it wasn’t exactly known for making matters better. “I understand.”

She didn’t smile, but there was something in her eyes that spoke to her relief. “Excellent,” she said, drawling icily, “Oh how I do so look forward to spending my evening in your company,” she rolled her eyes as she turned away, sauntering up toward the front of the class once more. “Now, as I was saying…”

She’d a great deal to say, apparently. She went on for the better part of the first half hour, laying out exactly how much she had not cared for their former Potion’s Master’s curriculum—his methodology, at least. Things were going to be very different, starting with their first potions lab.

“Your supplies will appear once you’re appropriately partnered, ahh,” Professor Black smiled as a rush of magic sounded, ingredients and watchglasses appearing on Padma and Susan’s worktable. “Miss Bones of Hufflepuff and Miss Patil from Ravenclaw, are already paired nicely as you can see. Another expectation of my class—I’ll not have petty rivalry pitting students against each other in as hazardous an environment as a potion’s laboratory. You are to work together, and focus on the task at hand, be concerned with the product in your cauldron and not that of your enemy’s, nor will I tolerate pairings where one takes up for the listless slack of their precious friend or House-mate. Unless I say otherwise all projects are to be conducted by inter-house pairings.”

“…didn’t she just say she _didn’t_ want us working with someone from our House?” Harry whispered quietly, confused.

“In _ter_ -House pairings, Harry,” she offered back, tapping her index fingers together before curving her index finger against the palm of her other hand to signify ‘e-r’, “Not in _tra_.” ‘r’, and then tapping an index finger to her outturned thumb ‘a’.

He looked put out by that information. “I hope whoever came up with Latin got the Clap.” Oh Merlin, Hermione had to bite down hard on her lip to keep laughing.

_“Miss Granger._ If you _insist_ upon being a distraction I will _absolutely_ have to deal with you,” Professor Black threatened, more than warned. What was she doing that was so distracting?! They were being quiet! “You and Mister Potter will cease your asides and follow instruction or you will both be serving detention.”

“Oh, well we wouldn’t want that,” Hermione replied. Snarked. To a Professor, but…well. Occlusion couldn’t be taught in a single evening, she didn’t think—why not two birds with one stone?

Oh Merlin, that earned her a very hard stare from the Professor something meant to look cold that made Hermione feel very, _very warm._ “That will be two nights of detention for you Miss Granger,” Narcissa said, just the slightest approval in her gaze though she warned, “Test me a third time and I will have little choice but to have you ejected from my classroom for the remainder of the day.”

Ahh. _Good job, now quit while you’re ahead_ , got it.

Draco had already strode across the aisle to she and Harry’s table, and Hermione made to find someone else to partner with, let the boys have the table, but Draco’s hand caught her wrist. Oh. “Partner with me,” he said, politely, but his tacked-on, “won’t you?” was appreciated.

He wanted news of his mother, of course. “Sure thing.”

Harry shrugged and went off in search of a partner of his own. Oh, Draco looked like he regretted it a bit, when Harry paired up with Nott.

“He’s not his type,” she quietly assured as she stepped to the side and Draco came to stand behind the table with her. Their ingredients and supplies materialised on their worktable, and a split second later the rush of magic at the table before them, Ron had taken it when it became vacant and Hufflepuff’s Ernie Macmillan came to pair up with Neville in Ron’s stead. He seemed a bit listless, unsure who to approach or wave over but,

“Weasel,” Blaise said as he joined him, prompting their ingredients to appear.

“Snake,” Ron greeted in kind. That was apparently the entirety of their vocalizing agreement to work with one another.

“Oh, wicked,” Blaise rejoiced, “This’ll be easy, even you can’t mess this up.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Betting against yourself?”

“For myself—I’m pretty creative. What’s on?”

“Whoa now Weasel, what do I win if you’re not as creative as you think?”

“Mmm how about, you can bite me. Now what the hell’s this sludge? Why’s it all,” Ronald Weasley, every day of sixteen years a Wizard, stuck his hand directly into the aforementioned ‘sludge’, and grimmanced at its texture, bringing it to his nose for a sniff he found unpleasant, “ick?” He knew better than to go sticking his hand in unfamiliar ingredients!

Blaise let out a sound that could be considered a snort, but, “I stand corrected…” he leaned over the glass bowl of translucent slime, “ohh, nope, scratch that. The rest is all good even though you’ve put your grubby hand in it. Go ahead and wipe that into a watchglass or two, and let’s proceed, shall we?”

“What is it, though?” Ron questioned, of absolutely little help as Blaise took a watch glass in hand and then Ron’s wrist in the other to guide his hand to scrape the edge of the glass against it to deposit the goop as he’d instructed.

“Weasel, you plebeian, have you never been to a-” Blaise stopped, as if catching himself. More gently, “It’s Matter Measure. We’re testing for ingredient sensitivities.”

“Excellent deduction, Mister Zabini, five points to Slytherin,” Professor Black announced. Merlin, the woman could hear! She was at the other end of the laboratory! For the rest of the class’ benefit, “Today you will be assisting one another in testing for your tolerance of commonly used potions ingredients.”

“Ohh, duh. Right, bloody forgot about this crap,” Ron said, “Some Medi-Witch came ‘round when I was little, mum and dad had Gin and me tested for sensitivity to bicorn horn. Gran was allergic, so’s Charlie, so,” he shrugged.

“You’re not?” Blaise checked, wand in hand, poised to banish the ingredient if it offended.

“No, thank Merlin, I don’t know where I’d be if I lived in a world without Pepper-Up.”

Blaise relaxed at that. “You know Weasel, there’s this marvelous thing called ‘sleep’. There’s even an incredible invention that aids with it, you might have heard of it? They’re called, I believe the British pronounce it: _beds?”_

“Beds? Never heard of it, you’ll have to show me sometime, Zabini.”

That had the other Wizard grinning as he laughed a bit and then he _stopped_ as if his own reaction had horrified him. Draco was looking at him much the same, staring at his Slytherin friend incredulously because her hand to Merlin, Hermione was _decently_ certain the boys were flirting. Ron hadn’t seemed like he much caught onto the fact though, maybe he was just being friendly...or maybe she could expect a silver message in the night summoning her to the boys dorm for a midnight _am I gay or was that my need to exert myself as the funniest man in the room?_ breakdown session. She’d try for bed a bit early either way.

Her gaze fell on the Professor, heels clicking a smooth, precise rhythm as she circled the room, casting her sharp stare on her students as everyone had their ingredients at the ready now and she began offering instruction. They were to carefully spoon what Blaise called _Matter Measure_ into their watchglasses, and then place ingredients securely in the gel, press their fingers into it and then bring it all to an appropriate temperature and mark down their reactions, what color smoke they would emit which...apparently indicated how responsive their magic was.

The Professor was nearer their side of the class now so Draco focused on the project at hand. They had to be careful talking about the woman anyway, given the circumstance. “Let’s get started shall we?”

Hermione nodded. “So this is...some sort of basic magical medicinal practice?” she wondered, from what Blaise and Ron had said that’s what it sounded like, but, “I’ve never heard of ‘Matter Measure’ before.”

Draco looked like she just told him she’d never heard of _water_ before so she _must_ be dying of dehydration or something. “You...you’ve not a Healer or Medi-Witch you see for check-ups and the like?”

Hermione blinked at that, this sort of soft realization dawning on her that oh. Yeah. It was a normal thing, everyone had a general practitioner, she supposed the same went for those in the Magical world, she’d just never thought about it before, but it wasn’t like mum could ring up St. Mungos for a recommendation. And Muggle Medicine was tricky to navigate when you were a Witch, and she had, “Madame Pomfrey,” she said. She did, whenever she was at school, being friends with Harry supplied her with yearly ‘check-ups’. 

“What...what do you do when you’re not at school? When you’re er, with your parents?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t get sick often and I mean, I’m not exactly spending my breaks at home going mountain climbing or extreme scuba...diving?” that was a thing. Was that a thing? Regardless, “Magic doesn’t react well to some Muggle types of medicine, so I avoid it. Tough out colds, pop the occasional aspirin. Oh, it’s a pain reliever,” she explained when the word didn’t prompt understanding.

That had him staring at her. “You didn’t have a proper potions set up there...until recently?”

She didn’t care for how he seemed to find it a matter of pity, but she was able to work their talk to boil down to a comparison of the systems. An exchange of information—her answers for his. Nothing terribly personal, as they worked he shared how he’d fallen off his broom when he was seven, and had to take Blood Replenisher and Skele-Gro when he broke his arm badly, and she talked about the time she crashed her bike, went face-first into a curb and ended up in A&E to get stitches in her chin. When she explained Muggle stitches the boy looked a bit sick. She tried to assure him they hadn’t been horrible, that Muggle Medicine did truly have some amazing advancements that could match magic, at least for Muggles. They’d their own potions and brews they were just applied differently through shots and pills, and while it wasn’t as swift and _magical_ as the Wizarding World’s system, they’d just as many surgical abilities as St. Mungos, it was just a great deal more invasive for certain things and took longer to heal from. Draco had smirked, questioning these ‘shots’, were they anything decent? Did Muggles treat the pain from broken bones with tequila shots? He hadn’t much cared for the actual answer, more needles and the addition of syringes that put potion _where?_

“Your magical core can’t even process that if you just send it straight to your blood to begin with,” he said, as if it didn’t make the least bit of sense. Why would Muggles even dream of putting things directly into their bloodstream? “What the devil is that any good for?”

“Lots of things. Anesthetics, pain relievers, vaccinations. Magical people can’t much hang with non-magical anesthetics, our magic fights it is what I’ve heard from muggle-born friends who’ve had experience with it before they learned about their magic, it either doesn’t work, or it puts you in a coma until it’s out of your system and your magic recovers. And vaccinations,” she shivered a bit, “I mean gosh they’re important, vital to society just, but magic defends from most things Muggles vaccinate against, make us immune while preventing us from hosting nastiness that can spread to others. And we’ve our own form too, I spent forever in the Hospital Wing my first week here getting caught up on my preventative potions,” Draco relaxed at that. Oh, that was what this conversation was about, wasn’t it? Awe, that was kind of sweet, really. He’d been trying to get around to ‘dear Merlin please tell me you know there’s a risk for magical disease and that you’re protected from it’.

“Good,” Draco nodded, clearing his throat a bit as he sprinkled Scarab Beetle powder into the goop in two watchglasses, and then very casually, “Pomfrey’s good for more than school scrapes. Perhaps she could recommend a personal Healer.”

Hermione smiled, gently knocking against him as she reached for a few Puffer Fish eyes, an act that got her a grateful look from the Wizard who shivered even as she was the one touching the disgusting things to press them into watchglass goo. “I’ll look into that,” she promised.

Merlin, it felt like they tested just about every basic ingredient there was, but it was a little fun being paired up with Draco. It was no offense to Ron or Harry, just...it was faster not having to stop and explain things or do the brunt of the work herself. They aided each other in the task of getting their magic assigned to each watchglass of goo, hers all turned a silvery color while Draco’s turned white with veins of black cracking paths throughout. He looked a little...distressed at that, but there was also something like bland acceptance in his gaze. Hermione wasn’t sure what it meant—the hue his magic took or his reaction to it, but she offered up a smile.

“Gosh, that’s pretty,” she complimented, index finger tracing along the edge of his ginger-root watchglass. “It looks like marble.”

“It looks like I’m an idiot who strayed too close to evil,” he deadpanned.

“It looks like marble, and it means that you’re brave,” she corrected fiercely, meeting his gaze. Which he very quickly averted his from, cheeks blazing. “What does mine mean?” she asked, to take some of the tension off.

Draco shrugged, smirking a bit even as all he said was, “Well, it is rather the interesting shade for the _Golden Girl of Gryffindor.”_ and then, “Don’t worry about it Granger. Platinums better than gold any day.”

Was it? Maybe Draco couldn’t see Harry’s white-streaked, black-flecked gold from here. Or maybe he was more focused on the other Wizard’s face every time he stole glances at Harry and Nott’s table.

Oh, but what made their project so fun was the bit of competition that ensued. They both had decent comprehension of which ingredients they had in play, and they were great at following instructions so...it was a race of sorts. They split the work directly in half, organizing their own watchglasses into alphabetical order by ingredient and testing them, seeing who could finish theirs first, the loser had to concede to sitting at the winner’s House table for dinner.

She wondered at his grabbing a fresh watchglass to fill when she put her Valerian root over flame and moved on to prepping her next test. It wasn’t until he deftly banished her heating ingredient once it started emitting putrid smoke that she realized she’d messed up. “Sorry,” she said, coughing into her elbow, though all he did was raise a hand to pat a bit between her shoulder blades.

“Just chill it next time,” he offered lightly, no weight of accusation or condencention. He held off on testing his own...in fact he watched as she moved along with the ingredients she’d already prepped and followed after her, saving his Valerian root for last. And once she began chilling hers...he waited just a second to begin doing the same with his. So...he _wanted_ to sit at Gryffindor table, he just wanted to say he was there because he lost a bet. Slytherins.

_Click...click...click._

Oh, Professor Black was nearing the front of the class again, looking over everyone’s work as she passed. Somehow the warning their Potions Mistress was approaching was worse than Snape’s swift, silent lurking—the sound of heels on stone made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand on end, nervous fluttering in her stomach as the sound drew closer.

Draco let out a soft, low whistle that pitched upward as Hermione’s Valerian root grew cold enough to whither to pieces and her watchglass emitted a plume of dark blue, nearly black smoke. “You definitely need to lay off the Valerian root.” Oh, yeah. Color was indicative of magical property, a lighter hue meant things were perfectly in range, her magic did _not_ respond well to this ingredient at all, apparently.

“I guess, I never really knew it was that bad.”

_Click...click-_

There was the sound of a heel scraping against stone as Professor Black halted, turned on her heel, and stared at the dark smoke rising from Hermione’s watchglass as it died off, just for the smallest second before her gaze swept over her class as a whole.

“I find myself surprised at the abundance of unfamiliarity with Matter Measure this class seems to hold. Have none of you been tested in this way since your time at Hogwarts, for Professor Snape’s benefit?” there was a good bit of shared looks and shaking of heads, ‘no’, scattered throughout her students. “I see. So your former Potions Master provides impersonal, standard potion to the student body,” she took in a sharp breath, like she was seeking to maintain control of just how loudly she was speaking, before ordering, “Raise your hand, if you have ever imbibed potion Severus Snape has brewed for your medicinal care in this school,” the Potions Mistress said, looking across the hands that shot up, which was just about everyone, really. Hermione raised her hand just after Draco’s and...there were delicate tendrils of hair that framed the woman’s face, a few behind her ears that couldn’t be tucked into her bun, and they disturbed a bit, rising ever so slightly, almost like there was a draft of sorts.

“You’ve not taken Dreamless Sleep, have you?” Draco whispered to Hermione, concerned.

She nodded. “A few times, yeah.”

Her heart startled, jumping directly into her throat when there was a resounding _crack_ as a rather large one broke down the center of the chalkboard Professor Black was standing before, her back to it as she was facing the class. Though for all she was facing them she’d done rather the impressive job of making her expression unreadable.

“Professor?” Neville Longbottom timidly voiced.

“...yes, Mister Longbottom?” Narcissa stood up straighter, looked in the Gryffindor boy’s direction.

“What was that?” he wondered, and at her interested look he shakily pointed to the board behind her, and she twisted about to look over her shoulder.

“Oh dear, however did that happen? How strange,” she said, as if noting a spot of stormy weather when all predictions said _clear._ “Well,” she cleared her throat. “We’ve well accomplished our work this day, and I’ve a matter that requires my attention.” And then, with all the air that she was delivering someone’s death sentence, “Class dismissed,” before her heels clicked a sharp path up the center of the room, wand raised overhead in a brisk whipping motion that zipped magic across their worktables. Something that kept their work in stasis so it could be preserved for her perusal later, Hermione supposed.

“I think you just killed my Godfather, Granger,” Draco jested quietly. She hoped he was jesting, anyway. He cast something, wand low at his side and she felt the security of a privacy ward, “What did she say?”

“She’s on mission, Tom wanted her to take post at Hogwarts to help with something, she won’t give me any specifics because...she plans to do so tonight I guess? Oh. And reporting everything to the Order too, of course. She wasn’t certain she could take this job until this morning, hence the lack of warning. She’s writing to you soon, did you not feel anything from your journal?”

“Not yet,” Draco said, looking lost in thought.

“Uhh...was that part of the plan?” Harry wondered quietly as he joined them.

“It is now,” Hermione supposed.

“You okay, mate?” Ron asked as he and Blaise closed the distance to Hermione and Draco’s worktable. “Seeing your mum...that was rough, the whole,” he blanched as he skirted around outright saying ‘soap spell’, “but um...I mean she’s your mum. Maybe she doesn’t mean it? There’s all sorts hanging around, I’m sure she has to be mean to you. She has to look like she hates you but really she er, loves you.”

“Just as her ‘sudding’ spell looked like soap, tasted like whipped cream,” Draco informed them, assuring, “my mother is Slytherin through and through. I…” he swallowed, “appreciate you assuring me likewise.”

Relief sparked in Ron’s eyes, because the boy really had just been speaking to comfort, he hadn’t truly _known_ the woman was pretending, he just wanted to make Draco feel better. Blaise, however, didn’t look relieved in the slightest.

“She looked almost as bad as when-” Blaise started.

“Yes,” Draco cut him off. “I know. She had to do it again, to get out of the house I suppose.”

“I promised Greg I’d help him order his Arithmancy texts, supplies before dinner,” Blaise was saying, “but I can-”

“I’ve got it well in hand,” Draco assured, looking to Hermione, “Would you care to help me?”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “With what?”

Draco ignored that, “Well, we’ll see you lot at dinner then,” he said dismissively to the other boys.

Harry took the hint, nodding as he said, “We’ll see you at dinner. We flipping a coin again or are you sitting with Slytherin?”

“I’ll be eating at Gryffindor table as Hermione bested my project time.”

Blaise smiled as he said, “I believe I’ll join you,” falling into step with Ron as they gathered their bookbags. “I am due to take a bite at a Gryffindor.”

“With a Gryffindor,” Ron corrected.

“Oh Weasel, you weren’t near creative enough to ruin our potions project. I believe your exact words were ‘you can bite me’?” Blaise quoted, grinning wide with a spectacular show of teeth.

Harry’s brow shot up as Ron’s face blazed, burning red. “Double or nothing, our next go around,” he said as he moved for the door, Blaise falling into step alongside him as Harry trailed after.

“So I can bite you twice? Best be careful, I leave a mark.”

“Mark yourself!” was Ron’s intelligent response.

“Ohh, Weasel’s kinky.”

“...are they…?” Hermione asked Draco.

“...they might be? Fair warning, I am on the side of the light, but I will be hexing Ronald in the family jewels if he does something stupid.”

“Ron’s not the quickest on the uptake but he’s too sweet to really hurt someone,” Hermione thought so, anyway. “What’s going on? What were you and Blaise being so cryptic about and why didn’t you want the boys to stay?”

“I can’t help that Blaise knows but I’ll be damned if I go blabbing my mother’s business in front of all and sundry. She trusts you, though and you- you have to fix this! Do whatever it is you’ve been doing with my future mother! She looked...”

_She looked?_ “You’ve seen your mother? The future’s Narcissa?”

“She was at the train station. With you, that’s why I didn’t point her out. But she...she looked the best I’ve seen her in _years,_ Hermione.” And that was her doing, how? Draco seemed rather insistent about it, panicked as he pressed, “And now she’s dropped at least a stone if not more since I defected. That’s what we’re sticking around for, Blaise noticed it too. He figures I’ll be making nutritive potion, and he was correct. That’s what I want your help with.”

Oh...oh the woman had looked rather worn, sharper angles to her features than what seemed healthy. “A stone?” Hermione breathed with the last bit of air her lungs managed to keep as the wind was knocked from them.

“That’s what happens when you haven’t eaten a proper meal in weeks.”

“Is she sick, do you think?” Maybe they should consult Pomfrey or- or see if the Order could send someone to check up on her, a healer. She’d had no pox or anything, or cough. She’d been rather pale though and-

“She’s been on a hunger strike.”

Hermione’s mouth worked, sound cracking off the back of her throat, unintelligible. “A- a _hunger strike?”_

Draco nodded. “She has to have permission from my father to do...most things. She’s only ever done this once before, when it's come to something she’s felt important.”

“Sh- permissi- what was so important she stopped-”

“Father wanted to send me to Drumstrang*, for schooling, initially. He doesn’t care for Albus Dumbledore’s administration, thought the man would give me ideas.”

“...about being out?”

Draco grinned at that, “About joining the side of the light. I suppose he’s duly disappointed his fears came to fruition,” he deflated then. “Mother stopped eating altogether for nearly a month before he would relent, then. And it doesn’t look that much different now.”

He just let her star- But she was his- Dad panicked if mum so much as skipped _breakfast!_

Her outrage was only minorly sidetracked by the fact that for some reason, Draco had been inspired to pull her into a hug, his arms around her shoulders, pulling her fiercely to his chest and squeezing tightly like he was trying to distract her. “ _Merlin_ , you two are a pair,” he complained.

Oh. Her hair felt bigger, like it’d taken on a bit of static, and she could feel magic vibrating just beneath her skin, tingling as it dissipated unreleased. She swallowed harshly, fists clenching at her sides. “Right, sorry. I’m okay,” she promised, and he released his hold. “You...you think that that, earlier was er...about me?”

“She just found out you’ve been getting near-leathally dosed Dreamless Sleep because Severus can’t be damned to treat his profession like it’s in the medical field. She only _told_ him _years_ ago he needed to specialize his potions for the student body after my magic had a reaction to how much hellebore syrup he puts in his c-” he stopped for a second, like he’d caught himself before he could say something too revealing. He sighed and finished, “calming draught. Needed it to sleep, Second Year.”

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione breathed, resting a hand on his forearm. “Because of the Heir thing?”

“Foolish, I suppose, I was hardly the one being hunted.”

“Maybe not by the Basilisk, but everyone assumed, well. You know. That...that can’t have been easy.”

“I thought for sure I was dead when you turned up Petrified,” he admitted, though he flinched at that, raising a hand to wrench at the back of his neck, nervous, “Sorry, you- I mean you were the one Petrified. I was just a jittery little shit, boasting to cover how scared shiteless I was, everyone thinking it was my doing and- and I’ve people I care about who aren’t exactly a hundred percent Pureblood and erm...I kept...having the sensation I was losing time, and forgetting things. Sometimes I’d wake up in bed and I wouldn’t remember how I got there. I was just as nervous as everyone else, thinking maybe I _was_ the Heir. Mother couldn’t _tell me_ I wasn’t, but she did get Severus to prescribe calming draught and uh, once he started brewing it so it wouldn’t break me out in hives and render me comatose, all that stopped.”

“Anxiety’s a real bitch huh?”

Draco snorted, “Watch it, _Miss_ Granger. Mother would never tolerate foul language in her class.”

Good to know, in the case of needing future detentions.

It was a little nerve wracking, Hermione was almost worried the woman herself would return to her classroom while they resumed using it for an unauthorized brew, but Draco snarked that he wouldn’t deign use the girl’s bathroom for brewing, and they could just leave their finished potion for his mother to find upon her return from disposing of his Godfather’s body. He said it so seriously...and Narcissa did not return during their brewing...so she was honestly a little nervous he just might be right.

They left three vials of nutritive potions and a draught of Invigoration safely warded on Narcissa’s worktable, and it took both of them casting but they were able to set the chalkboard to rights once more. Save with the addition of the set up of a hang-man game, Draco drawing the gallows and then six blank spaces for his word of choice, brushing his hands together as he stepped away to admire his handiwork before he cast on it so the board would know the answer, leaving it playable by his mother whenever she returned.

Dinner hour was well upon them when they made their way up to the Great Hall. Harry, Ron, Blaise and Goyle were all seated at Gryffindor, waiting for them. Well, they’d eaten already and Ron helped himself to thirds when they sat down next to Goyle since it would be ‘rude’ to have them eat alone. The fifth years were abuzz with _something,_ seeming riled tonight, and Ginny was seated near enough that she saw when they sat down and she got up, coming and pushing her brother further down, into Blaise as she squeezed between Ron and Harry to sit across from Goyle, Draco, and Hermione, absolutely eager to share, “Draco. Your mother is a badass and I think I’m in love.”

“You’ll have to get in line I’m afraid, she’s quite the array of admirers,” Draco drawled.

“I’m serious. If your father doesn’t treat her right? I will, holy...hell,” Ginny shivered.

“What’s brought this on?” Hermione wondered.

“She only came busting in, looking like some goddess of Wrath, Warrior Witch with a wand to weild, the last half hour of Defense! Snape was mid-lecture when she comes storming in, calls Snape a _heartless slaggard_ , and when he pointed out he was in the middle of class? She dismissed us! Like- I picked up my bag and booked it, holy _crap._ That woman can step on me. She can step on me, and _I_ would say _thank you.”_

“Merlin,” Ron complained over Harry’s laugh-laced, “ _Jesus_ Gin.”

“She can! I thought she was going to murder Snape! We could hear her shouting at him all the way down on the first floor! Something about being a thoughtless cad and how _dare_ he....something, something. Dunno. She was pissed though, it was great.”

It sounded as much, though Hermione worried when she looked to the Head of the Great Hall and saw the Potions Mistress wasn’t at table. Snape was, looking rather sallow like he was ill, and his entire demeanor speaking of being chagrined, not touching his food even as his plate sat full before him, nor was he speaking though that wasn’t entirely unusual. Was his mouth hexed shut or had the woman just really gotten to him and put him off his dinner? Both, possibly.

Seamus Finnigan was going to get _his_ mouth hexed shut if he wasn’t careful. He’d been scowling since Hermione and Draco sat down, but apparently seeing Ginny be so cheery and amicable with so many Slytherins joining them had him voicing the complaint, “So what, Harry? We’re just supposed to play nice with your pet snakes.”

“We’re not pet anythings, Finnigan,” Blaise returned.

“Lay off, Seamus,” Harry said, “Draco’s our friend, he’s going to be coming around and you’re just going to have to deal with either it, or me.”

“Yeah yeah, he defected, whatever. That doesn’t mean he can just start dragging his wanna-be death eater friends to crowd up our table. You can’t trust a Zabini farther than you can throw them, and Goyle might be missing half his brain without Crabbe around but he’s stil-”

“Hey!” Ginny snapped, shooting up from her seat and slapping her hands on the table. “Don’t go talking about brains, Finnigan, Merlin knows yours is worthless for anything other than blowing things all to hell! Zabini’s at least funny, and so what maybe his mother _did_ murder her husbands, what the hell else are you supposed to do with them? That’s just marriage goals in stuffy Pureblood society, honestly. And Goyle isn’t stupid, he’s quiet, like you should be. Keep complaining about snakes and I’ll give you snakes. Your trunk? Snakes. Taking a shower? Snakes. Bedtime? Nothing. But you’ll be up all night worrying, just waiting for something to come slithering around.”

“Jeeze, calm down, I was only-”

Ginny’s hair raised at that, “Calm down?” Hermione’s arms broke out in gooseflesh at the younger girl’s...perfectly sane sounding dark, cackling laughter. “Oh Finnigan. Finnigan, Finnigan, Finnigan. You don’t want me calming down. Because when I do?” she leaned further across the table, steadily meeting the Irish Wizard’s gaze, “It means I’ve done something.”

“Your sister’s a nutter,” Seamus quietly informed Ron, a bit of appropriately placed fear in his voice.

“Yeah she is,” Ron was proud to agree.

Seamus muttered under his breath, pushing up from the table and leaving in a huff. Ginny didn’t sit down though, she remained standing, facing forward to look at Goyle seated across from her.

“You shouldn’t just let people talk to you like that,” she said

The Slytherin boy shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me, what he thinks. If it had, ‘m more a man of action,” he quietly supposed,earning a smile from Ginny. “Thank you.”

She shrugged as she resumed her seat. “I’m Ginny, by the way.”

Goyle just nodded. “I know your name, Ginerva.”

...Ginny didn’t blow up at the boy for saying her given name. Not verbally, anyway, though her cheeks blazed red, a pleased glint in her eye as she rested her arms on the table and began carrying on a...seemingly one-sided conversation. The Slytherin boy didn’t say much but he did listen, intently, nodding and offering soft spoken replies when he found words necessary. Ron looked nothing short of horrified at the exchange.

Draco had pulled his journal out during their meal, whatever he read there he didn’t pen a response to, but he did make note of the time, casting _Tempus_ and saying, “I’ll walk you to detention, shall I?”

She snorted at his formality, “You shall,” she supposed, rising up from the table as Draco followed suit.

“Whoa wait!” Ginny halted them, “ _you_ got detention, ‘mione? For _what?_ ”

“I got into a bit of trouble with our new Potions Mistress,” Hermione confessed.

Ginny looked a little dazed at that. “Ohh... _lucky._ ”

She wasn’t sure how lucky she felt. She was beyond nervous as she and Draco made their way back down into the dungeons, she was still...the Narcissa she wrote with, she was...kind, teased her but always in a way that either sent her blushing or made her feel like she was at least in on the joke. She’d seen glimmers of that Narcissa in their Potions Mistress today, but she’d also seen her terrifying and murderous. And there was something in her that was scared, what if...what if this Narcissa _didn’t_ like Hermione very well, not as well as she apparently liked Hermione’s future self? Would that mean the future’s Narcissa would stop liking her too?

Though her trepidation melted in part when they entered the Potions classroom. It was empty save for Narcissa Malfoy standing before her workstation at the front of the class, carefully scanning several floating watchglasses before her that gleamed with Harry’s magic and taking down notes in some sort of ledger she didn’t look up from even as they entered. There was an empty bottle of nutritive potion alongside her work, and she’d downed the Invigoration draught both of which seemed to have helped, her complexion had a bit more color to it, her hair a bit shinier Hermione thought, but maybe that was just the light. Merlin, it was pretty. She had pretty hair! Hermione thought the same of Draco’s, mostly, though the golden cast of lamplight reflecting off of pallid locks didn’t inspire nervous fluttering in her chest, not in the Wizard’s case, anyway. 

On the board behind the working Witch, was the completed hangman puzzle, rather skillfully for all there was a repetitive guess using the same incorrect letter, three incorrect letters had caused the board to draw a circular head that bore two touching but opposing S shapes for hair, and an overly large angular nose. Crossed out on the board were the guesses of I d i, an accepted o, and t, along with the wholly filled out six blanks that spelled the word ‘tosser’.

“Ahh, I see you made swift work of that,” Draco said amicably.

His mother’s response was far from amicable. At least in tone. The woman cast wordlessly and then proceeded to shout, as if outraged, “It was a most clever bit of fun and I dearly enjoyed it, you precious boy!” before she looked up from her work, eyes glittering with pride and utter adoration as she smiled and oh, Merlin she was pretty, even as she yelled, “I am so proud of you, Dragon! You did so well today, I appreciate your assistance, your understanding in the part I must play! Now you come here, and you let me hug you this instant!”

Hermione was a little bewildered at her tone, confused but she hung back and gave them their privacy as Draco surged forward crossing the classroom to hug his mother, Hermione catching the woman pulling the boy’s head to her chest as she pressed her lips into his hair before she averted her gaze. Narcissa sniffled quietly, and Draco offered an angry sounding,

“I’m so glad you’re here mother but you must take care of yourself!” he insisted, perhaps truly upset with her, but no, Draco would take a gentler tone if he could...warding. Narcissa had warded the room for privacy, but...in some way that let anyone _trying_ to listen in hear only their volume and tone of speech, without the specifics of their words. Oh wow, that was clever. “I love you, and I’ve missed you and I’m so so sorry I couldn’t do more at my ceremony-” Draco was still yelling.

“Shush! Oh my love you were so brave, you did perfectly! Thank you, Dragon, for listening to me, for getting yourself to safety!” she refuted, and Hermione spared them a glance to see the woman pull back, carding a hand through her son’s hair, “I’m so proud of all you’ve done, Miss Granger has kept me well appraised and I’m always overjoyed to read her updates she-” her voice wavered a bit, it took effort to sound incised about, “she always thinks to write me of you.”

“Just what has Granger been writing about me?” Draco questioned.

“How well cared for you’ve been, your candor with- with our estranged family. What an excellent friend you’ve become with your former enemies!”

“Good! There’s...there’s something you should hear I don’t much care for yelling!” Draco informed her, and she nodded as he pulled her close again and spoke quietly into her ear. Something that freshened the woman’s tears and had her raising a hand to her mouth to quiet a pleased sound in her sob as she looked to Hermione like- like she’d done something wonderful, oh Merlin. This Narcissa liked her just fine.

The woman whispered something back to her son, carding a hand through his hair once more before pressing a kiss to his forehead, and then he nodded, taking hold of his mother’s hands as he kissed her on the cheek. He stilled momentarily as he pulled away, raising her hands for closer examination.

“You aren’t…” he shook himself, chuckling nervously even as he continued on more quietly, “I suppose it isn’t prudent to wear when dealing with potions.”

“Yes, it is indeed. Any other reason, I am incapable of speaking to at present, Dragon.”

Draco looked a little winded at that. What was going on? He looked from his mother, to Hermione, and then back again, an action that for some reason sent the older Witch blushing and averting her gaze from her son who softly said, “Well I hope it's settled soon.”

“As soon as I’ve the ability to Draco, you will know all you wish to,” his mother promised. And then, in severe tones she railed, “Now! I must insist you depart and have a most pleasant evening! Miss Granger and myself will dedicate her detention to the study of occlusion, for at least the next few hours!”

Draco nodded, heading for the door and shouting over his shoulder, “I’ll just leave you to it then! Do send for me when your lesson concludes and I’ll see you safely back to Gryffindor!” he yelled at Hermione, who caught him by the arm on his way past.

“Here,” she softly whispered, handing him a handkerchief from her bag. Something spelled for drying tears and clearing away signs of having been crying and she knew Harry and Ron at least were following after to walk Draco wherever he needed to go, after he had a moment with his mother. They wouldn't care outside the realm of making him feel better but he would hate if they saw. His eyes were a touch bloodshot, rimmed in red that cleared as he dabbed at them before handing the handkerchief back, though she motioned for him to keep it. She wasn’t sure if he had any of his own on hand, though he did know the most marvelous spell that conjured one temporarily, but this was something useful he could keep.

She wasn’t certain which was more startling. The fact that Draco regarded her with quiet intensity before pecking a swift kiss to the peak of her cheek?

Or the fact that the moment the door was closed behind him there was another wave of privacy wards washing over the room, the brisk, determined _click-click-click_ of heels as their Potions Mistress closed the distance and _wrapped her arms_ around _Hermione._ Holding her fiercely, a hand resting on the crown of her head, lips against her hair speaking in hushed tones even as Hermione was absolutely certain not a sound would make it through the woman’s wards.

“Fifty points to Gryffandor. For incredible kindness, unflinching acceptance of a friend who has confided in you a long kept secret about his identity. For comforting my son in the face of his self-degradation upon seeing how changed his magic is, plying truth in the face of lies he was so ready to believe. For bearing with me through necessary unpleasantness as I navigate this mission. _Thank you,_ Hermione,” she said softly, sniffling as she pulled away, brushing a lock of Hermione’s hair back to tuck behind her ear before she cleared her throat, and released her hold. “Forgive me, I forget myself. I had many fears about today, and you abated a great many of them, Miss Granger.”

“I just played along,” Hermione shrugged, “you’re the one conducting a dangerous mission. You said you were going to explain tonight?”

Professor Black blinked at that, “I did?”

“The future’s Narcissa,” Hermione amended.

“Ahh. I appreciate myself for...leaving it to me…”

“I don’t think about it too much, personally I find it helps if I refer to my future self as ‘she’ and ‘her’, it’s less…”

“Perplexing, yes,” the Professor shook her head. “I haven’t...I’ve precious little clue just how we’ve wound up in this situation, Miss Granger, I was hoping perhaps you might, and could enlighten me?”

“I...understand the mechanics of _how_. The ‘why’ is a little bit beyond me though, I’m afraid,” she offered, apologetic.

The older Witch softened at that. “Do not fret it, Miss Granger. Whatever light you can shed on the issue will be dearly appreciated,” she warmly assured. It was nothing at all like her demeanor in class. in fact...well it was a great deal like her journaling with the Future’s Narcissa, which...she supposed made sense. Perplexity aside, they were one in the same person. Still, even that was a great deal different from how Hermione had expected Lady Malfoy to be, when they first began writing. She should have realized it was Narcissa Malfoy journaling her from the very first entry, but no, it took days to come to terms with the conclusion because it had just been so...baffling, this woman working with her in the future, writing to her now and with so much friendliness she felt like just that—a friend. “Now, are you prepared to begin?”

Hermione nodded. “We’ll be working in here then? Or your office?”

“The Room of Requirement would be best for now. I would prefer there be no lingering traces of our magic acting in this way to be detected should someone come snooping about. Too...a part of what makes concealing thought easier, making it most secure, is compartmentalization. If we have only ever conducted these lessons in a single place, and that is all that place is used for, it can be…” she trailed off as she considered how best to describe it.

“A separate file all its own,” Hermione said, complementing, “oh, that makes sense, yes, it’s...well it’s rather brilliant, actually.”

“Yes, exactly. Very good, Miss Granger,” the woman nodded, and then she called, “Mister Dobby! Would you join us please?”

“Dobby?” Hermione asked, confused.

“Well Miss Granger I cannot rightly escort you all across the castle without someone noticing. You are expected here in detention, and my classroom is warded for privacy, none will realize we’ve left if we come and go from here.”

“Professor I- I don’t quite understand,” she confessed.

“Dobby is here!” Dobby announced in the same moment the _pop!_ Of his Apparation did. “Dobby is ready to take Professor Black and Miss Hermione Granger wherever they is Requiring,” the Elf seemed to be making an effort at a pun. But Elves couldn’t-

“The Room of Requirement is built on rules*, to my understanding,” Narcissa said, “a user must prepare the room with very specific ramifications, and spare themselves any dangerous loopholes. Which means loopholes can be left, intentionally, can they not? The room is already prepared for us, my dear Jinsey has seen to that, a requirement she gave the room, is its allowance that we are permitted to enter, and Dobby being capable of apparating us within his privilege to do so as an Elf on staff at Hogwarts.” 

“...really?” Hermione questioned somewhat doubtfully. That was quite a lot of stretching to take on faith. Side-along was a thing, and Elves were capable of it but would Hogwarts really permit them to move in the castle like that, as long as it was Elf-powered? It was either the most brilliant bit of magical manipulation or they were in for a nasty time clashing with powerful wards and best case scenario in that instance was they definitely got splinched.

The Professor stepped closer and began brushing back her hair again, making a bit of play with the curl she tucked behind Hermione’s ear, holding Hermione’s gaze as she promised, “I would do nothing whatsoever that might put you to harm, Miss Granger. You are most absolutely safe in my care,” she assured in a way that felt...very intense, like the words themselves held true gravity, fields that pulled and placed. “And I have already tested this theory myself, just a few hours ago. It worked rather seamlessly, as I expect it will now.”

“Dobby would not be doing anything that would harm Harry Potter’s friend!” Dobby piped up cheerfully, the Professor looked bemused to have his promise following her own.

“I’m your friend too, aren’t I Dobby?” Hermione wondered. She worried about that, if Dobby was upset with her the way the other House Elves were over S.P.E.W. she knew...she realized perhaps she’d been going about it too aggressively with them, she couldn’t trick them into freeing themselves. As wrong as the system of abuse was, a great many of them were conditioned to _like it_ , they found their purpose in the way things are. They needed...un-conditioning? To come to the realization that they deserved better, before they would _want_ better. Dobby was still the only one who would clean their common room, that spoke to him not entirely hating her, but she also got the feeling, being a House Elf meant he could serve her pleasantly enough while harboring disdain. 

“Oh, Hermione Granger is being Dobby’s friend, yes! Of course!” the House Elf assured. “Miss Jinsey is being waiting for Mistresses, if they is being ready to depart,” he said...almost bashfully. His cheeks and ears tinged with green when he spoke of ‘Jinsey’. Awe! The sweet little House Elf that came ‘round to check on Draco a few weeks ago.

“Well we shouldn’t keep her waiting,” Hermione supposed. “She’s a very pretty Elf,” she offered, almost teasing the blushing House Elf who only blushed further at her words, twisting his body side to side as he clasped his hands before him, ears drooping a bit as if he were suddenly very shy.

“Oh Miss Jinsey is being the most beautiful House Elf,” he agreed, informing the Witches, “Her smile is making Dobby feeling as if he is made of golden sunlight,” oh Merlin! She’d struck a poetic chord with the House Elf, obviously, “even though that is not being the case. Dobby is just being made of organs and tissues. And magics!” Oh. Well, yes, that was true.

Professor Black had a hand over her mouth, eyes alight as a fit of giggles bubbled from her lips oh, that- was that adorable? It sounded adorable and Hermione had the most bizzare urge to see to it that it happened again. “Oh, very good, Mister Dobby. Would you do us the favor of escorting us, please?”

“Oh yes!” Dobby readily agreed, and the Witches drew nearer the Elf who held out his hands and the Professor nodded, that Hermione should take both a hand from Dobby and the one older Witch extended to her.

In the blink of an eye they were…

...in the...Room of Requirement?

It was the Room unlike Hermione had ever seen it before. The walls and floors were awash in white marble, golden veins streaking through, six great golden pillars lining the room, their tops bearing gilded wreaths of leaves. Thick white candles cradled in silvery plates floated in an ascending spiral path that worked its way around each pillar, aiding the delicate crystal chandelier overhead in lighting the room, which was…smaller than usual, or at least it appeared as much. There was a round mahogany table, supported by a single column of four conjoined legs with thick lines of gold up each of their centers, two plush emerald green armchairs on either side, arranged before the most impressive difference she’d seen between what the Room presented now, and what it had been used for in the past. On the furthest most wall there was a large window, silken white drapes pulled to the side to reveal the view of…a sunny morning in Paris, if the Eiffel Tower was any indication.

“Is Mistress pleased with Jinsey’s Room? Jinsey worked to make it just as Mistress wanted!” a sweet, cheery voice greeted. Oh! Oh goodness! Jinsey was just the cutest! Hermione found herself repressing the need to squeal, absolutely delighted, smile wide as she looked between Narcissa and her House Elf! Jinsey was wearing an emerald green dress the very same color as Narcissa’s, long sleeved and skirted, high collar and everything, just as her Mistress’s was! Save for the single addition of a silken black ribbon that was cinched around the Elf’s waistline, and a black headband wrapped around the crown of her head behind her ears that bore a large black bow, shiny black flats strapped securely to her feet with silvery clasps.

“Yes Jinsey, you did perfectly, as I expected. Thank you my dear,” Narcissa said.

Jinsey preened under her praise, and then, “Oh!” she chirped, looking to Hermione, eyes as wide as saucers as she dipped a bit of a curtsey. “Mistress Granger! Jinsey is so much happiness to see you again!”

“Bonjour Jinsey,” she giggled out, playing along with the theme of the Room.

Professor Black let out a delighted gasp, rattling off with excitement, “Vous parlez français, Mademoiselle Granger? Merveilleux! Quand avez-vous appris?”

“…Où sont les toilettes?”

“Avez-vous besoin des installations?” the woman inquired, and then, “…you know two phrases in French.”

“The most important ones!” Hermione confirmed to the older Witch’s bemusement. “You look beautiful,” she encouraged the House Elf, “Your dress is very pretty.”

That sent the little Elf blushing and bashful, “Mistress is being adding to Jinsey’s secret wardrobe! Jinsey can be wearing them when Master is away, and at Hogwarts!”

“Oh!” The woman gifted her clothing which made the Elf free, didn’t it? “...Mister Malfoy isn’t aware you’re free,” she supposed, met with an eager nod from the Elf. “Well that’s very clever of you, keeping it such a secret.” Oh Merlin, it made her wonder why it required such secrecy, in that horrible way that she was able to feel secure in jumping to the conclusion that the man would possibly _truly_ murder his wife for having freed the Elf.

“Jinsey is a very clever Elf,” Narcissa was proud to assure. “Thank you dear, for all your work.”

“Jinsey is being guarding Mistress's classroom!” Jinsey announced, bouncing on her toes, raising her voice as she addressed the Room, “And the Room will be listening to Mistress while Jinsey is gone!” and then she looked to the other House Elf still standing between her Mistress and Hermione, “Can Dobby be being helping Jinsey?”

“Yes yes yes!" he was eager to agree, "Dobby can be helping Miss Jinsey, yes he can! If anyone is coming to Mistress’s classroom, Dobby will return and be bringing Mistress and Hermione Granger back!”

“Thank you, both of you,” Hermione said in the moment before the two Elves vanished from the Room. And then she wasn’t quite sure what to do, exactly. They were here to learn Occlumency, of course, but...well she was admittedly terrified. Harry had just the most awful experience with Snape. But Professor Black...Hermione believed she was safe. Which conflicted with what context she had for such lessons.

“Come along darling-” the woman had begun stepping forward toward the table but she stopped, catching herself it seemed. She offered a smile that...was pleasant, but struck Hermione as nervous. “I apologize, it...has become habit for me to call your future self as much, when we write, I did not mean to put you to discomfort.”

"Um...no discomfort here. You do already call me that, more often than my name, when we write.”

“Ahh,” she said, “well then, come along darling, do take a seat,” she invited, leading Hermione to the table and taking a chair for herself, smiling warmly when Hermione sat down across from her. 

She’d nearly forgotten, she realized. “Thank you, by the way. For the um, care package?” 

The older Witch arched a brow at her. “...care package?”

“The...y-you...your future self said you were responsible for the basket of things waiting for me when I got to Hogwarts.”

“Ahh, yes, good. I’d hoped you’d seen my gift basket...though yes care package, I find that terminology more appropriate,” the woman confessed. “You were...pleased?”

For some reason the older Witch’s earnesty to do as much made her blush, “Uh-huh, yeah, it was really nice of you. The shortbread and coffee are sure to power some great study sessions and the blanket is amazing, soft and the way it alters temperature based on preference is just brilliant. So, thank you, you really didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense, darling, it was the least I could do. I’m glad to hear it was of comfort,” the woman said with a warm smile, something that spoke to fondness, and then her hands flourished before the table and a porcelain tri-tiered plate stand appeared at the gesture, each section lined with a different sort of finger sandwich, though the top layer bore miniature tarts topped in raspberries. “Are you peckish at all?” she wondered.

“...how?” the Room couldn’t make food appear, she didn’t think.

“I asked Jinsey to prepare us a little something. We’ll be dealing with strenuous magic in these lessons so it is wise to have something on hand, even as we won’t necessarily be getting our hands dirty tonight…” she swallowed as she considered, “I may never have met your future self in person but we write often. I’ve occasionally been left to wonder if she eats as she should when she is busy, or nervous. It would be understandable if today left you as such, and at the very least, well, you may appreciate some dessert, have...I offended somehow, Miss Granger?” the Older Witch questioned, with some confusion as Hermione stared at her with open incredulity.

It was a private thing, what Draco shared with her, his mother’s need to...go on strike to get her way within the bonds of her marriage. She didn’t think he’d much appreciate her tattling that he’d told her about it, for all the Professor knew, he alone brewed the potions that had been left for her. Nor did she think the Professor would much care for the fact that her son _had_ shared such a thing. So she nodded and then stopped when she realized she might be affirming the wrong thing, “Sorry- I’m a little spacey right now I guess, yeah, no you haven’t offended I just…”she smiled, “everything looks great, thank you. You’ll join me?” she was plenty full from dinner but she accepted in the hopes the woman would be compelled to do likewise.

She did, to Hermione’s relief. Delicate crystal plates appeared before them, and a single flick of the Professor’s wand had two finger sandwiches and a tart floating onto Hermione’s plate, before repeating the action to fill her own, a third wand-flick summoning a bottle of wine and two wineglasses bearing lines of gold that drew gently floating rose petals falling on repeat across the glass.

“You’re not quite of Age for anything stronger than Butterbeer*, but this rendezvous is already our little secret,” the Older Witch offered with a bit of conspiracy and a wink as she poured Hermione a glass, “another shouldn’t hurt, I trust?”

“Oh Professor, I would absolutely report you to the Board,” Hermione teasingly assured, “but luckily for you, I am of Age,” she said, raising her glass, primed to take a sip once she concluded, “...and they might be a _bit_ more interested in how that came to be than your offering a grown Witch a glass of wine.” Oh, it was good. She wasn’t much for wine but this was very sweet, and tasted of cherries and something she recognized she just couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Vanilla, she would realize, once she tried a bite of tart.

“...I beg pardon? You...are the same age as Draco, are you not?” the Professor carefully inquired.

“I understand the mechanics of our future selve’s adventures with time travel, because I‘ve worked within those mechanics, Professor,” Hermione informed her. “I took nearly every available class my Third Year, a feat made possible by a Time Turner. Travel enough and you can age rather significantly, I’m well into seventeen, nearly eighteen because of the time I gained.”

Now the older Witch looked incredulous. “You...possessed the power of Time Travel and you...used it to conduct...a fuller courseload?” and when Hermione nodded, the woman’s eyes practically sparkled with her mirth as she raised her hand to her lips, turning away in her seat as to not be laughing directly _at_ Hermione. Giggling at first, and then losing herself to open laughter that seemed to rattle her a bit, like the act had taken exertion, though she was smiling, apologetic as she pressed a hand to her breastbone, over her heart, and faced Hermione once more.

“Oh my darling, you-” she shook her head, her smile only growing as she said, “you are absolutely a treasure, do you know that?” she sighed as if content. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

Somehow, as pleasantly as she’d voiced the question, it sounded all the more dangerous, and for the most ridiculous moment her mind went straight to- well the sort of nonsense Ginny had been on about before, detentions with the hopes of wildly inappropriate student-teacher conduct. She shook herself, gulping around the next sip of wine she took and offering up nervously, “O-oclusion lessons, I thought? Or would you care to discuss your mission, first?”

The woman considered it momentarily. “My mission, I think, while my mind is...as sharp as I can hope for just now,” she decided. “I must be cautious with my wording and I ask that you bear with me, Miss Granger. There will be some blanks you must fill in yourself.”

“Well, its a good thing I’m a bit of a hangman champion myself. Between the two of us, I think we’ll be fine,” she smiled at the bit of shared amusement. But in all seriousness, “Take your time, there’s no rush.” It wouldn’t do to have her accidentally break a vow or something, oh Merlin, if the woman had taken an Unbreakable one? The thought made her stomach turn, she nearly regretted the few bites of cucumber sandwich she’d taken.

“A student has been given a task that I am to supervise and offer guidance on. I will, of course, be reporting progress as I can through allowing Albus Dumbledore his spies on my activities. You may well be asked to be such a spy. If you are, you are not to refuse on my behalf, I assure you I am very much a part of the plot. I will also be doing my utmost to influence this student to abandon the task they’ve been given, should you be so inclined…” she grimaced. “They are not deserving of your compassions, but should you wish to...influence them...well. The most I ask is you not go out of your way to antagonize them in a way that will only push them further down the dark path they tred.”

“It’s not my go-to to antagonize people unless they’ve done something to deserve it, hurt people or mess with my friends.”

The woman nodded. “It is...my understanding this person has already invoked your wrath in this way,” she offered as if that were a hint. That could be Draco, honestly! Well, not as of late, obviously, but it very nearly was him, she supposed. This person, whoever they were was replacing-

Draco hadn’t invoked her wrath, but someone had in a way he was very much involved in.

“Pansy.”

The Witch didn’t confirm or deny that, save for something that spoke of pride and approval in her gaze, though that morphed into outright concern as the woman reached out across the table, Hermione...well she didn’t much think about it, she just gave the woman her hand which she held fast and intoned,

“I am required to be of a measure of assistance to this person. You cannot speak in my presence of any plans to foil them, nor can- Miss Granger, should you be assigned to monitor the situation, you mustn’t let me catch you in the act. You _mustn’t_. Is that clear?”

Hermione had to find her voice to assure, “Crystal.”

She looked so relieved at that, taking a deep breath she released slowly and controlled through her mouth before she sat back, releasing hold of Hermione’s hand. “Very good, Miss Granger. Now...Occlusion,” she moved right along. “What do you know of the practice?”

“Honestly? Um...not much. What I heard from Harry’s lessons was just…” disturbing, “nonsensical.” Snape should be fired, honestly.

“He’d lessons with Severus, yes?” and when Hermione nodded, the woman scoffed. “Pathetic. The man is a brilliant Occlumens, and he taught Draco very well, but of course, with Mister Potter,” she sighed, as if frustrated. “Well. Our lessons will be a great deal different from theirs, I can promise you that. I will never violate your mind, Miss Granger, not as he would, never.”

“Isn’t...isn’t that the point though? You have to at least try to er...attack my mind, right?”

“We will test your ability to keep intruders out, certainly, but it would never be- Miss Granger did you come here under the impression you would be mentally assaul-” oh, the woman blanched at that, looked utterly horrified. Hermione’s arm still rested on the table and the older Witch leaned forward once more, grasping hold of Hermione’s forearm as she insisted. “Never, Miss Granger. _Never_ abide mistreatment of your mind. If _anyone_ lays assault upon you in such a way, even if they do so in claims of instruction, perhaps _especially_ when they do so in claims of instruction, you are to extract yourself from that situation as swiftly and safely as possible and you are absolutely to report them, to an authority figure, and most certainly to myself. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” Hermione promised.

The woman’s hold relaxed as she did, and her thumb brushed an apologetic path along the reachable width of Hermione’s forearm when she realized she’d had quite the grip on her arm. “Very good, Miss Granger. Now...there is something you must understand before we proceed. I…” she seemed to need a moment, like she was preparing herself for what she was about to say rather than needing to gather her thoughts. “I am a born legimis, Miss Granger. My first memory is that of my father’s mind,seeing his thoughts when I was but a babe. It is something...I do naturally, without thought or effort. If I am not careful, I find myself seeing the surface thoughts of those I interact with. I say this to explain that the mental magics, they are things I’ve never had to learn. They come naturally to me, I was born with an understanding of them I needn’t obtain. Which means I was never taught, and even on the occasion I was afforded session with a skilled Occlumens to further my abilities...well it is difficult to learn something you already know. But learning…” she seemed to search for her explanation then.

“Is the best catalyst for teaching,” Hermione believed.

Narcissa offered a small smile, nodding. “But not the only. This will be...a learning experience for us both, I believe. The best way I know how to proceed is to allow you entry to my mind so you might see exactly what it is I do, to Occlude. Once you’ve the appropriate context, the ability to form knowledge-based assumptions from which you can ask questions or for guidance, I may be able to more adequately teach you to replicate my abilities in yourself. Is that sound?” 

Hermione nodded, she supposed so. She certainly wasn’t any more knowledgeable on how to proceed either, so she trusted the woman’s intuition. Though, “You- you just- you can just casually legilmise people?”

“I do my best to offer those I make acquaintance with their privacy, but there is a level where its happening is rather out of my control. It requires a bit of closeness, and too, it happens most powerfully when I am making direct eye contact with a person I am engaging with. If…” she cleared her throat, “if you are concerned I’ve done as much with you, I will confess that I have. I did not mean to invade your privacy, but it was albeit beneficial. I didn’t expect-” she looked truly pleased so she couldn’t have seen something terrible or embarrassing Hermione hoped. “My...apparent cruelty toward Draco for calling me ‘Mother’ in class sparked a great deal of outrage on my son’s behalf in you. When I returned my attention to you it was there in the forefront of your mind, your concern for Draco having endured such unpleasantness, that I had just hurt and embarrassed and reviled him, anger at me for having done so. Your emotions on the matter made it seem as if you may have believed my role playing to be genuine, seeing as much in your mind gave me insight to offer sign that all was well and truly fine.”

Oh! “You used Sign Language,” Hermione said, “you know it?”

“I might,” the woman supposed as if amused at the prospect. “Myself, not much. But your future self has written that I am currently accepting tutelage in the British language of Signs, when I made question of how her day was faring. Upon explanation of just what it was, I thought perhaps a few signs you would be familiar with...might well come in handy for covertly conveying conspiracy,” her eyes were gleaming with mirth as she questioned, “Was it the bit of pun, or the alliteration that delighted you so much, Miss Granger?”

Oh, she was smiling pretty big she supposed, “Both,” she said, “though it mostly...it makes me happy to hear your future self has taken an interest in Sign, it’s-” she shrugged. Gosh, she missed Jessie, Sara too. She hoped they were all doing alright, she worried about Mister Whitaker this time of year. “I think it's wonderful you want to make yourself more accessible to people who might struggle with spoken language."

The Older Witch nodded slowly, as if considering. "I'll admit I've only requested instruction on how to sign 'fine' and 'danger'. You were kind enough to explain and make the most delightful attempt at drawing example-"

"I'm not an artist!" Hermione defended, blushing fiercely.

The woman was grinning, words thicker as she spoke with laughter in her voice. "Aren't you? Why I hadn't a clue. And here I found your manipulation of negative space both innovative and transcendent."

"It must have been," Hermione primly agreed, her put-upon air of insult invoked a soft peal of huffed laughter to rise from the woman's chest, shoulders shaking a bit. "It was good enough to teach you to accurately Sign."

"It was," her Professor warmly agreed. "I...confess I noticed you doing something with your hands while addressing Mister Potter on the distinction between _inter_ and _intra_."

Hermione nodded. Harry had given her permission to discuss it with Professors she felt confident in confiding in. "I...you can use it to give me detentions if you want but I help Harry in class. I do usually make something of a transcript of lectures so he can read over them later in case he's missed something or gotten confused and they're great for study materials. He knows a few signs, the Alphabet at least, so I can correct things like that in the moment. Sometimes he just doesn't register that there's something to hear, or he'll mix sounds or understand words out of order in a sentence."

"I...will only assign detention if you fail to give me something else to work with. Conspiracy or no I wouldn't wish to shame Mister Potter or bring unwanted attention to the issue," and then, confused and contemplative, "I _did_ cast my glance through my student files before taking to the laboratory today. I saw no mention of this outside the realm of- well there have been noted complaints of his confusions or what has been described as his 'not paying attention'."

"Mmm yeah. Ye _p,_ " Hermione ground out as her fists clenched on the tabletop, a little 'pop' to the word. "I help to tutor a few students in Arithmancy, and I'm part of different study groups and-. Well, there are other students who have learning disabilities, but I find...only Muggleborn or Muggle-raised students are the ones with proper diagnosis, _if_ they were diagnosed before their attendance at Hogwarts. Some professors take note, but I don't...I don't think Hogwarts as a whole keeps tabs on such things which is a _little_ infuriating. There should _be_ a system in place, a way for students to disclose and have their needs known by their professors, not just- just going to a Professor in a class you struggle in and trying to _convince them_ you've a legitimate disadvantage and hope they both believe you and actually try to be mindful of it. I helped a Second Year with dyslexia get caught up in Potions last year, _we_ figured out the issue to begin with, they'd chalked it up to being stupid. They disclosed to Snape and- well he wasn't exactly helpful." He mocked them for the rest of the school year! As if they were making the condition up!

That had the present Potions Mistress taking in a sharp, deep breath she held in her chest, nails clicking against the tabletop as she thrummed her fingers momentarily before clearing her throat and gently assuring, "If you would be so kind as to encourage this student to disclose to me I do promise there will be a more appropriate reception. Thank you, Miss Granger for bringing this matter to my attention, I'd hoped for an improvement in this regard, from the dismal state of things when I myself was a student. Now that I am in a position as Professor…" she cleared her throat, "well. I'll certainly be having words with the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. You said you and this student had to figure their diagnosis out on your own power? Is Poppy Pomfrey unqualified to render as much?"

"I don't think so? She's understanding about matters of mental health, she just isn't...knowledgeable about mental disability? Harry had to pop over to St. Mungos for diagnosis, they devised a test where they had a legimis speak with him while monitoring his mind, they knew well what they were saying and they saw how he was hearing it differently from time to time. Any resource I've used to help decipher what's what with someone I tutor has been non-magical. The closest thing I've found on the contrary was mention of a famed Cursebreaker with synesthesia, and they didn't even call it that, though it _was_ an older, Historical text," she allowed. But _still_ the claims were a little ridiculous "He was considered 'touched by Merlin' for his unique understanding of wards and curses as his condition had him see color in relation between curses and their counters which made him unbelievably fast at his work. He'd little to no understanding of _how_ many of the Curses worked or even what they _did_ , his mind just processed their names or their magic with a color and then when he found an incantation that prompted his mind to produce the same, he'd fire it off and problem solved. Oh! Sorry, that's not- I have a tendency to ramble just- I know we're being friendly now but feel free to just tell me to shut it if I'm nattering on about something unimportant."

Oh dear, the woman looked truly annoyed at that, she even gave off a derisive sound when Hermione’s hands fell into her lap as she shrank back, abashed. She hadn’t meant to go off on a tangent, they were here for a purpose and surely the Professor had better things to do with her evening. “Do cease being so utterly ridiculous,” she ordered sharply, “nothing would please me more than to hear your thoughts on any topic your mind brings to bear. Do not apologize for merely expressing exuberance. I’ve certainly no complaint.” Oh, that had Hermione looking up, meeting the older Witch’s eye. It was the Professor that seemed to shy, averting her softening gaze as she tenderly confessed, “This is truly the most pleasant conversations I have had in...quite some time.”

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. The first thing that came to mind was the validation, of course Lucius Malfoy was incapable of having something resembling amicable conversation with his wife, Merlin he was an utter _toerag_ of a husband. Oh, the Professor had looked up again and- well, she was fairly certain her thoughts had been available to her, if the way the older Witch smirked and then her cheeks pinked a bit as she averted her stare again like she’d truly hadn’t meant to invade her privacy. It wasn’t like her thought had been very polite, more so she decided to go with, “I’m glad you’re here then.”

“As am I,” she supposed.

“Um...I do get it, legilimency being a birth power. It’s like how Harry can hardly help talking to snakes, if there’s a snake directly in front of him, he’s going to speak in Parseltongue whether he wants to or not. Put a mind directly before you, there’s a good chance you’ll see something and that isn’t your fault. I’m not going to be upset with you for, you know,” she shrugged, “something that’s a part of you.” Too, “We’re in a situation where yeah, we can’t always speak forthrightly. Now that I know you can see things at the forefront of my mind, should the need arise, I’ll know I can communicate to you that way.”

She suddenly wished she’d some affinity for legilimency, the woman was staring at her very intensely like...well it almost seemed like she was upset about something, something somehow sad and deciphering in her gaze.

“That is…” the Professor cleared her throat, “thank you, Miss Granger. That is...both kind and clever.” And then, “I do assure you, you’ve my utmost confidence, I would never share anything I might inadvertently see, nor would I shame you, even if you are aware of my ability, thoughts are meant to be private things, you should have absolute freedom within your own mind,” she intoned. “Thankfully that is what we are here to secure.”

Hermione nodded. “Occlumency, right, thank you, Professor.”

“I-” her mouth worked momentarily, before she carefully questioned, “I would not put you ill at ease, but I wonder if it would be a discomfort if perhaps, when we are not in class or the company of others, you could consider calling me Narcissa?” oh, she looked amused then, a bit of laughter in her voice as she smiled, “I’ve merely requested you use my given name, darling, not fly the Pitch in a state of déshabillée.”

“That’s definitely not in my vocabulary.” Her name or whatever déshabillée was, at least not in French.

“I’m certain I would enjoy teaching you, then,” the older Witch assured with some mirth, eyes alight with it as she smirked. For some reason it made Hermione blush, she felt...like something was going over her head that she could perceive, but not quite catch.

“...you want to teach me French?”

“I would teach you anything you cared to learn from me.”

That only made the blushing worse and she was definitely mindful to keep her gaze from the Older Witch’s, as somehow that sent her mind straight to the gutter. Well, perhaps ‘straight’ wasn’t the appropriate term. Oh Merlin. “French might be, er, useful. I do enjoy learning new languages,” she supposed, worrying at her lip and fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve before saying, “So long as you’re sure...and you call me ‘Hermione’, I- I can call you by your name.”

The woman raised a brow at that, “Can you?”

“Narcissa,” Hermione amended.

“Very good, Hermione. In order to conduct our lessons a certain closeness is required, it would be foolish to allow something like formality to stand between us and progress,” she breezed, rising from her seat, drawing nearer to offer Hermione her hand, “Come, we should situate ourselves more appropriately for the task at hand.”

Two plush, circular blue pillows appeared on the floor. Apparently ‘appropriate situating’ meant seating themselves on the floor, criss-cross applesauce—that was the appropriate term, she insisted to the Professor when she seemed bemused at Hermione calling it that—close enough that their knees touched, which somehow felt more intimate than when the Older Witch splayed her hands before her, instructing Hermione to meet them with her own.

“Match your breathing to my own and do try your best to relax. We will begin with direct contact both physical and with our eyes, allow me a moment and I will make way for you to enter my mind. When I close my eyes, you are to follow suit.”

“Yes, Pr- er, Narcissa.”

“Very good.”

It was a little hard to relax, sitting so closely and staring directly into each other's eyes, it made her nervous, truth be told. But after a moment she...acclimated, it didn’t feel quite so strange, and then Narcissa closed her eyes, Hermione only just remembering instruction to do the same.

For a moment she thought she’d utterly failed to follow the simple direction, as she closed her eyes it felt very much like she’d opened them wide to take in the sight of...not the Room of Requirement, it couldn’t do anything like this, she didn’t think. There was a split second where she had the sensation of being rushed down a corridor, it felt like she was surrounded by stone, pale light leading the way as wisps of sound echoed off the walls.

_“...worthless waste of a Witch-”_ rasped a cold, harsh woman’s voice, that sent Hermione awash with _shame_ for some reason-

_“M-m-mommy! Daddy no!”_ a little boy’s voice _wailed_ with a blood-curdling scream, oh Merlin it made her feel sick, twisted her heart in her chest. _Voldemort’s voice_ came crooning on the tail end of the horrible sound, replacing it with an even worse one, _“Shhh, oh you disgusting mutt. You and your parents are nothing more than a blight meant to be eradicated. Be silent,”_ the boy’s whimpering was cut off like his voice had been ripped away from him, _“and_ watch.”

_“You’re lying to me Cissy!”_ cackled- was that Bellatrix’s voice? She felt the briefest moment of all-consuming agony and then-

_“...your one purpose and you rid yourself of the ability to do even that much,”_ Lucius’s voice sneered, _“you’re undeserving the title of mother, why you cling to it for that ingrate, that worthless whelp you produced?”_ he let out a derisive scoff. _“Perhaps I should be grateful if_ that _was the best you had to offer.”_ She just felt _cold_ and _empty_ , like she was steeling herself from feeling something more painful.

_“It looks like I’m an idiot who strayed too close to evil,”_ Draco’s voice. Oh there was the heart twisting again. And she was so tired and anxious and under so much strain-

_“It looks like marble, and it means that you’re brave.”_ Her own voice. And somehow that made her feel like her entire being had been submerged in soothing balm, heart untwisting as it swelled-

And then the stone was gone, the voices with it, and she was standing with her hand in Narcissa’s, surrounded by warm, brilliant sunlight pouring over a massive garden bursting with life, bushes full of large blossoming flowers and fruit-bearing trees, and birdsong.

Narcissa was standing before her then, taking both of Hermione’s hands in hers as she took in a shuddering breath, “Are you alright, Darling? I- I apologize, I had to bring down my defenses to allow you such close entry, I did my best to keep the worst of my subconscious at bay but-”

She fell silent when Hermione’s arms wrapped secure around her neck as the younger Witch caught her breath. That was...mostly painful, awful stuff, things Narcissa lived through, lived with. She wasn’t sure what to do other than...press on, do her best to make it lighter. The last thing the woman needed was guilt or shame, embarrassment at Hermione having seen private pain. “I’m alright. Everything’s alright, Narcissa,” she said, promised. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wondered at that, feeling so physically even as they were just thought, existing someplace in Narcissa’s mind. She pulled away, smiling as she took the woman’s hand and looked around, “I mean how could it not be? This place is incredible, is it...real, somewhere?” she wondered. Were they in a memory?

Narcissa’s stare screamed her relief momentarily before something wistful entered her expression, “Perhaps someday,” she supposed, “for now, it serves as my mental center. This is my central image. It is both the base of my Occlusion, and the last line of defense from outside influence.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione complimented.

“Thank you darling. Now, come along,” she said, linking arms with Hermione setting a leisurely pace as she escorted her through the garden, leading her to one of the more sinisterly beautiful places her mindspace had to offer. In the midst of it all there was a rosebush bearing beautiful blossoms of silken black petals. “Pay attention and do not be alarmed, darling. I am in absolute control, and you are perfectly safe.” Hermione nodded and watched carefully as Narcissa moved to take a petal between her fingers. She did not pluck it, but she focused on it rather intensely for all of an instance before-

_Do not be alarmed_ had been precious little preparation for everything to be enveloped in utter darkness, thick and black, all-consuming, she felt like she disappeared entirely, all she was was now a part of this void where everything was still and silent.

She saw the ghostly pool of smoke floating over the black, within its confines was the image a small, pink baby with a single tuft of hair gleaming with gold as he wailed his welcome to the world, arms handing him to ones that cradled him like he was the most delicate, precious thing in all existence. _“He’s perfect my dear,”_ a kindly elder woman’s voice echoed in the black.

Several pools of smoke appeared one by one, each intricately placed to overlap and interlock. Images of meals and benign snippets of conversation bouncing about in the dark. Girlish giggling, the image of a young Andromeda Tonks giving chase through a marble corridor, a separate voice calling gaily, _“I’m going to catch you, Cissy!”_ a child Narcissa crying,

_“Bella, no brooms!”_ she giggled and then squealed, the perspective of that pool swiveling as the girl was swept up in an arm and pulled higher to _fly_ down the hall.

Light flooded her vision as she opened her eyes, piercing pain behind her eyes as the Room of Requirement returned into view, ringing in her ears, the sound of something rattling violently.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to- did I mess that up?” she worried, wincing as she rubbed at her forehead.

“ _Fils de pute!”_ Narcissa hissed, scowling as her wand released into her hand from her sleeve, the spindly ebony thing vibrating like mad until she muttered something that stilled it. She took a deep breath, looking to Hermione, looking stricken as she shifted to sit forward rolling onto her knees, resting her unarmed hand on the younger Witch’s shoulder. “No darling, the blame is mine, I lost track of the time. I- I am so sorry, how badly are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a little headache,” Hermione said.

“Where were we before I showed you the layering of my faux wall of thought?”

Huh? Oh, “Your central image? Your garden.”

“What Signs do I know?”

“Your future self, I’m not sure. But you said you know ‘fine’ and ‘danger’.”

“And today’s date?”

“September 2nd, 1996.”

Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief. “You did very well tonight, Hermione. There is headache potion in the top furthest left drawer of my workstation, drink the full draught. If your headache persists darling you are to go to the Hospital Wing immediately. Draco will escort you to Gryffindor tower?” she checked and when Hermione nodded. “Very good...do tell him I ask that he be a treasure, won’t you?”

“S-sure?” Was...was she not coming back to her classroom?

“No my darling, unfortunately I must depart forthwith. I’m expected to return to the manor at the top of the hour, as it stands Jinsey and I will only just make it to the Apparation boundary in time,” she shook her head as if to cast the thought aside for now, “Do not trouble yourself but consider a central image for yourself if you’ve a mind to just-” she sighed, brushing Hermione’s hair back once more, “do feel better. Have you need of Dreamless Sleep? I will have draughts of your formulation made up before the week is out but if it is something you would seek to take sooner, I will have it-”

“Hey, everything’s fine,” the last time she’d taken it was after the attack at the Ministry and it left her with lingering sluggishness for days after, she honestly prefered toughing out nightmares. She’d not had any of note, as of late so it was definitely not a necessity. “I’ll do as you’ve asked. You should head for the boundary. Um...maybe Dobby can apparate you and Jinsey to the boundary? That should save you time.” When Narcissa opened her mouth, a refusal clearly at her lips, “It’ll take a second, and then he’ll come back for me. I’ll even pretend to leave your classroom in a huff in case anyone’s poking around.”

“Thank you, darling. I will have him back to you posthaste,” Narcissa vowed, and then a bit more firmly, “Mister Dobby? Jinsey and myself must take our leave, please bring her here.”

Dobby and Jinsey appeared in the blink of an eye, Jinsey snapping her fingers and her clothing was replaced by a sack cloth Elf uniform, her eyes wide with panic as she called,

“Mistress! Master is being expecting us returned to the Manor before-”

“Yes dear, if Mister Dobby would be so kind as to see us to the Apparation boundary, we can depart with time to spare,” Narcissa warmly assured as she rose to her feet, holding out a hand to her House Elf who rushed to her side, hiding her face against Narcissa’s skirt while the Witch rested a comforting hand on the back of her head.

“Dobby will be doing this, yes he will!” Dobby promised.

“You will return for Miss Granger immediately afterward,” she insisted, looking down at Hermione, “Can you stand, Hermione?”

Oh! Hermione nodded, surging to her feet. “Thank you for everything, be safe um, have a pleasant evening.”

“I have had one,” Narcissa assured. “Be well my darling.”

Dobby was swift to Apparate them away, and Hermione hoped the woman would be alright-

Her stomach sank into her shoes as her gaze fell on the table, Narcissa’s plate laden with untouched food. How had she not- she should have _seen_ the woman hadn’t-!

“Hermione Granger is to be being returned to the Potions classroom! The Room will right itself once we is being leaving! Hermione Granger’s friends is waiting for her!” Dobby’s voice sounded in the instant before she was Apparated into the dungeons again. Dobby snapped his fingers as if summoning something but nothing appeared and that seemed to perplex him. “Mistress is saying Hermione Granger has a headache.”

“She said there was draught in her desk drawer. Upper leftmost in her workstation.”

Dobby popped over to the Professor’s workstation, Hermione following after. The Elf grabbed a hold of the drawer handle and pulled to no avail, he began hanging from it, bracing himself with his feet against the table leg to push off so he could pull with the whole of his weight against the drawer that refused to budge. “Mistress has been warding it.”

Really? She didn’t think Narcissa would forget something like that, but the woman wasn’t exactly fueling her mind as of late! Still, it seemed strange she would instruct Hermione to do something she couldn’t. So she stepped around the workstation as Dobby dropped to his feet and and the drawer slid open with ease under her hand to reveal glittering bottles of potion. She downed one quickly to banish her building headache, pushing the drawer closed with a hip.

“Thank you for all your help tonight, Dobby.”

The House Elf’s eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at the drawer she’d closed before he snapped to attention. “Of course! Dobby is pleased to have helped Hermione Granger!”

“Have a good evening,” Hermione wished him. And then she swept from the classroom, letting the door slam behind her as she stepped into the hall.

Draco and Blaise stood in wait. Oh, to walk her back, and then Blaise would make sure Draco made it back to Slytherin unscathed. Prefect rounds wouldn’t start for them until their third night back, once they’d time to adjust to their schedules, which suited, Merlin she was knackered.

“How did it go?” Draco asked on the tail end of his casting to secure their privacy as they walked.

“Fine, it was detention, so,” she shrugged, keeping it vague with Blaise tagging along.

“She run you ragged Granger?” Blaise teased.

“Flobberworm puss doesn’t extract itself,” she drawled, the Wizard’s nose wrinkling in disgust. He didn’t try to strike up further conversation beyond that, there was some kind of look that Draco gave the other boy to signal him to stay back once they neared the entrance for Gryffindor tower.

“Was it...how did it go, really?” Draco worried.

“It was fine, great really, I learned a lot,” she thought she had, anyway. About Narcissa and Occlusion. “I’m just tired. We got cut a bit short, she’d an alarm set that broke our concentration while she was showing me how to layer memories,” she explained. Oh, “Um, your mother asked that I tell you to be a ‘treasure’.”

Draco stared at her, gaze assessing for a moment before he nodded. “Do you need anything at all before I leave?” he asked. She shook her head, “Alright. Well, get some rest. Don’t let Potter or Weasley keep you up, go straight for bed. I’ll make sure they’re up for breakfast.” Oh, she could sleep in a bit then, if she didn’t need to. “Actually...I understand it’s terribly crass to invite oneself in but there’s something I need to ask Harry.”

…that sorted. Draco intercepted Ron and Harry in the common room, she was able to send them a quick wave before heading up the stairs, leaving him to his questions.

...she kept almost waking up, in the night. She’d barely changed for bed before she fell into it. Someone pulled the covers more securely over her at some point. She ultimately woke to Ginny sitting on the edge of her bed, gently shaking her awake. “‘Mione? Draco sent me up to check on you again. You okay?”

Hermione shook herself, sitting up. “Yeah,” she nodded, she did feel a lot better having slept. “...again?”

“Draco told Harry and Ron who told me, you weren’t feeling well, that someone was to check on you and make sure you were okay. Kellah checked on you once, and then I did a little later. Now I’m back to make sure you feel like breakfast?”

... _do tell him I ask that he be a treasure, won't you?_

Well, after all these years it was confirmed. Draco Malfoy _was_ a sleeper agent, and his trigger-word was ‘treasure’, apparently, it sent him on a mass worrying spree. That was...sweet but unsettling, that Narcissa had some sort of passphrase with her son that meant...well between them it probably meant he was to make sure she’d survived the night or something. Oh. She supposed that’s what it meant here, too, still. It was more than worrisome. She worried about Narcissa all morning.

Until she got to breakfast, at least.

Professor Black was seated at the Head Table...in the far left corner, where _Snape_ usually sat. He didn’t today, he arrived just a moment after Hermione and friends entered the Great Hall, the man’s mouth curling in a scowl as he breezed past his former seat, to take the available one directly beside it, where the DADA teacher traditionally sat.

Narcissa smirked with an air of victory, meeting Hermione’s gaze as she took a bite of toast.

* * *

  
  


There was a strange sort of relief to be found in the dread of returning to the Manor. It was tri-fold—she had indeed returned within the bounds of her... _curfew_ , Lucius could not be detected within their domicile, _and_ she could go to bed. Sleep had been her only reprieve as of late, that and...well, she found comfort in her communications with the Future’s Hermione. But she was reticent to reach out to the younger Witch needlessly, and there were times she sounded busy. She was never short, merely apologetic that it had taken her time to get back with her when Narcissa wrote and her message lacked the urgency of an emergency that asked that the girl drop everything and address her. She hoped her time with the Present’s Hermione supplied answers for the Future’s, quelled any concerns or upset she might have over Narcissa’s recent secrecy. It had been necessary, she hadn’t been at all certain her role at Hogwarts would come to fruition, but she’d had to work to remain within the Dark Lord’s...graces, such that they were. It was only his will on the matter that had Lucius relenting in his stance that morning. She’d been preparing to make arrangement to Astral Project to fulfill her role, when he so casually informed her she would be permitted to leave the Manor, like the thought was all his own. Of course he did this at the very last possible moment and relished in how that sent her scrambling to handle her day in person. But it had inevitably been an act of kindness, even if he’d not meant it as such. She’d been afforded the opportunity to _hug_ her child, feel the breath that carried his words as he whispered his newfound confidence in- oh, in being precisely the perfect, precious person that he is, accepting his sexuality. That he’d done as much under the care...somewhat through the care of Hermione, that she’d created a space where he felt safe to confide that fact in her and she’d done nothing but validate and cheer him.

She’d gotten to meet with the Present’s Miss Granger in person, had been able to convey her gratitude. Oh, it had gone so well, better than she’d feared it might. She’d been almost...there had been a part of her, cowardice, where she’d almost hoped Lucius would forbid her leaving the Manor, that she would have to conduct her initial meeting with Hermione through Astral Projection, that they would be magically incapable of entering Narcissa’s mind, and their lesson could be dedicated entirely to introductions, discussing their plans and...well, anything the young lady wished to speak of her with. She’d feared, irrationally, an...incompatibility with the present’s Hermione after how well she felt she got on with the future’s. It was such a delight she...felt certain that the universe at large would notice Narcissa Malfoy being much too happy about something in her life, and allow the other shoe to drop, squash her every hope of knowing the future Hermione Granger by having their relationship die with the present’s. But no, she’d been just as delightful in person, in the present. She was kind and earnest and...she had seen such ugliness in Narcissa’s mind, her mind had to be lain bare, her faux-wall deconstructed and her central image left vulnerable in order to in order to bring the younger Witch there, it sent her subconscious forward, expanding into the space her faux-wall usually took up once it was out of the way, she’d tried to pull her through as swiftly as possible without putting the younger Witch to danger, it was a delicate thing to be guided through a person’s mind. But Hermione had merely...felt compelled to hug her, for whatever she’d seen and heard, something that felt like comfort, not pity or shame.

Oh, if she were capable of throttling Lucius, she would, this damnable curfew! Though the fault was her own, she should have kept better track of the time, devised a better system for being made aware she was nearing the time to leave. It was more than frustrating, it had been her own concentration that had been broken! She’d _known_ the possibility her alarm would sound, it should not have startled her to the point she flung the girl from her mind, through her faux-wall and into the waking world! That she wasn’t concussed was nothing short of miraculous! She hoped draught and proper rest was enough to set her to rights, that she would remember to pass her message on to Draco. It was a small signal, unnoticeable even to Lucius, it wasn’t unusual for her to tell her son he was a ‘treasure’. But there was a difference between informing him the truth that he is one, and the request that he _be_ one. Something she used rarely but there had been times, yes, it had been prudent for her child to know she was unwell or involved in danger, that it would be dearly appreciated if not vital that he check in on her and make sure she still breathed. She trusted her son to take care of the young Witch, he’d...clearly come to care for her. He was not one for casual physical modes of affection, but he’d gone so far as to kiss the girl on the cheek, and he’d readily patted Hermione on the back, rubbing circles and offering kind correction when she’d mistakenly burned her Valerian root.

...she certainly had no vows that restrained her from throttling Severus. She had _told him_ , _years_ ago when he nearly hospitalized her _son_ with his foul misbrewings! It had been naive to believe he’d truly taken her cautions to heart and made certain he wasn’t poisoning the student body at large, but no. He’d merely tested Draco alone for ingredient sensitivities. Magic was both a powerful and delicate thing, and he had precious little respect for that, clearly! Miss Granger’s magic absorbs and processes that particular ingredient both swiftly and thoroughly to a point Narcissa wouldn’t dream of dosing her with something that held more than a single _pinch_ of the stuff for fear of inducing a magical coma when all the girl seeks is a night without terror making a thief with her sleep! She’d railed at him for the better part of an hour for his grievance, he could have _killed_ someone! He endangered the student body and Hermione in particular, had he not a single care for the girl they were currently allied with in a delicate operation for the side of the light?!

Severus had been wise enough to keep his mouth shut once his students had been dismissed, letting her yell and curse both verbally and...well, his classroom had seen better days once she was through. This was met with calm silence that turned to bored sound as he gave voice to the peace offering,

_“Yes, your Future self has made me aware your beloved_ ally _has a certain need that needs met. You’ve instructed myself to carry this out but that notion is rather ridiculous, you’re more suited for the task I should think, you’ll be able to make certain you’re pleased with the result.”_ Narcissa’s mouth had worked momentarily, her tirade still continuing on in her mind as it caught up with the fact the man was speaking, and what he was _saying_ . Hermione needed something? From Severus? Was it potion, was she sick or injured or-, “ _The Future Miss Granger does not possess a watch, which is quite an inconvenient thing for a time traveler, don't you think?”_ Oh. She’d worn a wristwatch with a silvery encasement, and reddish-brown leather band tonight, but she did not have it in future? That was perfectly unacceptable, and she didn’t trust Severus’s sense in jewelry anymore than his sense in _general_. It was a useful bit of information, and she would absolutely delight in procuring such a thing for the Future’s Hermione, absolutely. So, she’d composed herself and made to take her leave.

Of course Severus muttered a snide comment, on how unbecoming it was to pine for an underage Witch, as if he’d room to talk of the pitfalls of _pining_ for someone inappropriately,.That had earned him a sealing curse to his lips. Temporarily. Probably. She wasn’t at her sharpest as of late, perhaps it slipped her mind to set a time limit. She was certain the man could sort for himself, in the worst case scenario he would merely need to pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey. Narcissa _had_ stormed his classroom with the intent to land him in the Hospital Wing, so that would suit.

“Master Malfoy still hasn’t returned, Mistress. Jinsey can be making certain he is having food and drink waiting, and report that Mistress has returned as instructed and has been being a good spy for the Dark Lord.” Lucius knew well already, that she had returned. She had felt his magic as they Apparated into the house. She passed through wards placed to make certain she had adhered to his demand, he had received an alert when she crossed them. But Jinsey saying as much would make him confident in ‘his’ decision that Jinsey act as a chaperone of sorts for Narcissa, she was to monitor activities at Hogwarts. Of course, today that meant the kindly Elf had been a dear and organized her new office for her while she tended to class, and prepared the Room of Requirement for her lessons with Miss Granger, as she was no longer compelled to follow Lucius’s orders. “Is Mistress needing anything before Jinsey is doing these things?”

“Thank you Jinsey, but no. I believe I’m for bed. Do have a pleasant evening.”

“Jinsey can be brushing Mistress’s hair!” the House Elf volunteered. 

“Perhaps in the morning, if you wish to, I’m much too tired.”

“Mistress is to be heading straight to bed and getting lots and lots of rest!” Jinsey insisted, before popping from her chambers to see to her work for Lucius’s return.

Narcissa cast to cleanse herself and changed for bed, and for a second time since this plot of time-travel had began, she found herself intruded upon the very moment she’d just finished donning her silken black negligee.

The sound of Apparation directly behind her sent her heart racing, he- he hadn’t- Lucius hadn’t set foot in their bedroom for the better part of the last month since he’d demanded their divorce, he’d taken to sleeping in a guestroom as he believed himself to be punishing her with the lack of his presence in bed, and now her mind screamed with the panic that he was returned home from some meeting with anger and outrage for her defiance, successfully securing her position at Hogwarts and leaving the house with some victory, now she was to return to it for utter humiliation at his hand-

Turning around to face her intruder did nothing to calm her heart. In fact it only doubled its erratic beat, hammering away in her chest as her lungs constricted and panic-mixed-delight flooded her veins.

Standing before her was, without a single doubt in Narcissa’s mind, the Future’s Hermione Granger. Unless the present Miss Granger had grown an inch in the last quarter of an hour, and decided to change into this absolutely wonderful and ridiculous burgundy sweater that for whatever reason bore both a high neck and capped sleeves, tucked into a black filmy skirt that was...well it was certainly not the knee-length that Hogwarts dress code prescribed, and while hardly any girls in older forms adhered to the letter of their dress code in that regard by mere centimeters of rebellion, _this_ was short enough she would absolutely have to assign detention if she showed up to class with half her thighs bare. Oh! But that was hardly- there were more pressing- if Lucius returned home and discovered the girl’s presence-!

“M-Miss-”

“Why aren’t you eating?!” she demanded to know.

Narcissa’s mouth worked momentarily, “P-pardon?”

“Draco said you were striking to get your way with leaving the house, which-,” she spoke louder, as if informing the house itself, “Lucius Malfoy is a bastard!” before she returned attention to Narcissa, “but I _just_ got the memory that you didn’t eat a single bite during our lesson! I saw your food untouched! And don’t you dare try to convince me you _can’t_ stomach food after going so long without it, that’s part of the benefit of nutritive potion, it’s for treating malnutrition! You’ve every reason to eat, so why aren’t you?”

“Miss Granger if my husband returns home-”

“And finds me? He’ll _regret it,_ ” she seethed, “I’m not scared of your husband, Narcissa. And I just got off the phone with you, and you assured me he isn’t here, anyway he’s got meetings until late and then you don’t think he’ll be coming ‘round to ask how your day went.”

“Phone?”

“A non-magical communication device. You’ve been at the library all day, you were just about finished up and I planned to pick you up before closing but then I remembered the end of our lesson and called...you, to say I was going to be late and make certain it was safe to Apparate here, like I promised I would if I thought there was reason to do so.”

“I’m at a library?”

“You’re picking up a late dinner now, actually, and we’ll meet up at home,” Hermione said, drawing nearer and taking Narcissa’s hands in her own with such familiarity it sent Narcissa blushing. “Narcissa, explain. What’s wrong, and how can I help? You got what you wanted, didn’t you? To teach at Hogwarts? Is...is it something else? Are you sick?”

“I haven’t...no I’m not poorly, do stop looking so very grave, Miss Granger-”

“Hermione.”

“Hermione,” Narcissa amended. “Neither have I gotten what I wanted, not in full. It was not Draco’s place to speak for me, my business is my own and he’s not a clue as to what I’m seeking to prevent, what has been required of me.”

“Prevent?”

“You are absolutely not to disclose to him-”

“I don’t write to Draco. Oh, well, I don’t have a journal for just myself and him, I have written to him with yours though. With your permission. I wouldn’t break confidence with you, Narcissa, not even with Draco.”

“You’ve written Draco?”

“To apologize for how sick he got from portkeying, I warded that thing six ways to sunday, even accounting for soft landing, but I didn’t think about the possibility he might be the one in six Wizards who get Portkey sickness. And a few times just saying ‘hallo’ and checking in or responding to something he’s asked you to ask me.” She squeezed her hands, gently, “I care about him, Narcissa, and you. Whatever’s going on, I want to help.”

“Lucius wants me to denounce him.” He had already done as much, demanded Narcissa do likewise but that was one of the few things he could not _force_ her to do, magical laws of motherhood overshadowed marital vows of any sort. But he could drag out these wretched divorce proceedings until she relented. He wanted to make certain their divorce wouldn’t benefit Draco in any way, Lucius would be required to pay a portion of support to her for the care of their child, that much was a condition of their prenuptial agreement, he sought to get around through neither one of them having claim to a child. Too, he knew well Narcissa would use her own wealth as she saw fit, that she might undo the punishments he laid out for their son for his betrayal. She refused to disown Draco, Lucius refused to proceed with the divorce, so Narcissa refused to eat. If she got to such a state she could not adequately fulfill her role for the Dark Lord, Lucius would be the one punished for it, being incapable of reining in his wife. He would crack before she would.

“Aren’t you already doing that?” Hermione asked, confused, “I mean at least, you know, in front of everyone, with the soap and everything.”

“Maternally. He wishes me to disown my son and revoke my status both magically and legally as his mother.”

She didn’t realize she’d sobbed the end of her sentence, tears spilling over, until she was enveloped in a hug, the younger Witch pulling her to rest her head on the girl’s shoulder as she rubbed between Narcissa’s shoulder blades. “Hey, shh, Narcissa. It’s going to be okay,” she promised, “Can we sit? Let’s talk this out, see if we can come up with something. I know your vows make things complicated but I do understand them, how they work for the most part. So maybe I can help.”

Oh, that sounded more than wonderful, the opportunity to sit and speak, even if it wasn’t about the most pleasant of things. She led Hermione to be seated on the chaise, pleased when the younger Witch sat so close their knees touched as they angled to face each other, still holding Narcissa’s hand.

“So Lucius was perfectly fine with you taking your job at Hogwarts?”

“Oh hardly. That was a condition of my strike, which he relented on this morning as the Dark Lord insists my role there is vital.”

“Of course he listens to Tom,” Hermione rolled her eyes, though that gave her pause. “...does _he_ know, what Lucius is demanding of you? Voldemort?”

“I do not trouble the Dark Lord with my marital problems, Miss Granger,” Narcissa deadpanned.

“Maybe you should,” Hermione insisted with a grin, eyes gleaming with the spark of an idea as if she was certain she was on to something, “I mean after all, doesn’t Lucius wish to capture and return Draco to the ‘master’ he’s betrayed for punishment? Why ever would you relinquish your ability to do so when he’s most vulnerable?”

“I don’t believe I follow…”

“You don’t care about being Draco’s mother emotionally or whatever, oh perish the thought,” Hermione explained, “you wish to maintain that role because if something happens, if Draco is ever hurt or sick or injured who _exactly_ is the hospital wing or St. Mungos going to contact?”

“...me.”

“It leaves the implication that you’re keeping your parentage claims on the off chance Draco does have such an emergency and that would be the prime opportunity to swoop in and steal him away to make an example of him. You don’t need to convince Lucius, you just need to convince the Dark Lord and somehow, I don’t think your hunger strike is going to strike much of a chord with him.”

No, but going to him and delicately complaining in the subtle fashion she could of Lucius’s demands, and allowing the Dark Lord access to thoughts of that nature, that she only lives to serve him and dreams of the day that Quidditch lands her son in Hospital so she’ll be called to him when he’s in a vulnerable state where only _she_ would be permitted to be with him, and can abscond with him, captured for the Dark Lord’s pleasure…

“Miss Granger, how ever were you not sorted into Slytherin?”

“I look better in red.”

“I don’t know that that is necessarily true,” no, she was certain the Witch would look absolutely delicious in Slytherin green, but, “though red likewise suits you.” Hermione smiled, albeit amused. 

“Jinsey?” Hermione called, and the House Elf appeared at her say so, gasping with delight.

“Mistress Granger! Mistress Granger! She is being here helping Jinsey’s Mistress?!” the Elf excitedly questioned.

“I am trying, but you know how difficult your Mistress can be,” Hermione conspired with the Elf with a wink that elicited something of a giggle and a knowing nod of agreement from Jinsey. “Would you please arrange for her dinner?”

“Mistress is being eating?!” Jinsey beamed, bouncing on her toes as she grasped hold of her ears, tugging on them in her excitement.

“Yes...I suppose I am,” Narcissa said, the words nearly sending the Elf skybound, Merlin.

“Jinsey is being making anything Mistress desires! Jinsey is being making everything!”

“I’ve not the appetite for everything,” Narcissa informed her, to the Elf’s disappointment. “But something, yes I…” well, she’d put all thought of the stuff from her mind for the past several weeks. She suddenly felt as though she’d not a single clue what ‘food’ even was, her mind blanked and it was not the work of Occlusion. “I’m...quite uncertain what I have an appetite for really.”

Outside the realm of Hermione’s hand around hers, offering the gentlest squeeze of reassurance, a hint of confidence in the little smirk at her lips that at that moment tempted to the point of torture, so much so Narcissa was absolutely certain if she attempted to move her magic would hold her frozen in place to restrain her from sating her appetite. Hermione blessedly looked away, to Jinsey and offered,

“Arugula and fennel salad, doused in lemon vinaigrette,” and when Narcissa opened her mouth to refute it should be on the side, the younger Witch’s gaze returned to her, amicably insisting, “don’t pretend you aren’t an entire dressing fiend. You’re always ordering more dressing, I always just mix it in with the salad proper before serving it when we’re at home,” oh Miss Granger...cooks for her in future? Meals they eat together in...in their _home_. Narcissa fell silent, merely nodded for the girl to continue, and she did, right on to Jinsey, “spicy tomato soup, and a few thick slices of baguette wouldn’t be amiss. Irish butter on that, if you have it, though the scandal alone could bring both countries to war I’m sure, if they knew. A cuppa of Darjeeling on standby for when your Mistress is ready for bed.”

“Jinsey can be doing all of these! She will be returned the moment it is prepared!” the Elf gleefully assured before blinking from the room.

“How did I do?” Hermione wondered, amused smile at her lips.

“Very good, Miss Granger.”

“Good, Professor Black. Now,” she turned to be seated nearly half-off the chaise to face the older Witch more forwardly, taking both hands in her own and holding them secure. “We’re going to have a discussion about your actions, Narcissa. I thought we had an understanding. Whenever you need help, you are absolutely to come to me. Was that not perfectly clear?”

“I- I am sorry, Miss Granger, if you wish for an apology. I will endeavor to do better in future. You should be returning home, should you not? I don’t suspect my future self will be much pleased you’ve kept her waiting-”

“Then it is a most excellent thing that I haven’t,” Hermione cleanly cut her off. “As I’m already with you, both of you, seeing to your dinners. I have to make certain you eat, don’t I?”

“You...you’re…”

“Time-turner, Narcissa. When I leave here I’ll be returning to both my home and the timeline I left, pick you up from getting dinner, we’ll eat, go over our work today,” she shrugged. “That is none of it contingent on the time I spend here. Now, do you understand what exactly you’re apologizing for or were you just skirting this conversation?”

“...are you very upset with me, darling?” Narcissa asked, voice just above a whisper with her worry. Lucius’s upsets were nightmares on their own and she did not even truly _care_ that she’d upset him. With Miss Granger? Oh, she could not abide the thought that she’d displeased her, risked the loss of their candor.

“I am, that’s why we’re talking. We’re very good at that, being upset with each other and talking it out...I’m usually on the other end of these things though,” Hermione confessed and then she- oh she pressed a kiss to Narcissa’s forehead, “I care about you, Narcissa. I want to help you, and be there for you, and protect you however I can because you are my friend, and I love you.”

“Y-you love…” she hadn’t- this wasn’t- surely she didn’t mean-

“You. Yes, Narcissa. Absolutely,” Hermione assured as if it were as simple as that. “So, you have to be honest with me, as honest as you can be. I didn’t have a single entry from you that hinted at _any_ of this plan you’ve been handling, and I could have _helped_ you. You _know_ you’re supposed to reach out to me, so why didn’t you? Why did you push yourself so hard when you know I have your back?”

“I...wasn’t certain how the Dark Lord would use me, my position wasn’t secure until this morning,” Narcissa argued.

“So you woke up this morning and Lucius said ‘beloved wife, you’ve a mission for the Dark Lord, congratulations you’re Hogwart’s new Potion’s Mistress’?” Hermione drawled, and when Narcissa shook her head the younger Witch regarded her with put-upon surprise, “No? You mean you’ve been in congress with Voldemort over these plans? And preparing and going to interviews and meeting with the Order? I understand you can’t lay out every detail of this plan to me... _I_ actually have a pretty good understanding of it myself, it’s very much the same plan Draco was assigned, I have context that can help me to help you, but I need you to communicate what you can of what’s going on on your end. And you- the whole point of reaching out to you to begin with was to include you in plans to secure Draco on the side of the light, you’re supposed to warn us when Lucius is endeavoring to interfere with him, that includes him bullying you into giving up your parental rights.”

“...my future self said nothing of my recent...problems?”

Her eyes went wide at the dark, almost frustrated sounding laughter that Miss Granger produced. _“Oh._ She has not, and she is most certainly in a world of trouble for it.”

“But I...I’m not?” Narcissa wondered carefully, confused. She was the offending Narcissa, was she not?

“You don’t know any better, I don’t think. _She_ does. She- she’s the one who went full Stepford- er, scary and potentially primed to snap, on me when I-” Miss Granger seemed to consider it a moment. “I had a summer job that I had to take up again, recently, to pay for groceries and keeping you rolling in Darjeeling-”

“My future self demands as much?” it was an entirely unnecessary expense!

“No, it’s something I’ve picked up for you since you said you like it so well,” Hermione shrugged, “and it doesn’t hurt that I can get it with an employee discount.”

“You work with tea?”

“I waitress at a tea shop, yeah.” She...waitresses? Serves tea to...Muggles all day? “I really love the shop and the people I work with, you do too, actually, it’s why you’ve picked up Sign,” she looked incredibly proud over it, and oh, she did love the people she spoke of, didn’t she? It was clear enough in her expression. “Anyway, the reason I’m telling you this, is because I _didn’t_ tell you. Not at first. Instead of coming to you and saying ‘hey, we’re running short of funds, I’m going to get my old job back’, I went behind your back, kept it secret from you by using the Time-Turner to pull double days. That went on for a few weeks and when you found out you were livid that I’d kept such a secret, I...worried you, apparently, you thought I was sick because I was always so tired, and it...I really should have come to you from the beginning, talked about the problem at hand and my solution for it, and you would have met me halfway. I mean you’ve been really great about it all, you love coming into the shop with me, and you make sure I don’t get burnt out and you’ve been making dinner more often, breakfast too sometimes, all by yourself to let me sleep in a bit more.” ...she... _Narcissa_ ...cooked? To _help_ Hermione? And not stricken her with food poisoning? No, apparently it was of some passable quality. “I could have had that help all along if I’d gone to you instead of running myself ragged trying to handle things all by myself.”

...she was absolutely correct, Narcissa hadn’t known better but her future self had the appropriate understanding she was now just beginning to comprehend. She absolutely abhorred that this had happened, and she did not like it at all that the younger Witch _had_ to work to support them, even as the notion warmed her to a degree, that Hermione would do such a thing for her. “I’m unable to do as much now but if I could I would absolutely aid you in the expense of our current mission,” she would send funding along the very moment she was in sole control of her finances, it had required creative book keeping on her part to do what little she had already, in her gifts to Miss Granger, she’d been careful to make her purchases separately so they appeared as minor transactions that Lucius would easily overlook if he felt compelled to check them, larger sums leaving any of their vaults always alerted the man, that wouldn’t do at all.

Hermione’s nose scrunched at that, “I would _maybe_ let you go halfsies if that were the case, it isn’t your job. You already do so much, with the journaling and watching out for me and you’re in charge of making sure we’re always rolling in potion, I um...your future self tested me when I told her how bad Dreamless Sleep puts me down, your formulation’s just brilliant.”

“Severus should be…”

“Sacked?”

“Hanged,” or some equivalent thereof.

Hermione let out a small burst of laughter, “What...what exactly did you say to him? Ginny told us at dinner about you storming his classroom to verbally flay him alive.”

“A great many things,” not many she would care to repeat to Hermione, she...there would be enough chance already, that she might discover just how truly deep Narcissa had delved into darkness in her past, she needn’t offer too much example in her present, though her offer of macabre humor hadn’t been amiss, so, “I informed him, should he somehow manage to survive this war, he shall most certainly not survive me.”

“I would pay to see that,” Hermione giggled, smiling at Narcissa’s reported actions. “I appreciate the outrage on my behalf, roles reversed, I’d be doing the same for you. Which...is kind of the point of what I’m trying to get through to you. If you’re about to put yourself through something that you would absolutely not want _me_ going through on my own? That’s a good indication it’s something you need to talk to me about, or avoid doing altogether. If you wouldn’t like me doing something to myself, you shouldn’t do it to you. Do you understand?”

“I will include you in my plotting in future,” Narcissa assured with a nod. Put that way, yes, she understood perfectly just what Hermione meant. “And I do apologize for the concern I’ve caused.”

She didn’t expect the younger Witch would hug her for her apology but Hermione’s arms wound around her shoulders, pulling her close, a hand threading through her hair. “You don’t have to be sorry to me, you’re the one-” Oh dear _Merlin_ , her heart clenched painfully when the girl’s voice caught in her throat and she heard a sniffle at her ear. “You have to take care of yourself, Narcissa, okay? You must always absolutely take care of yourself. I’m so sorry if I didn’t make it clear enough before, that you could actually rely on me to help you.”

“Nonsense, I-...it is none of it your fault I do not easily rely on the help of others, Hermione. Please don’t-” Narcissa’s arms had been hanging rather listlessly at her sides, how very foolish when this was one of the few allowances she had, to be able to return the Witch’s hold, wrap her arms around her waist. “Oh my darling please don’t be upset on my account, I will...I will absolutely take care of myself, and rely on you as you’ve asked. You...you are to do likewise, Miss Granger.” Oh, she smelled of mint and Jasmine and something sweet and Narcissa wanted to bottle the scent, to have with her always.

“Jinsey is being returning with dinner for Mistress!” Jinsey’s voice startled her, she jumped a bit in Hermione’s hold, the younger Witch merely rubbing circles on her back before pulling away.

“Thanks Jinsey,” Hermione smiled to the House Elf.

“Mistresses are most welcome!”

Narcissa felt...strange, to be expected to eat while her company didn’t, but neither did she want...she wouldn’t press Hermione to stay beyond the bounds of time she wished to spend here but there was a part of her that was entirely reticent to voice prompt that she should leave. But her offer of tea and light snack was met with a counter offer when Jinsey disappeared to return to the kitchens to await Lucius.

“You eat, Narcissa Malfoy, relax. I brought Dreamless Sleep for you in case you need it tonight, so just eat up and then straight to bed with you,” her order came with the attachment of an offer, “would you like me to brush your hair? Or will Jinsey be terribly jealous?”

“...you wish to brush my hair?”

“I do sometimes, you’re used to Jinsey doing it, it’s kind of a creature comfort, a pleasant thing from your home life so…” she shrugged.

She was not use at all, to feeling so painfully shy as she averted her gaze, staring very hard into the soup laying in wait on the coffee table as she softly confessed, “Yes, Hermione, I think I might like that very much.”

She did, perhaps too much, Hermione had to laughingly remind her that she was meant to be eating. But once Hermione fetched her hairbrush and took a seat on her knees directly behind Narcissa, fingers carding through her hair to grasp it section by section as she carefully brushed from tip to root, leading Narcissa into conversation of her day. Did she at least have some joy at her new position at the school? Had she ever had interest in teaching, before? She was brilliant at potions, she sounded excited at the prospect of getting to learn the subject from Narcissa. Had she found the...she termed it a ‘Sending Sack’, in Severus’s old office? Her future self had written the man that morning to insist he leave it in her present self’s care, as she would now be in charge of Hogwarts potions stores and ingredients, Hermione could write her when they had need. Narcissa had been so busy and she trusted Jinsey’s work absolutely, she’d yet to set foot in her office but she would be mindful to send along anything they requested, to check the sack regularly, she had wondered how Severus was meant to send along Miss Granger’s new watch, it pleased her greatly she wouldn’t have to pass the gift on through the man. 

The younger Witch continued brushing her hair until Narcissa finished every last bite of her meal, making play, twining the end of a few strands between her fingers as she asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, before I leave you to sleep?”

Nothing Narcissa had much energy for, nor could she request of the young lady, it would hardly be appropriate...and she physically couldn’t voice such a thing. “Nothing at all, Miss Granger, save for returning to me my hairbrush unless you’re thieving it for a souvenir?” she asked as the young Witch slipped out from behind her, stepping off the chaise and stretching with her arms high overhead, brush still in hand.

Hermione turned on her heel, smiling mischievously as she held the brush to her chest, “Hmm...I mean I was going to but it seems you’ve caught me, and half the thrill of theft derives from not getting caught,” Narcissa had rather the reverse mentality on the subject but oh, the girl was endearing in her mirth as she decided, “so I suppose you get to keep it,” and-

And held her brush out to her with upturned hand. An upturned forearm bare before her.

A forearm marred by a pale shining slur, every letter of _mudblood_ carved into her skin, in Bella’s hand.

For a second time that day, Narcissa Malfoy was full of unadulterated horror and rage on behalf of Hermione Granger, and she could feel her magic bubbling to boil, burst from her skin as she reached out and snatched the younger Witch’s wrist in hand to draw it in for examination, some masochism on her part, to look on this horrible thing more closely-

Her magic went deadly silent, stilled its rise when Hermione released her hairbrush as if the thing had bitten her, a startled cry breaking from her lips as she pulled at Narcissa’s hold and fell backward, falling directly onto her bottom as she hyperventilated.

Narcissa released her hold immediately, horrified as she went to her knees before the younger Witch, “Hermione? Oh my darling I am so sorry-”

“Y-y-you can’t- I-” Hermione shuddered, cradling her arm to her chest, and taking a deep breath, “Sorry, sorry I- I don’t l-like,” she swallowed, opting instead to say, “I’m...I’m sorry, I usually wear a jacket when I’m out in short sleeves. I hadn’t grabbed it yet when I saw the memory that sent me here and- I just forgot it.”

“Bella-” the name died in her throat when Hermione flinched.

“Don’t worry about it, please, _please._ Every...everything’s going to be okay. I need…” her chin quivered as she righted herself a bit, shifted to sit on her knees, “I need you to believe me. This isn’t...you can’t interfere, alright? We don’t know how everyone affects the timeline, and we have to-...I need you to trust me and I need to be able to trust you. Promise me, Narcissa, that you’ll put this from your mind and- and you won’t interfere.”

“You can trust me, Hermione,” was all Narcissa could bring herself to assure.

And that trust bloomed brilliant and warm in the forefront of Hermione’s mind. She took the woman’s words as the confirmation she craved, breathing a sigh of relief, offering her hands to Narcissa. She took them, and Hermione rose to her feet, helping Narcissa to rise. That...was all Hermione ever did. Helped Narcissa to rise.

She would be absolutely _damned_ before she stood by and let Bellatrix bring Hermione low.

“You’re sure there’s nothing you need before I go?” the girl checked.

“I have everything well in hand, Miss Granger,” Narcissa distractedly assured her.

“Hey,” had Narcissa looking into Hermione’s face. She smiled with soft reassurance. How on earth could she smile at all? But she did, for Narcissa, and she wondered if _that_ was the ultimate sign of strength to be found in this impossibly Gryffindor girl. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ve got it, I bet two minutes into your chat with Tom, you’ll have thwarted Lucius’s little side scheme to make you drop your claim to Draco with nothing more than a bat of your eyes and a carefully worded comment.”

Narcissa smiled as she met Hermione’s gaze. “Oh my darling, you should always bet on Black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In canon, Bellatrix is charged with teaching Draco Occlusion in preparation of his mission for the Dark Lord  
> *The Ford Angela has to move at pretty magical speeds to get to Kings Crossing because in the books the Weasleys always get a late start every year and they manage to make a four hour drive into a half-hour/hour  
> *the Ministry doesn't canonically have have a Rites and Rituals department but uhhh, they do now. Because none of their departments really sound like they handle things like marriage or magical contracts, things of that nature.  
> *Pepper-Up usually causes one's ears to steam for hours, but that's super inconvenient for just a 'I need a little help waking up' (understandable if you're using it to cure a Cold though, yeah, a few hours of steaming instead of days of a cold sounds gr9) so, splitting it cuts down on steam time!  
> *I forget if the movie makes mention but in the books, it's made known that Lucius wanted to send Draco to Drumstrang  
> *the Room can't be apparated into, nor can it tranfigure food due to one of the basic laws of transfiguration. The apparation work-around hopefully makes sense!  
> *underage drinking *is* illegal even in the Wizarding World, you're supposed to be of age. Butterbeers must be alright for lil Wizards and Witches I suppose because they hold a very low alcohol content, like 0.3%-1%
> 
> The next chapter  
> The next chapter my friends  
> We made it, we're here, we have hit literally every last goddamn plot point THERE COULD POSSIBLY BE.  
> You know the name by now, I hate myself its FINE!


	7. Grievances, Gifts, and Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you see the chapter title. Don't even look at me.  
> Narcissa Settling into her role as Potions Mistress, a few bumps on the path to romance for our two...four? favorite Witches. Grievances are aired, gifts are given, and new life is greeted!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Happy Pride Month! I! Am bad! At planning!
> 
> A example of this: This was ALL intended to be the first half of Always Bet on Black...this chapter and the one following, that is FINALLY titled as much. We did it. We got to the point I PLANNED to be at...all the way back in the original outline of this story's chapter 3. But we're here now!  
> I am presently 50812 words into what is labeled Always Bet on Black, with the final scene left to write so. It will be available later this week. Bear in mind THIS CHAPTER and THAT ONE were meant to be ONE CHAPTER but things got Wordy and I had to split it up so here we are. Please enjoy my wordy bitch disease, in the form of 40281 words.  
> So...I might be good at planning? Closer updates during Pride Month in which THESE WITCHES DO FINALLY GET TOGETHER I SWEAR, to be witnessed in the next update.  
> As always, shout out to inkheart9459 for her cheerleading and dragging and just in general saving me from myself when I get to parts where I'm *conflicted* about how I want to execute something, I get so many ideas I don't know what to do with them and her feedback consistently helps with that!  
> 🖤 Thanks so much for reading and commenting and kudosing and just in general existing! Enjoy!

Hermione heaved a shaky sigh of relief as she appeared in the living room, in the security of their home a bare five minutes after she’d left for Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had _seen_ , _damn it!_ Why had she-

“You forgot your jacket-”

Hermione jumped, air under her feet, landing to whirl around, hand clutching at her chest as she let out a startled, “Narcissa!” What was she- “I- I thought you- I was coming to pick you up!”

_“Well_ there’s this _magnificent_ bit of magic you might _just_ be interested in, it is called... _Apparation,_ ” the older Witch spoke the word with a bit of grandeur, splaying her free hand to wave her fingers as if casting the word itself as she stepped out of the kitchen, drawing nearer with Hermione’s jean jacket in hand. Oh har! This wasn’t- it wasn’t- Narcissa’s sarcasm softened into concern, “Hermione? Darling what is it?”

Her memories hadn’t formed yet, Hermione was only just arriving in Malfoy Manor as they spoke. Maybe...maybe she could stop herself? No that wasn’t possible, she’d see herself, and Narcissa might see double and that mighn’t be a great thing, though Draco left the incident unscathed when he spotted them at the train station. Oh hell, she had to think! Think! What if Narcissa Apparated in and took her jack- no, Narcissa would see herself! Oh! Jinsey-

There was the sound of her jacket hitting the back of the couch as a hand raised to rest on her shoulder, another on her cheek, “Darling, I need you to breathe, tell me what happened. Were you hurt? Have I done something?”

She dragged in a breath, “Y-y-you- I forgot my jacket,” stupid! That was so stupid! “And you saw my _scar,”_ her voice squeaked around the last word, chin quivering as Narcissa’s eyes widened with absolute outrage, the hand on her shoulder tightening its hold as the other shifted to take her chin in hand and hold her gaze oh _Merlin_ she messed up!

_“What_ did she do to you? What did she _say?”_ Narcissa seethed.

“Sh- she?”

“ _My present’s self!_ ” Narcissa scathed, “I swear to Merlin if she has done something to hurt your spirit or make you feel anything less than _perfect_ , I will disapparate this instant, laws of time be damned and hex her into the next millenia!”

That wasn’t- “You realize she’s y- you right?”

“I don’t rightly care!” Narcissa insisted, “That I would damn myself or what she has said in my stead— _you_ , my darling, are _absolute perfection_ . You are _beautiful_ , the very epitome of the mortal form that made the angels fall in that ridiculous bit of Muggle text, and if she has led you to believe that I think otherwise because of a mark on your body, she is most assuredly the darkest pot calling the kettle black, we have- _oh_ I could show you things you could use to just _devastate_ her-”

_“You!”_ Hermione stopped her, “Narcissa! You’re talking about yourself! That- that’s what I meant—you realize she’s you? Because _you_ would _never_ hurt me! And you should never want to hurt yourself, my God! Devastate? Do you think there is _anything_ you could do that would make me want to _devastate_ you?! I’m not upset because of something she said, I’m terrified because of what she saw, and the sheer fact that you _wouldn’t_ hurt me! She- you- Think, Narcissa! We care about each other now—if we cared about each other the way we do, and you came to know in advance that I was going to be hurt like this, what exactly do you think you’d do?”

“I...well I would wish to do anything I could to prevent it-”

“What if she kills B- B-”

“You needn’t-”

“Bellatrix! What if she kills _your sister!_ Or at least hurts her badly or interferes with her somehow that negatively affects the timeline!”

Narcissa scoffed, “My sister’s removal from the timeline would hardly be a negative affect-”

“You don’t know that! And you definitely don't mean that, she's your sister! We did _one thing_ and it altered _so many things we didn’t expect!_ Many of them for the better but-” Narcissa’s brow creased when Hermione’s words caught in her throat, and then the older Witch let out a soft, surprised _‘oh’_ as Hermione wrapped her arms around her waist, burying her face against the woman’s throat as she shuddered, tears spilling over her cheeks, “you’ve been all alone and handling something horrible! And you’re so _small_ Narcissa, I’m _scared_ for you, you were just going to keep on like that and you- you could have gotten so sick! You could have _died!”_

Narcissa scoffed! “Oh darling I hardly would have-”

Hermione pulled back, glaring up at the woman, “ _Don’t!_ Don’t you _dare_ pretend like this isn’t a big deal! I swear to _God_ Narcissa, if I could _kill_ Lucius, if he wasn’t Draco’s father, if we knew with _certainty_ his loss from time would hold zero negative repercussions? He would be _fucking dead.”_

Alllright, maybe she took that a _little_ too far. She felt a little out of hand, like she’d just about flung wild magic that found an alternate route through her mouth. She gulped as Narcissa’s mouth dropped open and she stared at her with...shock? Something very intense and very surprised...and then…

Well, then she _grinned._ “Oh my darling,” she said, brushing back Hermione’s hair, “Come, you’ve had a long day. We will eat and we will discuss how to move forward,” she insisted as she wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders to usher her toward the kitchen, side eyeing her with some criticism as she intoned, “I trust you ate your lunch, Miss Granger.”

“Yes Professor,” Hermione sniped, playfully as she took a seat at the kitchen table. She wasn’t ungrateful, Merlin. She came downstairs that morning to breakfast and...a box like that which a present would be gifted in, white, tied closed with a pale blue ribbon that kind of reminded her of Narcissa’s eyes. Narcissa had packed her a lunch, a turkey sandwich and slices of apple, grapes, a chopped salad, and a single piece of chocolate for dessert she supposed, a Hershey’s kiss. The box had maintained a bit of chill to it like it had been spelled to keep her meal cool and perfect for eating when lunch hour came and...well she’d been glad she’d stored it on the low shelf underneath the cubbies beneath the register, because it was on her side of the counter when lunchtime rolled around. She _knew_ it was lunchtime because the box popped open, the top popping off with such force it hit the bottom of the cubbies overhead with a _clack!_ She’d been serious about the intention to eat it, she wasn’t going to just take the woman’s kindness for granted, it had been incredibly sweet of her to think to do such a thing! Hermione had felt badly that she’d not done something like that for her, that she was just dropping Narcissa off at the library with money for lunch but the woman waved that off as nonsense. It wasn’t! “Thank you. For…” she blushed as she took in the fact she was seated at another meal, pasta from an italian place a block from the library, set on their own dishes with a glass of wine awaiting her. “Gosh, everything today. I didn’t mean for you to be in charge of every meal today, sorry, I’ll pick up the slack tomorrow, promise.”

“Do not be absurd. Besides, it is my understanding you went in quest to procure my dinner, at least for my present self,” Narcissa argued, “Am I still on strike?” she wondered, she looked interested when Hermione shook her head to confirm she wasn’t. _“Truly?_ Persuasive were we, Miss Granger?”

“You know I can be,” Hermione returned, picking at her pasta with a fork. “Do...do you think we should do something? Stop...me, while I’m ahead? We could get Jinsey to interrupt or have her bring me my jacket?”

“I don’t believe interfering with your time traveling self is wise, Hermione, anything could go amiss. You are home now and you are safe, and I prefer you that way over some unexpected change. Allow me to remember this evening as it played out and I will assist in deciding how best to move forward.” And then, carefully, “You came to seek my council before acting. I know well you could have altered my memories of our interaction if you truly wished to, I do appreciate that you did no such thing.”

Oh, Hermione felt a bit ill at that. “You...you think I would…” she thought she was...what? Some kind of memory wiping maniac? That she would violate- she _had_ violated her parents trust and she might well never get that back, but that had been a matter of life and death! They wouldn’t make themselves safe, and they wouldn’t trust her in the role she had to play in the war they had no part in! Narcissa was fully cognizant of the issues at hand, capable of handling herself, and there wasn’t as great of stakes, it was a completely different situation! Did she think Hermione would alter her mind at the drop of a hat? Just ‘oh I felt like it’ today, because it would convenience her if Narcissa didn’t remember something correctly? Had Hermione done something to make her feel that way or did she just trust her that little for...well Narcissa usually had good reasons for things. Maybe she hadn’t explained well enough, when they talked? Or maybe...maybe she explained perfectly. Maybe she didn’t _deserve_ to be trusted after what she did to her own parents, maybe that was fair-

“Hermione!” Narcissa snapped as if seeking her attention, reaching out across the table to take hold of her hand. “I did not mean- forgive me. Perhaps that was ill done of me, I do promise I had only...I thought perhaps if the thought crossed your mind and you ignored it out of respect for my feelings on the matter, you should be thanked. But the thought never even crossed your mind, did it?”

“Absolutely not!”

Narcissa nodded like she was verifying that truth. “The fault is mine, Hermione, I didn’t...roles reversed if I’d the capabilities you do? I would not be trusted with them. I would absolutely be tempted to use them to my utmost advantage if it serviced me. I would not use it...harmfully, I do not think, but if I’d come upon a situation where your past self learned something I thought to be dangerous, I would abstain but only after having at least considered taking care of the issue in that way. It is a lack of trust in myself, not in you. Never in you, please I- I ask that you maintain your patience with me. I am every letter of my name, as beautiful as the flower and as self-concerned as my mortal namesake. I tend to consider the actions of others based on how I myself would have acted or...how those I am close to would have behaved.”

“Ouch,” Hermione said softly, trying to go for joking as she rubbed her chest a bit like her heart hurt. “I thought we _were_ close?”

“We are. But you are very new to me, Miss Granger, and you are a league entirely your own. I can’t liken you to past experience and yet I continue to do so. May, continue to do so, as unfair as that is,” she confessed.

“I do the same thing I think,” Hermione supposed. “I get so mad about Lucius because I think about my father, or Mister Weasley or Teddy Tonks, that the things he does are unfathomable because they would none of them ever treat their wives that way. I just about popped off wild magic in the potions laboratory today because of it, when Draco told me why you didn’t look well. You don’t let someone you’re supposed to love and care for do something like that.”

“I’ve no memory of this, your upset in the laboratory.”

“Well you were already off yelling at Snape. Draco and I stayed behind to make your potion.”

“...you assisted in…” she fell silent, considering a moment. “Thank you, Hermione. Please eat your dinner. Have you need of stomach calming draught?” she wondered.

No, they’d talked things through well enough. Though Narcissa just might.

It started gradually, Hermione’s realization of just where in her conversation with the Present Narcissa, the Future’s was remembering. There was the shining approval, the bit of impressed look she got that made her feel the glow of pride all the way to her magic, Merlin! It made her certain Narcissa remembered the solution they found for her to break her strike.

Then came the soft smirk...probably from Hermione informing the Present Narcissa she was upset with her, which was barmy! She shouldn’t be pleased over it, they were the same person! But she sat there looking like she’d won something like maybe she thought Hermione only meant the present Narcissa. She’d catch up, and when she did, Hermione was ready. Waiting.

Oh. She’d nearly forgotten what came next. She was prepared to enjoy the turn of tables, having Narcissa be on the wrong end of their argument because she definitely should have known better! She should have come to Hermione the moment her present self even considered taking such drastic measures!

But first, she got a little deflated by concern as Narcissa choked on a bite of pasta, eyes wide as she coughed around it, one hand pounding her chest while the other slammed down on the table before grasping hold of her wine glass to bring it to her lips as she did _just_ manage to swallow the bite down the proper pipe.

“Narcissa?” Hermione worried, her word went ignored, Narcissa was already launching into,

“You _what_ me?” she rasped with urgency, staring wide-eyed at Hermione.

“P-pardon?”

“You just- you told my present self that you-” she swallowed again, “that you...love...her.”

“You, yeah.”

“M-me?”

“Okay I’m not sure what you’re not getting about this ‘same person’ thing.”

“We’re experiencing the same time, differently,” Narcissa argued, a bit resentful. “You haven’t said as much to me.”

…”I have literally said this to you what could be considered a year ago...two years ago? Our time.” Well, Narcissa had asked her to be patient. She supposed she would be, even in regard to her inane competition with her present self. She reached out across the table and took the older Witch’s hand. “Narcissa? I love you. Get over it.”

“I-” the woman fell this painful feeling sort of silent. “Thank you. I...lo-” she sighed. “I love having dinner with you.”

“...I love having dinner with you too?” Hermione supposed. 

“I mean- I want to s- I just-” oh Merlin, this had truly upset the woman somehow, hadn’t it? “I appreciate our candor,” she grimaced at that as if her mouth had somehow offended in forming those words.

Oh...oh she hadn’t meant to make the woman uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean it weirdly,” she promised, “it’s not...I wouldn’t...it isn’t inappropriate.” Yeah she...wasn’t exactly ‘crushing’ on Narcissa anymore. It was love, but that wasn’t what she’d meant. She wouldn’t ever say it and mean it like that, not unless...well Merlin it would just have to be the most wild circumstance, she thought, like the woman was somehow no longer bound by magical vows to her deranged husband, and interested, and could reasonably be believed to feel the same way. She’d never dream of making her feel...like there was some possessive unrequited nonsense going on. Hermione knew well where they stood, and that was where she acted from. Because she did love Narcissa, she would love her whatever role she held in her life. That was as a friend, so that’s how she meant it. “I promise, I’m sorry if-”

“Do not apologize!” she insisted, “We’ve agreed, no needless apologies,” Narcissa half-heartedly snapped. “I am not worried or put off by your regard. I just simply can’t reciprocate it.”

...that shouldn’t sting, she supposed. It _did_ but that wasn’t Narcissa’s fault. But...like...not even in a ‘friend’ way? She had a different definition of friendship coming into this so...that was fair, Narcissa wasn’t swift to love and that was “Okay,” Hermione assured.

The woman drew in a sharp breath, accusing indignantly, “You're upset with me?!”

“No!” she hadn’t said that! She hadn’t even thought it! “What sort of person gets upset with someone over how they don’t feel?”

“That is not- that is not the case nor is that what I reference! You just informed my present self she is forgiven but I am in for-”

“Oh you’re there? A world of trouble yes, good. Would you like it now, or for dessert?”

“I thought we were the same person!” Narcissa argued, “How can you forgive her and not-”

“Because at that point in time, you didn’t know any better. You didn’t _know_ you could really trust me, that I could truly be of help. But _you,_ sitting with me now? You know _damn_ well you could have and _should have_ trusted me with this _weeks_ ago. You got mad at me for keeping Whitakers a secret and skipping the occasional lunch while _you_ were keeping your newfound involvement in Voldemort’s plans, and a full-blown _hunger strike_ from me! I could have helped you and _you_ know that! Should have told on yourself to me! If I remembered something pertinent, if I just- if something were happening to _me_ in the present, something bad, and neither one of me said anything or reached out to you for help-”

“You’re- your present self is only just of age and _your_ age is not that much greater advanced! I am well older than you and have been working within the bonds of my marriage since before you were even a thought in your parents eye!”

“So I’m just, _what?_ Some kid you’re stuck babysitting in time, is that it? I can’t think for or defend myself? You have to teach me to know better?”

“Oh I’ll teach- Hermione! This is _nonsense_ of _course_ I don’t- you’re a young woman, but there is an emphasis on _young_ as I’ve a great deal more experience and I was perfectly capable of handling the situation-”

“Starving yourself isn’t handling it! Your _last resort_ isn’t some strategic tactic it’s just another example of Lucius’s abuse, you weren’t- you might have been using it to some advantage, as a motivator for him but it wasn’t- you weren’t doing Draco any favors if all you did was make yourself sick or worse! And you were on mission for the Dark Lord! You think that’s what would make Lucius relent but wouldn’t he- he might have honestly been trying to get you killed! If something went wrong, if there was some attack we can’t foresee because of unaccounted for changes to the timeline, would you be in any condition to properly cast to defend yourself?”

“I can cast very well, Miss Granger,” Narcissa assured, disapparating, and for a panicked instant Hermione was terrified she’d sent the woman going off to who knows where! But she heard the rush of Apparation directly overhead so...cool, just dramatically apparating off to the bedroom huh?

“You’re ridiculous Narcissa! And _I’m_ mad at _you_ , _not_ the other way around!” Hermione hollered at the ceiling. There! Ugh!

She was being ridiculous!

Maybe they were both being a little ridiculous. But this was serious! Narcissa had been just miserable, being put through so much without reprieve and Hermione could have helped! This was just so frustrating! Hermione wasn’t much hungry anymore, and she felt badly when she saw Narcissa had abandoned her still mostly full plate. So she packed up her own leftovers and stowed them away in the fridge, washed up her plate, made up a tray she cast warming stasis over to keep the other Witch’s pasta warm, set her glass of wine on and carried it upstairs, leaving it at Narcissa’s door, flipped on the hall light before...well she just felt drained, tired. She didn’t much feel like invading Narcissa’s space so she went to the downstairs bath to wash her face, cast to cleanse her teeth. That always felt a bit like cheating but mum and dad found it meant there wasn’t anything to clean themselves when it was time for her yearly dental check up, mum would just root around with her little mirror checking her teeth and gums, asking questions while she had an implement in her mouth because she knew it drove Hermione barmy! And then a light manual clean while dad rattled off instructions to brush and floss and avoid sugary sodas and boys with bad attitudes. _What’s that got to do with teeth, dad?_ Teeth were apparently the hearts of the mouth, which did not make sense but he was the professional wasn’t he? God she missed them.

Well. No better time to go to bed than when one is angry and depressed. Makes for great sleep, that.

When she got back upstairs, the tray was still in the hall but the wine was missing, unless they had some concerning drunkard rats running around, she could assume it was Narcissa’s doing.

She felt a tug on her magic. Her journals. She summoned them as she entered her own bedroom, changing into a tee for sleeping before crawling into bed. Well, lying on her stomach with her journals at the foot of the bed. It was stupid that part of her hoped it was present Narcissa, even as she she also felt worry that it might be, because the woman should be sleeping! Oh wait, not quite yet, she was eating still. It wasn’t her anyway, obviously, it was Harry writing to check up on her, asking...if she was feeling okay? _You came back from Occlusion lessons with a pretty bad headache, Draco said his mum asked him to check in on you and make sure you’re alright. Now-you, not you-you, but I got worried_ _you_ _might feel badly too somehow, I'm still not sure how all this crap works._

Oh. That was sweet. _Thanks Harry, no I don’t feel my present self’s headache,_ no, her headache was entirely her own, _if I remember correctly, draught helped and I’m asleep now I think. No worries, I’ll write you if I’ve died._

_Make sure you do_ , he insisted, Hermione snorted.

_Harry? I really love you. I miss you and Ron, crazy as that might sound._

_You should probably head on over to your local institution, get that checked. I really love you too, you nutter, it’s not like you’re around us these days. But you can always write me. And I can always write as Ron. See? I’m Ronald Weasley and I’m having an existential crisis over my crush on Blaise Zabini._

Oh, they had been flirting today, hadn’t they? _Narcissa says Blaise has a crush on me!_

_Yeah well so does Ron so I suppose they have a lot in common, huh? Hey did you know it’s supposedly not supposably? Draco said so, anyway._

Hermione giggled at that, _I’ve said so, Harry!_

_Hey, I try my best to always listen when you talk but there’s only so much a guy can absorb. Given it the collage try, and I’m not even much into crafts._

Oh, it felt a bit mean, he was trying! But she laughed at that as she corrected, _College try, Harry._

_Not much into that either._

She was still having a giggle over the whole thing when her bedroom door swung open, and Narcissa stood there still dressed for the day, in her pencil skirt and grey blouse, feet and legs bare of her heels or stockings, and her hands on her hips, wand clenched in hand, pointing back into the hall as she stared at Hermione looking nothing short of outraged. _“What_ do you think you are _doing?”_

Had she been too loud or something? “Writing Harry.” Or she was, anyway. She was knackered and she didn’t feel up for saying something she might regret later, she was already thinking of about a dozen different better ways she could have handled herself tonight. She cast to send her journaling things to her nightstand as she sat up on her knees.

“I mean,” she gestured vaguely to Hermione’s bedroom.

“...going to bed?” Hermione said as if that were obvious...because it was. And she wasn’t much in the mood to be playful about it. She scooted backward to sit with her back against her pillow, pulling at her covers to settle them in her lap. She sighed, looking to Narcissa then. She was mad, and the woman was being...something, right now, still absolutely incredulous looking, but still, “Are you alright? Do you need something?”

“I am most certainly not alright!” the woman snapped. “You- you’re going to bed?”

“The appropriate course of action when one is absolutely knackered, I’m told.”

“In _here?”_ she questioned, like Hermione was in the middle of an aisle at the Tesco with her blanket and pillow and declaring it ‘nighty-night!’.

“Where else would I sleep?” Narcissa’s mouth worked at that, something anguished in her expression. “Narcissa?”

“So just like that, you are upset with me and I’ve lost our candor, is that it? You declared some love of me even as you were fully prepared, waiting for me to discover it is something lost not even a minute later-”

“I still love you you nutter! I’m just tired and angry and you’re upset with me little miss ‘I can cast just fine let me storm away to my bedroom like a little princess instead of finishing our conversation like an adult’! I’m hardly going to storm the place demanding my side of the bed when you wouldn’t want me there-”

“I’ve said _nothing_ of the sort!”

_“O-_ kay Narcissa, you’re _not_ acting like a total brat, my apologies,” Hermione drawled.

“I mean I said nothing about not wanting you to-!” she stopped, taking in something of a ragged breath, chin quivering a bit. “You still love me?”

“Of course. Is that a problem?”

“No!” she was quick to insist, “It isn’t- its- you-” she breathed a bit quickly, taking in several short, deep breaths before, “you are never to stop, is that clear? Not...not unless I’ve truly done disservice to it. I don’t- I can’t- I don’t want you to stop is all that I can say on the matter.”

“Okay.”

_“Okay?!”_ Narcissa asked, incredulous.

Hermione shrugged. “It’s not like I stopped, Narcissa. We’re having a disagreement, people do that and love each other all the time. Well. I mean- you know what I mean. I can love and be mad at you. And you can ‘whatever’ me and be mad at me.”

“It is not _whatever!”_ Narcissa snapped, “It is- you misspoke for me earlier, when you said you weren’t to be upset about what I _don’t_ feel. I _do_ , Hermione. I _do_ feel. I do…” she seemed sort of defeated about it, shoulders slumped and tears hanging in her eyes as she stared into space, toward the floor. “I care about you. Very much.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it, I do but I really am tired and we really need to talk about this Narcissa. Tonight, these past few weeks, none of it is okay,” Hermione swallowed. “I just want to go to bed I- we can talk in the morning,” she said, sliding down as she laid back, settling her head against her pillow.

“You’ve returned to your room because you believe I am angry enough to cast you from your place in mine?” Hermione was going to put her own head through a wall just to render herself unconscious at this point, she really was. She was out of potion, she had been fine without it and it wasn’t...necessarily healthy to take it continuously, and she wasn’t exactly sure just when she’d feel much up to asking Narcissa to make more, if the woman would want to if...whatever the hell was happening, their fight, kept up.

“Yeah,” she offered quietly as she closed her eyes, hoping the woman got the message. It was time for _sleep._

She did and she didn’t. The light was switched off. And in the next instance Hermione’s eyes shot open because there was now twin weights in her twin bed. Hers, and Narcissa’s as the woman climbed in, lying directly on top of her to fit into the space, her feet against the footboard as her head rested on Hermione’s chest.

“Fine. We will sleep. And we will discuss this in the morning,” Narcissa decided, arm looping around Hermione’s waist as she snuggled against her, settling in like this was just how things were going to be tonight. “This is a ridiculous bed,” she softly complained as she closed her eyes. She wasn’t even in sleep clothes! And the bed wasn’t meant for parties of two! This was- she was-!

Narcissa’s eyes snapped open when Hermione started laughing, sighing as she informed her with some frustration,“You drive me _absolutely insane!”_ as she wrapped her arms tightly around the older Witch, holding her secure before black of Apparation consumed them and then in the next instant she’d transported them safely to Narcissa’s bed, her room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of her nightlight. They’d gotten a bit switched around, but that sorted. They appeared on Narcissa’s side of the bed, the woman’s back against her sheets, head against her pillow, hair spilling around her as she stared up at Hermione wide eyed and pink cheeked, startled at having been moved she supposed, Hermione sitting over her, catching herself on her elbows, her knee between Narcissa’s. “Stop being barmy and let's get some sleep, yeah?” she supposed, pressing a kiss to the woman’s cheek before rolling onto her side of the mattress, just lying there and staring up at the ceiling. 

Narcissa’s hand slipped into hers.

They laid there quietly, interrupted only by the soft rush of magic as Narcissa quietly cast to swap out her street clothes for another of those negligees, a shade of deep red Hermione wasn’t expecting when she peeked to see which she went with tonight, she wasn’t certain if the woman had purchased more or if she was altering her nightclothes the way she did the ones she wore during the day to keep things fresh. Hermione started to drift off a bit, she’d thought the same of Narcissa until the hand in hers squeezed and, “Did it hurt? When you fell?”

“...Narcissa. Was your top secret day at the library spent looking up bad pick up lines?”

“Pardon?”

“You know. ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’”

“No, I landed quite gracefully I assure you,” Narcissa said. “I would not use such a line for you. It isn’t befitting.”

“You were the one spouting off nonsense about my beauty making angels fall,” Hermione saw fit to tease.

“From their station, losing their angelic nature, becoming damnable. You aren’t a thing to be damned, Hermione.”

Hermione opened her eyes and looked to the woman, “And you are?”

“Absolutely,” the woman whispered. Then, “I meant-” oh she looked upset, lips twisting a bit as she squeezed Hermione’s hand again. She swallowed, “When you fell at the manor. I- I grabbed your wrist and you fell. You said I did not hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“That isn’t how I remember-” she fell silent, sniffling quietly. “Are you...I grasped hold of your arm the other day when I saw your wand missing. Does it always put you to discomfort? You should have…”

“Told you?” Hermione wondered albeit smug, Narcissa turned her head away. “It didn’t bother me too badly the other day. It’s worst when...I mean when it’s activated or something yeah, definitely the-” her lungs felt a bit...non cooperative if she thought about it too much, she shook herself, “I don’t care for having my arm grabbed then, not at all. And tonight...I was so- I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten something so basic, and risked it, I was horrified that your present’s self saw. That had the adrenalin going and that just sort of exacerbated everything for a hot second.” Was it...bothering her that… “it isn’t just you or anything. For one thing, it’s me. But Mister Whitaker grabbed hold of my wrist when I cut my hand at work, the left one to pull me around so I’d let him see, I just about knocked myself out keeping my cool and not letting my magic break all the glass in the shop.”

Narcissa gasped her alarm when they both heard the sound of someone apparating into the house but Hermione gave her hand a squeeze, “It’s just me, down in the living room getting ready to Turn back to pick you up for dinner. See, listen,” she said and they fell silent, hearing the whooshing of Time Magic as she went back to five minutes after leaving to visit the present Narcissa.

Narcissa relaxed, lying back again. She was quiet for a moment, thumb rubbing a smooth path along the back of Hermione’s hand. “I don’t believe we need to be concerned of my present self’s knowledge of this. If anything it works to our benefit. She will be better suited to protect you. She will know to not abide use of that word around you—she was considering it, you understand, if she might have to call you as much at some point to save face should it ever serve to secure you from suspicion we are working together. Now she understands it would not be a grave tactic she would need to apologize for later, but drastic, greatly to your detriment. Too, she now understands precisely what your Occlusion lessons are for, and she can likely better prepare your present self.”

“You’re sure it’s alright? I feel just awful.”

Narcissa turned her head to look at her then, “Why, darling?”

“You were really upset. And I’m still...you promised not to interfere but I still worry about you, for you. I don’t want you getting hurt doing something stupid for me.”

“Perish the thought,” the woman’s words crested soft over her lips. “Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“...are you very upset with me?” she asked...for a second time tonight, really.

“Yeah.”

“Will it frustrate you further that I do not understand why?”

Hermione sighed tiredly, turning onto her side to face Narcissa, her hand slipping from hers which had the woman’s brow creasing before Hermione’s right hand took hold of hers, Merlin. The woman was a greedy sort of touch-starved. “No,” she decided.

“No?”

“I’m sorry. I thought...you would know better than your present self. But you don’t, not some things, anyway.” Hermione licked her lips to moisten them as she considered. “Narcissa, it's scary and infuriating that you have absolutely no regard for yourself.”

“It isn’t a lack of regard. I just knew well what I was doing. If I feared I was in over my head I would have come to you.”

“Would you?” Hermione wondered, genuinely curious. “Narcissa, that's just masochistic when you could have come to me to begin with for help to avoid all of that.”

“There is a great deal of my current situation I _can’t_ discuss with you, Hermione, it didn’t occur to me to attempt to tell you what I can. Nor would I particularly care to.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked, the woman wouldn’t look at her then, closing her eyes as...as something like embarrassment and shame entered her expression. Oh. Oh, Merlin. It sort of winded her then, the realization. She should have figured as much out much sooner. Her voice sounded a bit strange even to her, thick and heavy, “Narcissa.”

The woman opened her eyes at that, turning onto her side to face Hermione more directly, gaze assessing and her free hand came to rest on Hermione’s cheek. “What is it, darling? Why are you crying?” Was she?

“It isn’t your fault.”

“Well something has made you cr-”

“No, _Narcissa._ _Listen_ to me,” Hermione implored. And then remembering their Occlusion lesson, “ _Look_ at me,” she invited, staring directly into the older Witch’s eyes because she needed her to know _exactly_ what she meant. “It is not your fault, the way Lucius treats you or the way you have to conduct yourself to survive in your marriage.”

That got a bitter sounding laugh out of the woman. “I am the one who...I did not enter my marriage unwillingly, Hermione. I went blindly into-”

“Marrying the man you love,” Hermione insisted, “a man you thought loved you in return. You didn’t do it to the tune of a million red flags, Narcissa, you trusted Lucius, you didn’t _agree_ to _this._ _You_ wanted a continuation of the relationship you had when you were engaged. _He_ made it something different on your wedding day. You took the vows demanded of you, I mean you were what? My age? Younger, when you took those? Who at that age really _knows_ the _seriousness_ of magical vows?”

“You seem to have rather the understanding of them-”

“Well I’m an insufferable little know it all. And it's not your fault you were raised to take on such a thing without question.”

“I was a fool-”

“You were a girl! In a loving relationship with a boy you’ve loved since the first time you saw him! And it isn’t your fault he takes advantage of your vows. There’s probably all sorts of awful ways you could take advantage of ours and you don’t!”

“Probably?”

“I can’t think of any!”

Her laughter was warmer then, expression softening, “Of course you can’t.”

“The point is...you don’t _deserve_ that, Narcissa. Any of it. You don’t deserve the horrible things Lucius and the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters put you through. You don’t deserve being in a circumstance where your only playing card is _hurting yourself._ _Everyone_ in your present self’s life is working against her, _you_ should be the _very last person_ to do the same. _You deserve_ to have help when you need it. _You deserve-”_ well, everything. Every good thing.

“To be loved,” Narcissa softly supposed, brushing her thumb beneath Hermione’s eye, before sliding closer, lying on her back again as she pulled Hermione against her to rest on her chest, Hermione’s face against her neck as the woman began stroking her hair, making play with the end of a curl. “I do appreciate that which you show me.”

“You deserve to love _yourself,”_ Hermione insisted, hugging the woman as tightly as she dared, “You have to promise me, Narcissa, that you will. That you’ll take better care of yourself.”

Narcissa sniffled. “I will try, darling. You make it feel so easy, perhaps I should not find it so difficult,” she took pause and then, “I’m asleep, I believe. The best I have had in weeks. I’m not so strained, or weak, or fearful, I feel...safe, _so_ safe, because I know I can have you coming to my aid in an instant, with a splatter of ink in my day planner.” Narcissa fell silent, and for a moment Hermione thought the woman might have fallen asleep. Hermione was certainly heading that way, comfortable as she was. Her eyes drifted closed and she only just heard, “There is so much you do for me, Hermione. And there is much I cannot do for you.”

“I don’t want anything from you, Narcissa.”

She felt the woman’s soft huff of laughter, “Of course you don’t.”

“Except maybe for you to let me get some sleep.”

“Ahh,” Narcissa said knowingly, hand still stroking through her hair. “Of course, there is always a catch.” Lips pressed to the crown of Hermione’s head, “Sleep well, my darling.”

A benefit of sleeping directly on top of Narcissa—the only benefit Hermione found, of course—was the woman couldn’t slip out of bed without her knowledge. The sneaky Witch would have made breakfast all by herself again and that just wasn’t on! Last night had been, well, very intense. For all she’d barely half a glass of wine, the experience left her with something of an emotional hangover. But she supposed there was truth to the adage, indulging in the ‘hair of the dog that bit you’ to cure a hangover. She felt better when she met Narcissa’s sighed, “Good morning, darling,” with a kiss on the cheek that sent the older Witch smiling. Everything felt lighter working together to make breakfast, though it set something very warm and cozy in Hermione’s chest when the woman stepped away from breakfast prep to pack her lunch.

It felt almost a little silly, but they both reacted in the same moment as their memories of this morning came in, with overlapping, enthusiastically relieved, “You’re at breakfast!” as, well they’d paused what they were working on, Hermione had just been setting the table and Narcissa had been dropping a chocolate Kiss into her lunch box and they’d just sort of stopped to reach out for one another, clasping one another’s forearms as they smiled.

“Darling, I believe I will stay home today, if that suits?” Narcissa wondered then.

“Of course, it’s okay to need a day in, to yourself. You know the number for Whitakers and I’ll have the mobile unless you’d rather keep it in case you feel like going out?”

“Oh no, I’ll be staying in today,” she seemed a bit shy to confess, “I plan to prepare nutritive potion for myself, an intensive vitamin and mineral supplement that will aid in my present self’s recovery.”

“Oh! Oh wow that’s so great, thank you!”

She looked bemused at that. “I’ve earned your gratitude?”

“Well it- it would be beyond disheartening if, you know, all the turmoil last night was for nothing, if you didn’t take what I said to heart. I really appreciate you...looking out for yourself. Oh! You should write me! Draco too. Sixth years have a free period today after lunch, Draco and I are planning right now to use that to brew potion for you.”

Narcissa arched a brow at that, “You plan to disrupt my class?”

Hermione blushed. “It would be perfectly safe but um...untraditional. I...have occasionally, in past, used the second floor girl’s bath as a makeshift potions laboratory.”

“Whatever did you brew in a bathroom?”

“Polyjuice potion! Two, very successful, Polyjuice potions...and a third...that _worked_ I just...had a hair mix up and might have turned myself into Millicent Bulstrode’s cat. Sort of. It was very bizarre, and extremely disconcerting.” It was embarrassing but...pretty wonderful when Narcissa gripped her arm tight and laughed so hard she threw herself back with the action, open laughter that turned to nearly doubling over with the effort, pitching forward and leaning on Hermione for support.

“Oh my brilliant, brazen treasure. That? Is utterly delightful, oh my word,” she fanned herself a bit with both hands before using her pinkie fingers to wipe at the corners of her eyes. “I will certainly put a stop to any such bathroom brewing, and save your free period. Besides, choice of laboratory aside, my formulation is different from that which you and Draco know, superior now that I am eating, as it is meant to aid in recovery.”

“Really? Have I heard of it?” Hermione wondered.

“Unlikely, as it is _my_ formulation. It is one I developed for personal use. I’ll send enough for a week's supply along through the Sack.”

She didn’t want to damper that with screaming about how horrible it was she had reason to develop such a thing for herself, so, she went with, “That’s incredible, Narcissa! There’s more paper in the kitchen drawer if...oh you won’t need instructions or anything, it’s your formulation, and you’ll know who it's from,” she supposed.

“Actually darling, don’t worry if there is some paper missing for this purpose. It has been some time since last I took as much, I struggled to recall the necessary precautions, leaving my present’s self who might not be fully in her faculties to her own devices could be detrimental.”

Hermione snorted softly, “I don’t monitor the paper supply, except insofar as checking to see if we’re close to running out.” Oh. Narcissa had that look, that said she’d miscalculated and assumed something from past experience. How perfectly- why on earth would Lucius monitor how much parchment Narcissa us- to keep track of how much correspondence she sends out? What sort of nonsense?!. “You can use however much paper you like, use it all even, just maybe remind me to pick up more.” Though it did strike her, “Oh! Wait, I...I should probably write those down, just in case? We really cut it close at the train station, we have to be really careful interacting with ourselves.”

The corner of Narcissa’s mouth twitched, inward but then outward to spread into a warm, pleasant smile, one that met her eyes as she assured, “That will suit perfectly well Hermione, what an excellent suggestion. I shall dictate and you write. Word for word, mind, and I’ll not tolerate improper grammar.”

...for someone who wouldn’t tolerate it, she would end up using it. To ‘speak informally, have some familiarity’ with herself. It came out a little wonky in Hermione’s opinion but she sat down at the kitchen table with Narcissa after they ate breakfast and she dressed for work. She sat and wrote exactly as she was instructed. _When consuming a meal, sip one draught throughout. Every meal for the next week._

“Why can’t that be one sentence?” she wondered as she wrote.

“Do not think to criticise my style, Miss Granger. It is for emphasis. So my present’s self has reinforced knowledge she wasn’t to skip doses. She might think I mean any meal it conveniences her to do so, but no, it is to be every single meal until she runs out of potion. Now, shall we continue?”

_When consuming a meal, sip one draught throughout. Every meal for the next week. Careful you do not under-eat, this potion is processed more thoroughly if it is imbibed to support a proper round of digestion. As always, you may use a crystal goblet to safely consume this potion with your meal in a manner most discreet, it shan’t react negatively like metal might._ When she paused to think, Hermione pointed out that crystal goblets weren’t exactly discreet, and the woman smiled, dictating, _Nevermind what paupers might consider attention grabbing. Sip carefully, do not gulp or drink in haste. A supplement of nutritive potion will do you precious little good if you make yourself ill imbibing it too quickly. Very poor form, that. Especially before the Headmaster. Expectations are high, but take heart. Remain calm and know that you have allies._

“You’re sure you don’t want-”

“It’s absolutely perfect as it is, if you change a single letter, Miss Granger, I will know and my vengeance will be decadent.”

“That sounds like you’re threatening me with dessert.”

Narcissa smiled, leaning in from her seat beside Hermione, “Oh, I most _absolutely am.”_ Her smile grew when Hermione burst into giggles. Though the woman swallowed, reaching out to tuck a curl of hair behind Hermione’s ear. “Do be safe today my darling. You’ll call to confirm you’ve arrived at your place of business unharmed?”

Hermione nodded. “And before I head home so you have an idea of when you should expect me to be back,” she promised. “I can pick up dinner too if you’d like.”

“Excellent. Go, have a wonderful day,” she summoned the present-ish looking lunchbox into her hands, holding it out to Hermione, “And do enjoy your lunch.”

Hermione took it, leaning as she rose from her chair to kiss Narcissa on the cheek, “Thanks. Be safe, careful brewing, and call if you need anything.”

Narcissa didn’t call her, but she did write. The future’s Narcissa, not the present. She left a little note in her lunch box today.

_I hope you have a most pleasant day. Let me know if you’ve need of anything. Our breakfast this morning was simply divine, you must know. Very beneficial, given the late evening we had before such a long day. Everything is alright now darling, thank you for speaking with me last night. Your candor is dearly treasured. Our relationship is very important to me. Until tonight, my darling, do be well._

It was sweet, and Hermione found herself tucking it away in her bag for safe keeping, just- it had been sweet!

Their week fell into that pattern, waking up together, breakfast, Narcissa was insistent on packing Hermione lunch, and she always found a note inside, even on days Narcissa came into the shop with her. _I hope you have a pleasant day. Let me know if you’ve need of anything. Our next trip to the grocer, we should seek more fresh citrus, this is the last of our oranges in your lunch today. Vitamins in oranges are essential to our immune systems, did you know? Evidently non-magical people often turn to them to stave off colds. You look lovely today, by the way. Of course my present’s self thought that green might suit you. Until tonight, my darling, do be well._

Their ‘tonights’ were always interesting, they produced the most interesting memories, anyway. It wasn’t until nearly closing on Wednesday she remembered what she did to earn detention at the last minute of the last hour of her double Potions lesson.

_She let the flame under her cauldron die out a second too early and her solution turned more mauve than plum colored. Click, click...“Fuck me,” she hissed under her breath, Draco’s brow shooting up._

_Click. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Granger._ What _did you just say in my class?” Professor Black questioned from the aisle, standing just before her, staring her down as if daring her to lie. She probably expected Hermione might, and_ that _would earn her her detention for their lessons._

_However, “I said_ ‘fuck _me’,_ _Professor,” was a more guaranteed shot, worthy of multiple detentions in her opinion. It wasn’t like the woman was actually marking them down on her record, it was a show for class, so Pansy didn’t report anything suspicious about Hermione hanging about after class._

_The Professor had just stared at Hermione in the moment as startled sounds rippled through her students, but once she was capable of speech again, “Language like that is indeed worthy of detention, Miss Granger. A week's worth, starting tonight. You’re to report to my classroom at dinner hour.”_

_“Dinner hour starts after class!” Ron complained, outraged._

_“Then how kind of me to spare her the needless running about then, Mister Weasley,” the Professor drawled, leveling the boy an icy stare. “I would hardly see Miss Granger starve. A great many potions ingredients are perfectly edible,” she smiled pleasantly, “Flobberworms hold a delightful amount of protein.”_

Tough talk from a woman who not twenty minutes later was offering her miniaturized hamburgers...sliders, but Hermione wasn’t going to inform her Jinsey hadn’t invented the things...because it had ‘come to her attention’ that was one of Hermione’s favorite meals and she thought it might make a nice appetizer before a more civilized meal of beef roast and potatoes.

Thursday evening Hermione had been sitting on the couch after work, the woman’s feet in her lap as Hermione massaged at them as the older Witch had demanded when they settled on the couch, “Tes pieds puent,” she softly teased. Her feet smelled like actual roses, but still.

“Ils non,” Narcissa absently refuted the accusation, as she turned the page in her journal.

Wait. Hermione stopped, looking up at Narcissa. “When did I learn French?”

“We agreed I would teach you in our very first Occlusion lesson.”

“Yeah like, Monday night. It’s Thursday. We’re just now in our fourth lesson, I don’t think a language can be learned fluently in a matter of days.” it _felt_ fluent, she couldn’t think of a word she didn’t know as she sifted through her vocabulary.

“Legilimency has many a benefit, Miss Granger, especially insofar as the learning of new languages.” Narcissa casually explained. “Sharing my knowledge mind to mind is much swifter than articulating it in lesson plans.”

“Why didn’t you just have me teach you Sign that way?” Hermione wondered.

“...a matter of preference. I find I quite enjoy our lessons. And we’ve no great need for expediency, I’m a quick study, and it is refreshing to learn new things,” Narcissa supposed, closing her journal. “That’s quite enough darling. Shall I see to yours, now?” she wondered, “Reciprocity, and all that.” Oh. Oh the woman only demanded as much to...work Hermione around into receiving as much? It had been a pretty busy day, they’d been so slammed at lunch she’d had to stand and take bites of her own lunch whenever she got the chance to, Narcissa glaring the path she took around the shop between bites. She’d not really a chance to sit down until it was getting into the car to drive home and even then, relief wasn’t really felt until they were seated on the couch.

“You know, if you’re not careful, word will get around how big a softy Professor Black is,” Hermione teased.

“Let such word spread and see where it gets people,” Narcissa invited, “I am only ever so kind to Draco. And now, you. All else can suffer.”

“Even Jinsey?”

Narcissa smirked, “Jinsey has Mister Dobby to rub her sore feet after she’s been worked all day, like a Hermione Granger.”

They were early to bed Friday evening, it was another day Narcissa had spent at the library doing...well, whatever it was she was doing, research or something? Hermione couldn’t imagine she was getting up to much trouble at the local library so she wasn’t too concerned about it. She’d been pretty pleased about something when Hermione picked her up, satisfied with her work that day, she’d said, and asked Hermione about her own day.

_“We did a bit of a trial run with Patrick today, and we’ll see how he does tomorrow, Mister and Mrs will decide over Sunday if he’s a good fit. So far so good, he was just brilliant today.”_

_“...Patrick?”_ Narcissa asked, like it was a questionable flavor of icecream rather than the name of a person, nose ever so slightly crinkled with disdain.

_“Yeah, you know? The Whitakers have been looking to get proper staff for the shop, Patrick Duncan-”_

_“Patrick_ Duncan _?”_ she criticized, _“It sounds as if the boy has two first names.”_

_“Just the one,”_ Hermione assured, uncertainly. _“He’s really sweet and he’s catching on fast, and he was really great with all the customers. And he knows about Mrs, so there isn’t a problem there. It was really great to have help, he’ll get the hang of everything soon enough I think-”_

_“You hope they will hire this boy?”_

_“Well yeah Narcissa, he seems like a great fit so far and I- things are better now that I’m not pulling double days but working the shop basically by myself is a lot. He’s a hard worker and he’s really nice, he offered to treat me to lunch-”_

_“I packed your lunch!”_

Hermione smiled. _“Yes, thus I politely declined for today.”_

_“You are to absolutely eat what I prepare for you, it is not for my own health I go to such lengths-”_

_“Narcissa, I ate your lunch, calm down,”_ Hermione giggled, “ _What’re you getting- why does this feel like an argument?”_

_“It isn’t, you’ll continue to enjoy the lunches I prepare for you and this_ Patrick _can treat himself.”_

_“Narcissa-”_

_“I’ve a headache now Miss Granger I would appreciate if the remainder of our journey to our home was in silence.”_ She startled a bit when Hermione rested the back of her hand against her cheek before the older Witch relaxed against it, smiling a bit, and then frowning when Hermione’s hand moved away for a split second.

“ _I’m just checking for fever,”_ she said, and the woman’s brow smoothed under Hermione’s hand when she rested her palm against her forehead. “ _You don’t feel warm. Do you want draught? I have some in my bag.”_

_“I require-”_

_“More peppermint and coriander in yours, yes. It’s your variation of Headache Draught. I always keep some on hand for when we go out.”_

Narcissa had just...sort of been pouty at that, moody and staring out the window with her arms crossed over her chest for the rest of the car ride home. She did down a vial of draught once they were home and complained it wasn’t working before declaring she was taking an early night and storming up the stairs. That worried Hermione so she made soup, grabbed a sleeve of crackers and prepared tea, loading up a tray for them and taking it upstairs to find Narcissa sprawled out in bed, lying diagonally across it, on her stomach, still in her dark pink blouse and pencil skirt, heels on the floor like she’d kicked them off after flopping onto the bed, stockinged feet hanging over the edge of the bed. Hermione shifted the tray so she could hold it with one hand supporting its weight and freed the other to tickle softly at the sole of the woman’s foot when she didn’t pay her any mind after she entered the room. The woman’s leg twitched at the ticklishness and Hermione spied her smile, even as she complained,

“That’s quite enough of that, Miss Granger, or there will be repercussions. Reciprocity, most unpleasant,” she threatened lowly.

“Oh no,” Hermione teased, “Not reciprocity most unpleasant. Good thing I’m so clever, striking while you’ve a debilitating headache,” she said, resting the tray on the nightstand before tickling at her sole once more.

“I will show you debilitating,” the woman calmly assured as she sat up, rolling onto her bottom before sitting up on her knees, the slightest smirk at her lips.

Hermione yelped in surprise as the woman’s index fingers threaded through the vacant belt loops on her jeans and tugging Hermione forward, pulling her onto the bed and then pushing her on her back before nimble fingers began tickling mercilessly at Hermione’s ribs-

“Narcissa!”

“Reciprocity, Miss Granger,” the woman menacingly returned.

“Al-alright I g- I get it!”

“ _Do_ you?” Narcissa wondered, resting her elbow against the mattress to support her head in her hand as she cast her stare along Hermione’s body as the younger Witch caught her breath. “I suppose you might have learned your lesson.”

“Maybe,” Hermione offered, reaching out to tuck a lock of the woman’s hair that was falling into her face behind her ear. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A bit,” Narcissa supposed, and then she sat up, “You brought dinner?”

“Uh-huh, do you feel like eating?”

Narcissa sighed contently, looking to Hermione, something in the intense warmth in her gaze making the younger Witch feel like she’d just been doused in sunlight, warm and all-consuming. _“I love_...that you have done this, darling. Thank you.”

So, dinner in bed it was...Hermione wasn’t certain if Narcissa had banished their plates proper to avoid clean up, or if she’d merely cast something that sent them to the kitchen for later but either way the woman made it perfectly clear she had no intention of either of them leaving, so, they didn't. Hermione sat back against the headboard, considering summoning a book to read since it wasn’t quite a real bedtime yet, but...well, she’d not a headache but her brain felt tired, like she wouldn’t be able to much focus. She felt every bit of her shift from head to toe and wondered if a bath laced with Narcissa’s charm was in order. 

“Are you very tired, Hermione?” Narcissa wondered gently as she sat back with her, lacing her fingers with Hermione’s, and when Hermione nodded, “I was considering a spot of light reading myself, shall I read aloud?”

“Really? You don’t have to-”

“I know well you make no demands of me, Hermione. I am offering, I would not do so in the hopes you would say ‘no’ unless you truly wish to decline.”

“Um...sure.”

“Excellent. _Accio,_ On Human Nature,” Narcissa loftily commanded and the drawer of her nightstand opened to permit the tome to fly into her hand.

“You’re reading it too?” Hermione wondered. 

“I had Severus procure me a copy after you wrote my present self your enjoyment of it. She hasn’t much time for leisurely reading, she stopped part way through and I confess I’m inpatient to read more when it comes so highly recommended by Hogwarts most infamous bookworm.”

“Draco reads just as much as I do, he just doesn’t share most of what he learns.”

“Of course not, knowledge is power, what Slytherin goes gifting power to their enemies? Now, shush, I’ll not have you interrupting my performance.”

“Performance?”

“Yes darling, I was raised on the finest Elocution lessons money can buy, this is a 40,000 Galleon voice you are privy to, do give it the respect it deserves,” Narcissa haughtily intoned as she reached for her cup of tea resting on her nightstand, taking a few sips to moisten her throat before clearing it and opening her book. “ _Human nature seems to me to provide a standard of law and justice both for the home and for the city…_ ”

It was quite a performance, Hermione supposed. Though it soothed more than anything...which might have been the goal. Narcissa paused to smile when Hermione rested her head on the woman’s shoulder, the action met immediately with Narcissa’s arm slipping behind her shoulders to twine her fingers in Hermione’s hair, playing with it as she continued to read, wordlessly, wandlessly turning the page when the need arose. Hermione nearly fell asleep.

A very...interesting memory did wake her a bit. Just a bit.

_“Sorry we’re late,” Hermione apologized a bit breathlessly as she rushed into Ravenclaw’s common room. Padma always kept her up to date on the password, she was pretty well welcome...even with Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle on her heels having walked her from her detention. There was some reticence of course, but older forms didn’t want to make the few younger Slytherins in their group feel unwelcome or think they should be disliked for their House. Everyone was gathered around a low table surrounded by two long couches on either side, a few arm chairs on the ends, stools and chairs pulled up, school materials spilling all over the table, floating in the air as everyone scrambled to tackle their weekend assignments. Vincent was already seated alongside Aiden...Wizard day, today, he was binding, in uniform trousers, the boy’s hand making a rolling motion as he explained something in earnest to the Slytherin boy who nodded, a bit of comprehension sparking in his eye as he voiced an answer to the equation they were working on and grinning wide when the Ravenclaw boy prompted him for a high-five._

_“No worries, Hermione,” Padma assured a bit tightly, there was...a level where her classmates ‘got’ why Hermione was ‘acting out’ in potions, Narcissa Malfoy was a supposed Blood Supremacist, allied directly with the Dark Lord, but Padma was a bit scandalized that Hermione kept provoking the woman. But she waved toward the seat she’d saved, looking to Draco and Gregory before casting to pull a few more chairs over and offering at least an attempt at a friendly smile in their direction before returning her attention to Hermione as she sat down. “Everyone’s helping each other, Astoria had a question for you.”_

_“Alr…” she fell silent, her attention drawn to something happening on the other end of the Common Room. “Is everything alright?”_

_Padma looked to see what Hermione was, Luna Lovegood curled in on herself in an armchair along the far wall near the entrances to Ravenclaw’s dormitories. Her head was bowed, light catching in the tears falling into her lap where her fists were clenched, shoulders shaking. Ginny Weasley was perched at her side on the armchair, rubbing circles on her back and leaning as far forward as she could without falling, trying to peer into her face, looking absolutely worried sick, “C’mon Lu. Love, you have to talk to me.”_

_“I don’t know,” Padma confessed, looking worried herself. “She hasn’t spoken all evening, she’s just been sitting there staring into space and when Ginny came ‘round she just started crying.”_

_“M-my, my-” Luna couldn’t speak, oh Merlin._

Oh, she remembered this. Well, duh, obviously, she was remembering it. But it was something she remembered from last year just...different. Hermione came down like before but Ginny wasn’t there, she’d seen Luna alone in the corner and when she approached she’d just cried and cried before she could choke out that-

_Gregory had been moving to take his seat but now he set his school things down, and quietly crossed the common room. He knelt before Luna and Ginny, the red head shooting him a helpless look as he reached out, took gentle hold of Luna’s chin to guide her to look up at him._

_“What happened?”_

_Two calm, but firm words that prompted Luna to quietly sob and then, “I- I was t-taking a nap to commune with the Sylphies* and wh-when I woke it-” her voice squeaked and Gregory’s hand dropped to take hers in it, offering a squeeze. “My necklace. Th-th-they st-stole my Butterbeer necklace it-” her expression crumbled, “It has my mother, p-part of her, she- I m-made it before...sh-she was wearing it wh- when...” when she died._ Hermione had lost her mind when Luna told her, she’d nearly had her prefect status revoked for attempting to take a Hundred points and threatening them until they returned it with an apology.

_“Who?” Ginny ground out, low and menacing. And when Luna shrugged and shook her head to indicate she wasn’t certain, Ginny surged to her feet, wand in hand as she cast her glare across the whole of the common room. “Alright!” she hollered, “Who fucking did this?!” their was the din of a low bell sounding, and a ghostly silvery image appeared overhead that spelled Gryffindor 00, the numbers sliding like they were on spindles that rolled smoothly to denote -5. Ginny stuck out her tongue at it, thrusting a middle finger at the image that then expanded to offer a third sliding number sandwiched between, to read -05 and before sliding into -15. She growled. “Which one of you dump-biscuits stole Luna’s necklace? Come on, out with it!” there was some quiet giggling from a group of fifth years seated on a loveseat directly across from where Ginny stood, two Witches and a Wizard squeezed into the couch while the arms bore a Witch and a Wizard all in Luna’s year. “Was it you?!”_

_“And so what if it was?” the Wizard in the middle of the couch simpered, looking pleased with himself._

_Ginny crossed the room robes billowing at the sudden movement, her hair rising like it’d caught a spark of magic from what was welling up inside of her at her unadulterated outrage. “Give it back! Give it back now and maybe I’ll spare you, you cowardly little_ slugs _.”_

_“Look, Weasley is it?” the boy started._

_“News flash, I_ am _a Weasley, the youngest girl in a houseful of six older brothers, one of which is a Curse Breaker, another a Dragon Tamer, and Fred and George weren’t Beaters because they play gentle. I know curses that will stain your skin lime green for a month, make you wet the bed any night of the week I dictate, have every last hair on your head falling out for permanent. And if you think that’s bad? That,” she pointed with her unarmed hand, a single index finger reaching behind her to direct their attention to the boy at Luna’s side, “Is Gregory freaking_ Goyle. _He knows things you couldn’t conjure up in your worst nightmares, and he would absolutely_ destroy _every. last. one of you, at my say so.”_

_Gregory often slumped his shoulders, had a bit more bend to his knees to make himself a little smaller when he walked alongside his friends, at least Hermione in a way that felt like he was offering a form of courtesy, trying to be less physically intimidating. But now he rose up to his feet and stood at his full height, shoulders back and head high as he crossed the room in three measured steps to stand at Ginny’s back, to offer two more words, rising from deep in his chest, the deadly calm assurance that, “I would.”_

_There was something of a scramble between the five Ravenclaws, a bit of a slapping fight broke out as it seemed they’d forgotten which one among them stashed the necklace before their little ringleader let out a frustrated growl,_

_“Oh Accio Loony’s freaking necklace!”_

_Big mistake, calling Luna that, and the necklace didn’t even come at the call, but the girl on the arm of the couch fell off of it as she leaned too far to reach for the boy’s book satchel resting alongside the loveseat to get to the necklace while Ginny leveled her wand at the boy._

_“Slugulus-” Ginny’s spell died on her lips as Gregory rested a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him as he pointed skyward to indicate the counters. She’d already lost Gryffindor fifteen points. “I don’t care about ruddy points!”_

_His lips twitched in a bit of a smile, as he shared, as if in a bit of conspiracy, “Neither do I, Ginerva,” and then he raised his own wand, “Slugulus Eructo.”_

_The Ravenclaw Wizard began vomiting up slugs as his so-called friends scattered to be out of the way of the splatter of goopy mess that accompanied the curse. Silvery ‘Slytherin’ and sliding -15 under which read Detention, Flitwich, Saturday 9am. Ginny’s eyes went a little wide at that, like she felt badly the boy had spared her that punishment but Gregory just shrugged, assuring that he “Figured. Worth it.”_

_A trembling Witch handed over Luna’s necklace to Ginny who turned on her heel to go to Luna’s side, Gregory spread a longish, cold stare over each and every offending Ravenclaw before joining her as she returned Luna her necklace._

_Luna had been staring with wide tearful eyes as she took in the exchange but now she looked down as she took the necklace with trembling hands, clutching it to her chest and whimpering a soft, “Mummy,” happier tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked back up at Ginny and leaned forward, one hand holding the necklace to her heart while the other grasped hold of Ginny’s school tie and she pulled the Witch forward to catch her lips in a brief, but enthusiastic kiss before she looked up at Gregory, eyes shining with tears and gratitude and something else._

Oh...it was the way she’d looked at Hermione when she returned with Luna’s necklace. It had been the first instance Hermione was absolutely certain the girl wanted to kiss her. She’d asked her to join her for lunch in the Kitchen’s instead...the Elves hadn’t much appreciated their kissing then.

_But now? Hermione sat in utter awe and pride as she’d watched Ginny and Gregory defend the sweet, misunderstood Ravenclaw girl. Awe! Luna was blushing as Ginny sat on the arm of her chair again and took hold of the hand that had held her tie, the Ravenclaw looking to Gregory as she breathed, “Thank you.”_

_Gregory Goyle got down on one knee, and held out his hands in offering, the Witch nodding as she placed her most treasured possession in his hands and turned a bit, to sit with her bottom half off the seat while she faced Ginny, gathering her hair over one shoulder to move it out of the way as she had her back more to Gregory as he carefully took hold of the necklace’s ends, bringing looping it over Luna’s head before catching the end loop in the clasp and allowing it to close secure before he gently took hold of Luna’s hair to pull it out from under the necklace without harming a single strand._

_Luna smiled as she turned in her seat to face him again. “Ginny, we should have Gregory to lunch in the Kitchens tomorrow, we’ll pick you up after detention.”_

_“Ohh, yeah, seriously Greg, join us,” the redheaded Witch agreed, offering a wink, “our treat.”_

_Gregory Goyle offered back a small, warm smile. “Sounds good.”_

...Hermione could still remember her times with Luna in the Kitchens, the library, Ravenclaw Common Room...the night she slipped up to the dormitories and they tested how well her privacy wards worked when woven into the curtains of Luna’s bed...but now those memories felt a lot like many of her memories from the time that had passed did. Old, like she had to focus to recall them, still real in her mind but existing there alone without a connection to time through anything else but Hermione’s memory. Huh. She supposed her first time could still be with Susan, but still...she’d really liked Luna. She was happy with...whatever was going on between her and Ginny...and Greg. But still, it was a little sad those experiences didn’t exist for Luna anymore.

“Is everything alright, Hermione?” Narcissa questioned, shifting slightly, letting her grasp of the book go lax to rest against her stomach while she looked to Hermione, stroking her hair.

Hermione sighed a bit, looking up into the woman’s eyes. Gosh, they really were a breathtaking sort of blue, pale and she’d often heard now other students describe the woman’s stare as icy but they weren’t ice. Sky blue, light and filled entirely with the warmth of day. It was sad to lose some things. But there was something to be gained in the new coming from their timeline changes. She wouldn’t trade what she and Luna had for Draco’s switch of sides. She couldn’t regret it was him and their friends she spent time with in the library. She loved waking up and spending her mornings in the kitchen with Narcissa. She wouldn’t trade sneaking into Ravenclaw dormitory for the thrill of side-along into the Room of Requirement with Professor Black. She wouldn’t give up lazy evenings watching telly with Narcissa. “Yeah, everything’s great. Are you okay?” she found herself wondering, her cheeks had pinked when Hermione first met her gaze but now she looked a bit winded. Oh. “Sorry, legilimency?”

“Do not be- your thoughts are- well I wouldn’t change them but I am apologetic for my intrusion, I wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”

“...well,” Hermione said, “I can Occlude well enough now. My present’s self is getting better at doing it continuously as she’s being trained to. Now when I think about it it feels like habit to Occlude but…I don’t really have a reason to,” she shrugged. “I trust you.”

“I- well I absolutely adore your trust in me, Hermione,” the woman softly confessed. “I- might I ask if you’ve remembered something that now weighs on your mind?”

“Mmm, it doesn’t weigh on it. I don’t feel...terribly upset over it,” Hermione assured. “Luna’s dating Ginny Weasley, I think that started when Draco first came ‘round? I got busy when we started preparing for his arrival and we didn’t write as often, and then when she got back from holiday with her father Ginny was the one who went to see her, started slipping off more and more since...well it was a little like Draco was the new addition to the family, everyone was so focused on welcoming him she finally had some of the attention taken of. And it looks like maybe...there’s something on with the two of them and Gregory Goyle? In the original timeline we...I think Luna sort of fell a bit in love with me when I got her her mother’s necklace back from Ravenclaws who were bullying her. But everyone’s in a bit of a different place now so, they filled that role, it's not mine anymore.”

“Did you fall in love with Miss Lovegood?” Narcissa wondered, her voice a bare whisper, like the question might hurt them if she gave it too much strength.

“I love Luna, I mean...she’s my friend and I really cared about her, I really liked our time together...romantically, but I’ll survive it I think. If I was madly in love with her like that, I think I’d be pretty devastated right now, God that would be horrible to loose someone like that to a circumstance of time, but...I’m just sad that it’s just me who remembers how great it was, and I’m happy with the way things are now.”

“It would be,” Narcissa said, “I think it would be the most terribly painful thing if one were to lose their opportunity to have such a love because time robbed them of it. As much time as we’ve gained with our ability to Time Travel I…”

“What, Narcissa?”

“I must confess there is...there is an opportunity I see for myself, here in this timeline. Circumstance keeps me from it but time on that circumstance is finally drawing to an end and yet I find myself absolutely terrified it will be too late to seize what my heart most desires.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed at that, wow that sounded serious. “What is it your heart most desires?”

“You haven’t a guess? Of course not. Understandable, given the circumstances*.”

“You can’t just tell me? You have to be mysterious about it?” Hermione supposed somewhat amused.

The older Witch smiled at that, “I’m a woman of mystery, I must live up to that, mustn’t I?”

“Well...whatever it is, I hope you get it. You deserve anything you want in life,” Hermione intoned. It felt important that the woman know that, she felt like Narcissa needed reassurances that she deserved good things. That sort of ached her, that it was a need, that the woman couldn’t assume as much on her own, but it was a need she was glad to meet. “If you feel like breaking your mysterious streak, let me know. If it's something I could help you with, I’m there.”

“I hoped you might say that. Luck should have it, you are always so willing to help me. Oh, darling that is comforting. Very comforting. Everything feels rather possible when we tackle it together. You feel likewise, surely?” she smiled when Hermione nodded. “Optimistic as always. Unless proven otherwise, you continue to pursue hope for the best.”

“Life would be pretty miserable otherwise, I should think.”

“Oh it is,” Narcissa assured. “Do keep being optimistic for me, won’t you?” there was a bit of a smirk that came to her lips as she supposed, “Perhaps, someday, you might rub off on me.”

That wasn’t- nope. Nope nope. Hermione was swift to avert her gaze and she cleared her throat as she rose up, scooting toward the edge of the bed. “Well, I’m not too optimistic that I remembered to lock the door, and I should make sure everything’s all good downstairs um, would you like the bathroom first? I think I’ll bathe tonight instead of showering so I’ll be a little longer than usual if you’d like to do your thing.”

Her thing was being finished with her own bathing ritual and reclining in bed in a pale blue negligee that Hermione was certain matched the woman’s eyes, scribbling away in her Hermione journal, as she loftily announced, “I took the liberty of drawing you a bath my darling, do enjoy.”

Their weekend was very enjoyable. Narcissa? Was more than ecstatic with the change in staff at Whitakers when she joined Hermione Saturday, as she was properly introduced to Patrick Duncan, who she was absolutely _delighted_ to learn had been offered this job through attending an LGBT support group hosted at the shop the Sunday before last. Well, she was delighted with it once her blank stare to Hermione was met with the confirmation that stood for ‘Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender’, and Patrick smiled wide as he offered Narcissa a wink and the assurance that _he_ was the ‘G’.

Narcissa had this very neutral look on her face, something Hermione recognized as quiet distaste when she first laid eyes on the handsome young man, she’d even quietly offered “He’s almost a Weasley,” at the sight of curly ginger hair atop his head, his face dusted with freckles. But now it was, “Oh how wonderful! Stacie already sings tale of your praises, I’m pleased you’ve found your place here.”

“I think I poured more coffee on myself yesterday than into customer’s mugs,” the young man reported, wrenching a hand at the back of his neck as he blushed. 

“That’s why I mostly try to wear darker colors,” Hermione assured, “I’m pretty sure I’m personally responsible for half the mess I clean up, you’ll get the hang of things in no time.”

“Thanks. Um, is there anything I should be doing now? We open soon right?” Patrick asked as he consulted his watch, before he startled, “Oh!” and looked to Narcissa, “I’m sorry, can I get you anything?”

Hermione smiled, “I’ve got Narcissa’s order,” she assured, she’d yet to go behind the counter, the older Witch had followed her right up to meet Patrick so she rested a hand on the woman’s back, rubbing a bit as she nodded and Narcissa offered a nod, stepping back into Hermione’s hand a bit before she turned to head for her usual table. “Mrs is likely finishing up in the back if you wouldn’t mind helping her bring things out?”

“On it!” he determinedly accepted...in a way that was encouraging but also made Hermione worry the guy was going to to load up his arms with pastry trying to carry every single thing from the kitchen out in one trip. It...should be fine. Probably.

Narcissa...was the one to press a kiss to Hermione’s cheek when she brought her tea. “I am reminded my son has recently gained more pride in his status as the ‘G’ in...LGBT?” she made certain she had it right, and Hermione nodded. “I did mean to thank you but our argument...well I confess I forgot.”

“You gave me...fifty points I think? You listed other things too but I’m pretty sure it was mostly for that, and he didn’t even come out to me on school property.”

_“I_ wanted to thank _you,_ for being the sort of person who would be such a friend to him,” she seemed a little emotional over it, as she offered up a warm smile, “I adore your care for my son.”

“Well he’s your son, so of course I care about him, and he’s...kind of one of my best friends now,” Hermione shrugged, too… “Actually...I did want to run something past you.”

“Of course darling,” Narcissa invited, motioning to the empty chair across from her. They’d no customers yet so, she took a seat.

She’d been considering when to ask, slipped the little notebooks into her apron with the intention of bringing it up at some point today and now seemed as good a time as any. She withdrew the small flip, spiral bound notebooks and placed them on the table, “I...I kind of miss him? Is that weird? I have all these memories now of our time together and Harry’s always passing along things to me from Draco and so I thought maybe, if you were okay with it and wouldn’t mind securing them, it isn’t so much for ‘mission stuff’ as just...staying in contact with my friend? I’d like to charm these to work like throw-away versions of our journals, just a way to chat with Draco whenever, you know? Does that sound okay?”

“Absolutely,” the woman was immediate to agree.

“Great! Perfect, I um, I already did my thing to these, its all paper and cardboard so magic didn’t have any trouble sticking. I just thought you might prefer being able to secure them however you feel most comfortable and, you know, making sure you’re okay with the idea.”

“It’s marvelous,” Narcissa insisted, resting her hands over Hermione’s on the table top, “I will secure and send his along to my present self and return you yours, posthaste, if you believe it sound to use the restroom?”

“Sure thing, lock the door behind you and call the shop if you have any trouble.”

“Now Miss Greene,” Narcissa said, leaning across the table as she rose from her seat to speak as if in conspiracy, “what wisdom is there when one faces trouble, to call upon trouble herself?”

“Trouble? Me?!” Hermione returned, indignant, “I’ll show you trouble!”

“Undoubtedly,” Narcissa assured before she stepped away, headed for the restroom. Merlin, her skirts always...just toed the line of indecency in Hermione’s opinion, hugging the curve of her backside just- if the woman ever wore a snug pair of trousers? Oh! Hermione blushed furiously when the older Witch turned ‘round as she reached the bathroom door, looking back over her shoulder at Hermione and meeting her gaze, brow raising-

Okay, maybe she _should_ consider Occlusion. She tinkered with the thought as she busied herself getting into the work day, mentally retreating to her library.

_“Is this perhaps some dream library of yours, Miss Granger?” Professor Black had wondered with some amusement Wednesday evening as she wandered along a bookshelf, dragging a finger along the spines, which...kind of made the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stand on end, just- it was a strange sensation, she could feel the woman in her mind, her presence, her footsteps across the hardwood floors, her finger along the books._

_“Maybe? I dunno, I focused more on making a place I feel comfortable and safe, in my element, the same way you do in your garden.”_

_“This is excellent work, darling. You’re doing impeccably,” she complimented, so proud it...apparently manifested in the lights burning a bit brighter as Hermione felt the glow of that pride. The older Witch’s eyes moved upward, a little smile at her lips before she looked to Hermione, “How do you feel? If it is too much strain, we can stop for tonight. Or would you care to continue?”_

_She could feel a building headache, but she craved the opportunity to impress her Professor more than the relief of stopping. “We can keep going, if that’s alright.”_

_“Excellent. Can you exemplify how you plan to lead through here, use this place to ground yourself and build your faux-wall?” Oh, she might not be that impressed then._

_“Yeah! I...I tried on my own the other night, but I’m not certain I’m doing it right. I copied your rose petal method, or I tried to anyway.”_

_“You’re only just getting started my dear, don’t fret,” the Professor intoned, reaching out to brush Hermione’s hair back. “Let me see, we’ll figure out the issue together.”_

_Hermione nodded. “Okay, so, I pulled a book from the shelf,” she said and when the Professor nodded she pulled a copy of_ Hogwarts a History _from the shelf and opened to a random page. “I tried focusing on the dot over an ‘i’ or in a punctuation mark but um…”_

_“Your eye is drawn to something else and that is what you found your focus in?” the older Witch supposed, and when she nodded, “Darling, everyone is different, just as you feel at ease in your library and I in my garden. Relax and trust yourself, you’ll not be led astray.”_

_Hermione focused, and her eye was drawn to the center of the page, space between lines of text._

_In the next instance they were enveloped in brilliant light, the Professor’s gasp echoing across the expanse before-_

_She felt her focus giving out and drew them back into her library and then she opened her eyes to the Room of Requirement, she’d slumped forward where she sat on the floor across from the older Witch, and Narcissa’s hands were on her shoulders before one raised to cup her cheek, raising her face to meet her gaze as she cried out,_

_“Oh you most brilliant girl, you were doing it! You did splendidly, that was remarkable!” pulling Hermione to her chest in a hug, stroking her hair as she praised, “Never doubt yourself, never. That was superb." She pulled away, gaze assessing. "You're coming along nicely darling, you should take the coming days to rest your mind between attempts to maintain your library. We'll refocus on Monday, and work on your faux-wall, gathering the memories you are comfortable displaying to potential enemies our next few lessons, and meanwhile do not exhaust yourself but do begin practicing maintaining your library.”_

_"I still have a weeks worth detention tho," Hermione said. Were they not having lessons again until Monday?_

_The Professor smirked at that, working a curl around her finger as she considered, "Oh, yes. You were a very naughty girl today, Miss Granger, wherever did you learn such foul language? I find myself at a loss on how to handle such reprimandable behavior...hmm...I suppose you'll simply have to endure my pleasant company, dining and perhaps...there is a potions project I must get to and you are rather insistent I not overwork myself or lack sleep for this cause, so perhaps you'd care to assist me?"_

_...you are rather insistent…"Future me? You've talked about this project with her?"_

_"I made mention that I'll be brewing your formulation of Dreamless Sleep, for the Hospital Wing's supply and should she find herself in need of it, why should I not merely make enough for the both of you? In good time, as apparently you've run out. Too, your future self wondered if I could send along ingredients for my headache draughts as they've run out and I've only a few bottles left."_

_"My...future self takes a lot of Dreamless Sleep?" Hermione tentatively wondered._

_"Not an obscene amount but...well darling our future selves come from the brunt of a War."_

_"Right," sometimes she forgot about that, strangely enough. All of this was starting to feel a little normal, in a weird way, like it was just how it was supposed to be, not some strange circumstance she'd put herself in because of something bad coming up. It...scared her a bit, that there was something in the future so horrible she joined forces with Narcissa Malfoy and turned back time._

_"Hermione," Professor Black intoned, "we are allies in this time. Whatever comes we face together."_

_That made Hermione smile, and she nodded. "I can help? With potions." she asked and when the Professor nodded, "Yeah sure, dinner and potions. Its almost a traditional detention!"_

_The Professor smiled, "I'm glad it pleases you."_

They'd have more potion...now actually, her memories for today coming in, they'd just bottled up the last of it and sent it along, and in the very next instance Narcissa was pulling the little notebook and a note she pulled closer to her chest with a smirk when Hermione got on tip toes to peek at it. It didn't look like Narcissa's handwriting in the glimpse she got, it...looked like maybe Narcissa had repaired the old typewriter in the attic to put anonymous instruction with the notebook. They made the woman smile, something warm and then something that looked like intrigue...and mischief.

_"What is it?" Hermione wondered._

_"Nothing at all darling, your future self merely wishes a way to communicate with Draco."_

Huh, her present self hadn’t noticed it quite so intensely as her future self did thinking over the memory, she’d been so focused on the task at hand, because Professor Black had supposed Hermione could lighten her workload and assist in making further potion for the student body. But she’d seen the Professor crating up their potions and there had been Dreamless Sleep, Headache Draught and then something else that Hermione didn’t recognize. Vials of purplish-pink potion with flecks of green throughout. It didn’t look like anything Hermione had ever taken, was it for Narcissa? Was she...sick or something? She didn’t _seem_ unwell but there were lots of conditions people could have that didn’t have an outright visible manifestation. She would tell Hermione if something was wrong, wouldn’t she? If she needed...help or more rest or something, right?

She spent a month letting her present self starve without so much as a word on the subject so. Maybe not.

“Darling? Is something the matter?” Hermione startled a bit when she realized Narcissa had returned, leaning over the counter and resting a hand over Hermione’s. She upturned her hand to take hold of the older Witch’s, retreating from her mental library and meeting the woman’s gaze.

_“Is_ something the matter?” Hermione asked, a bit of wobble in her words. Oh Merlin, if something was wrong, if Narcissa had been suffering or struggling and didn’t feel like she could just _tell_ her-

Narcissa’s own concerned expression melted into something warm and reassuring, “Nothing at all darling, I promise you. It is purely supplemental, not unlike those vitamins you take. I’m not put to detriment so long as I maintain practice of taking my...prescription,” she opted for instead of potion since Patrick or someone might hear, the timber of his voice could still be heard through the kitchen door, he was chatting with Mrs. Whitaker still.

Oh God, “We didn’t have a way to make your supplements for a few d-days and I don’t- I’ve never seen it, how-”

“I wasn’t much in the habit of leaving my personal medicines lying about the manor, I had my current supply kept at hand, I did not go without. I’ve had access to ingredients and now I have...presently dedicated myself to making certain I keep supplied.”

“So you’re okay?”

“I can assure you I am a great deal better than merely ‘okay’,” Narcissa offered sincerely, leaning further to press a kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “Now, here is your notebook, give Draco my love, won’t you? You’ll sit with me when you break for lunch?” and when Hermione nodded, “Good.”

It wasn’t until she broke for lunch that she got the opportunity to write Draco, he only got his notebook when he came ‘round to pick Hermione up from detention. Narcissa sat across from her, openly attempting to read Hermione’s writing upside down, perplexed when,

“You’ve charmed it so even _I_ can’t see what you’ve said?” the woman questioned.

“Are we being nosey, Miss Black?” Hermione questioned drily, smile tugging at her lips as she kept her focus on the page, finishing her message to Draco as the woman sighed impatiently. “What if we want to talk about you?”

That got her an indignant huff. “ _Are_ you talking about me?”

“Oh absolutely,” Hermione assured, grinning wide, she wasn’t certain if it was the audacity of her words or the fact she was visually ignoring the woman at the moment as she continued right along with her writing.

“I will not be ignored, Miss Greene,” Narcissa returned, Hermione huffing a soft laugh.

Her pencil scratched a harsher line than she’d intended when the side of Narcissa’s stocking-clad foot trailed a path from Hermione’s ankle, all the way up to her knee, and back down again and her only cognizant thought was her relief that she’d remembered to shave.

“Narcissa!” Hermione reprimanded, looking to the woman who gasped softly, expression the very definition of innocent.

“Why whatever is it, darling?” she wondered, even as she made the venture again, slower and just-

“You know there’s such a thing as workplace harassment, Narcissa Black, I’ll have you banned if you can’t behave.”

The woman offered a put on pout, resting her chin in her hand as she _batted her eyes_ at Hermione, “Would you _truly_ banish me, darling?”

“If you continue to sit here breaking our ‘no shirt no shoes’ standard.”

“I’ve _a_ shoe on, and I’ve not even begun to unbutton my blouse as I’ve already garnered your attention.”

“I’ll eat my lunch in the kitchen, I swear.”

“Am I vexing you, darling?”

“Perpetually.”

“Then I suppose reciprocity has been met,” she said, leaving Hermione’s leg be to put her foot back in her shoe.

“Why would Draco and I writing about you be vexing?” Hermione wondered, “What exactly do we think we’re saying? Something awful like ‘oh you’ve just the most amazing mother’, Draco complaining that you love him so much?” she teased. When Narcissa’s mouth worked at that, “We love you, Narcissa, if we’re talking about you, it’s hardly to bad mouth you behind your back. I secured our writing like this in case,” she shrugged, “I mean there’s just some things you’d rather talk with your friends about that you might be embarrassed for your mother to read. I want him to feel comfortable talking to me here, as he is when we talk in person once there’s a privacy ward or two around.”

“Miss Greene.”

“Yeah?”

“...you are perpetually vexing, yourself, in the most wonderful way.”

“...wonderful?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well good,” Hermione supposed.

Narcissa wound up...pretty vexed Sunday morning. And to be fair it was Hermione’s entire fault.

It started with the best of intentions, truly, and it worked out, just, not without a few hinks. 

It had started out perfectly, she wore dad’s college sweatshirt to bed and the sleeves were long and plush enough her wand sheath went unnoticed, and it vibrated enough to wake her at 4:30. Narcissa only stirred when Hermione was awake enough to pull herself out of bed.

“Darling?” Narcissa softly questioned, half asleep as she looked up at Hermione in the dim light of her night light.

“Shh, back to sleep,” Hermione whispered back.

“You’re alright?”

“Everything’s great,” she promised, bending down to press a kiss to the woman’s forehead, “get some more rest.”

The older Witch hummed contendly, seemed to drop off again. Hermione left a note by her light, just in case, before she dressed, transfiguring the robes she wore whenever she and Narcissa brewed together, altering just enough to make them look more like normal, indiscreet Witch’s robes, with the addition of a hood. She wasn’t certain how Draco and Harry managed exactly, but they’d done just as Hermione asked, she’d left muggle money in the sending sack and asked Harry if he’d please swap with her, for wizarding currency since, well, she was for Diagon Alley today. A quick trip, in and out, at the start of day, but that wouldn’t be for a little while. She mostly needed to be up so early for the cover of night. It wouldn’t do for her neighbors to rise for church only to discover their friendly neighborhood Witch in her back garden performing warding spells. But once she was done, they wouldn’t notice much of anything going on in her back garden.

Diagon Alley was practically dead at 6am on a Sunday morning, and Slug & Jiggers? Empty, save the shopkeep who paid her no mind, it wasn’t entirely unusual for a witch to roll in with the morning fog cloaked in a hooded robe, was it ridiculous she felt so mysterious? It probably was. She was nervous and excited for all sorts of reasons, if she was recognized she was supposed to be in school...and there was every available evidence that she was. And what if this was dumb? All for nothing? Narcissa would like it, right? She would. Probably.

Oh Merlin she really hoped so. Especially since the shelves of Slug & Jiggers weren’t exactly lined with roses, there were all sorts of foul smelling herbs, jars of things that looked to be alive...and in pain, oh, just, gross. She just needed seeds, and she’d have a great deal more luck here given everything would be on hand, despite the season. She just needed to find the section of the shop _not_ dedicated to pickled toes and eyeballs or strange...gremlin baby looking things.

She wasn’t certain who instilled the idea that it was a brilliant business scheme to put every last dreadful thing in the front of the shop and the perfectly benign in the back, but Hermione wondered if it would be rude to Apparate indoors to zip to the counter when she was done. She pulled her list from her cloak, consulting it as she scanned the shelves lined with glass jars that held gloriously non-terrifying seeds, golden placards under each labeling them in cursive ebony script, sorted in alphabetical order. Excellent.

Maybe not. She took up a handful of small, cream-colored sachets from a barrel at the end of the shelf, and reached for the jar labeled _Alstroemeria_ , only...the jar wouldn’t budge. Did it need her to ask nicely?

“Oh, come on,” she whispered the complaint, tugging against the jar that seemed pretty well bolted to the shelf, the force of her pull only sent her stumbling backward when her hand slipped from the glass and her heart jumped straight out of her chest when she stumble directly into a _person_ , someone whose poor foot she stepped on, catching her elbow against their middle with a soft, muttered ‘oh!’, crap! Hermione whirled around, looking up into the woman’s face, eyes wide as she immediately apologized, “Oh my gosh I’m so sor- s-s-sorry.” Oh. Double crap.

The amber eyes of Andromeda Tonks stared down into her own, gaze assessing with a curious look on her face before she offered a pleasant smile. “Miss Granger,” she greeted, a hint of amusement in her voice, “My how times have changed, Hogsmeade Saturdays to Diagon Sundays?” she supposed, arching a brow.

“I- I was just-”

The woman giggled, a sound almost remarkably like her sister’s, “Oh honestly. You’ve no need to fear of me, Miss Granger, Merlin knows I snuck off from school grounds for a great many...less than reputable outings than that to the local apothecary.” She was a bit more serious, almost stern as she questioned, “Is this for some potions project? Are you in need of a medical solution the Hospital Wing doesn’t hold? All is well, I hope.”

“Oh! Everything’s fine, great I- yeah I just...this is for a personal project, purely for fun really. Hogwarts Potions Mistress wouldn’t just let me waltz into her storeroom and pick out a few things to quell some Sunday morning boredom. You...aren’t going to um...do anything?”

“I think perhaps I’ll let this slide...just this once, of course,” she assured, eyes alight with her mirth. “But there is one thing, Miss Granger.”

_Of course, there is always a catch_ , she could almost hear Narcissa say. Oh Merlin. “Yes Mrs. Tonks?”

The woman smiled brilliantly, like she was utterly delighted how very fearful Hermione sounded, and Hermione squeaked a bit when the woman’s hand grasped hold of her elbow to pull so she turned about to face the shelves, the older Witch stepping closer, arm reaching alongside Hermione’s head while her hand moved to guide the one she was holding the open sachet in until it was level with the golden plaquared, “ _Alstroemeria,_ was it?” she questioned softly in Hermione’s ear.

She nodded a little, nervous, “Mm-hm.”

“Excellent,” the Witch said, dragging her index finger along the ebony script of the label on the shelf and a few seeds fell, summoned into the sack, _Alstroemeria_ appearing in slanted black embroidered script. Oh. “Best of luck with your personal project, and your Potions Mistress, Miss Granger.”

And then the woman was gone, shopping basket clattering softly against her hip as she left Hermione to her business. Well. That was a little terrifying, that she’d been spotted but...well, she was Tonks mother, she got her...everything...from somewhere. And the woman would have told her directly to her face if she meant to report her for being off grounds. So, it was fine. Mostly. Oh Merlin Narcissa was going to be pissed she’d been spotted. Maybe she didn’t have to know?

Oh this better be worth it!

She felt a little horrified when she handed over the Galleon Harry sent her and the shopkeep exchanged it for a single knut as change, but it was worth every bit if this worked the way she hoped.

She Apparated into the house barely an hour after she left, and oh Merlin! She was excited! Narcissa was usually an early riser so Hermione shirked her cloak to rest over the back of a kitchen chair while she arranged her shopping, set all twelve to rest in three uniform rows of four in the center of the kitchen table...and then took up her cloak to drape it over them because if nothing else, if this was the stupidest idea on the planet, she would at least amuse Narcissa with her antics.

The Narcissa that appeared just as Hermione finished getting breakfast on the table was less than amused. She literally Apparated directly into the kitchen entrance, hair a wild, tangled mess it always was when she first woke each morning, a strap of her dark blue negligee slipping off her shoulder as she wielded her wand in hand, a scrap of parchment clenched in the other, eyes wide wild as her gaze darted around the kitchen before they landed on Hermione, expression screaming with relief.

In the moment before she stomped a foot and screamed, “What in _Merlin’s name_ were you _thinking_ giving me such a fright?!”

“Fr-fright? Narcissa, I- I left you a note and I came right back-”

“I got your _damnable note,”_ Narcissa scathed, trembling with her outrage, “it did little else but- you just-” oh...maybe not rage. Her entire expression crumpled as she gasped in a sob. “I thought you _left!”_

“I did but I came right...Narcissa,” Hermione closed the distance between them to wrap her arms around the woman’s shoulders, Narcissa throwing her arms around Hermione’s neck as she pulled Hermione in, to have her face against her throat, Narcissa’s buried against her hair. Oh Merlin, she was just shaking. How had- she just- _Be back soon, just running a few errands. You can go back to sleep...or not, the house is yours. Either way, have a pleasant morning._ How had _that_ read as...good morning I’ve abandoned you? How did that even make any sense? “Hey, I just popped out to Diagon for barely an hour-”

“You didn’t return to bed! I woke to find you’ve been gone since _four_ this morning, _it is nearly nine now, Hermione!_ You’ve been gone for _hours_ and then I saw your note and I thought it- I thought it meant something dif-” 

“It meant, be back soon! I’m sorry Narcissa, I didn't mean to scare you, oh the very last thing I meant was to upset you!” she swore, rubbing the woman’s back, “I wasn’t gone for most of that, honest, I was just in the back garden, and then Diagon and then straight home. I even have the mobile, I- I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“What possessed you to do such a thing? If we’ve need of something from Diagon surely we could arrange for my present self or Severus to obtain it!” and then she pulled away to look at Hermione, concerned and assessing, “...what did you need? Darling if you’ve run out of Calming Cream, oh my present self would hardly begrudge seeing you have more.”

“I’m not quite so neurotic that I’ve gone through a tub of Calming Cream in a week,” ...not _this_ week, anyway, “I didn’t go out for me, I went...well I wanted to do something for you, gosh I- I really messed this up. I was going for a nice ‘surprise!’ not...scare the hell out of you sort of way. Narcissa,” she raised a hand to brush the woman’s hair behind her ear, “I would...I would _never_ just _leave_ you.”

“A...a foolish assumption, I suppose I-” Narcissa swallowed, raising a hand to wipe at her eye, “You said all was well when you woke but I thought...you declined to take Dreamless Sleep last night and in the moment when I realized you’d not returned I thought perhaps you’d suffered some terrible nightmare, that you- that you relieved the manor I...I realize I might be a terrible reminder and perhaps you’d reached some limit, at best you’d absconded of me, at worst-” she shuddered.

“Narcissa! I don’t look at you and think of that! I didn’t take Dreamless Sleep because I knew I needed to be up and alert early to get this done right and I…” she could feel herself blushing, more than nervous and shy to confess, “I feel safer, knowing you’re just right there if anything happened, knowing you’re safe too? It...I dunno. I haven’t really had many nightmares, and when I do? I can see that everything’s okay, find focus in that, and fall back to sleep.”

“Oh,” Narcissa breathed as if that was a source of great relief, taking Hermione’s face between her hands and closing her eyes and bowing her head to rest her forehead against the younger Witch’s. “Darling, you absolutely are. I would always defend you.”

“I know. I’m sorry if all this did was make you feel otherwise.”

Narcissa took a deep breath, “I...perhaps entertained behavior akin to an overreaction.” She cleared her throat. “You...did something for me, darling?” she questioned amicably.

Hermione smiled, “Yeah um...so I was thinking about it. Your whole ‘hearts desire’ thing?”

“You’ve plied your brilliant mind to the situation?” Narcissa asked, sounding pleased.

“Uh-huh, and I think I figured it out.”

“Truly?” the woman questioned wistfully.

“Draco helped me find a solution, it took a little research-”

“You...consulted my son?” she asked as if the notion was wholly unsound.

“Well yeah, and of course he told me all of your favorite-”

The woman’s eyes looked fit to fall from her head, “He would know nothing of the sort!”

“...flowers?” Hermione finished.

Narcissa’s mouth worked momentarily, “Oh you- you got me flowers, darling?”

“Sort of, almost,” she said, stepping back and taking a handful of her cloak before pulling it away, “ta-da!”

“...seeds…”

“Yeah! And I warded the back garden...would you like to take a look?” she asked, offering her hand to Narcissa, the woman accepting, “close your eyes,” Narcissa huffed a laugh as she did as she was told, allowing Hermione to lead her out, Hermione’s building excitement making her giggle and the woman smiled wider at the sound. “Okay...and...open!”

The woman’s expression went lax the moment she did...and then she smiled, blinding and brilliant, squeezing the hand she already held and taking hold of the other.

“Oh my darling, you’ve done so _splendidly,”_ she breathed.

“Really?” Hermione checked, “I’ve never had much opportunity to work all the sorts of magic I had to use, but I disillusioned the whole area, set permanent privacy wards so nothing and no one will ever see anything out of the ordinary, though a few wards work on seasonal timers so, when spring and summer roll around anything you’d care to display will be visible. That was all in my Pitch, but things to strengthen the soil and ward against the ill effects of weather, create a magical environment where everything can grow and thrive despite the season? Oh! And we- I mean I know you like eating outside, so we can keep doing that even in winter, it’ll stay warm enough. At least, that's what I tried to do.”

“That is precisely what you’ve done,” Narcissa confirmed, her gaze still drifting across the lines of magic Hermione had drawn all around.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Gosh I was nervous. I know it’s not exactly what you wanted, but maybe someday it can be? Just because Summer’s gone, magic can make a way for you to sow and grow your garden so the whole ‘time running out thing’ isn’t an issue anymore, right? And I know...I know our garden’s small, and I wasn’t able to get many of the things I’ve seen in your garden but I...well I thought maybe this could help tide you over, until you can have your dream garden in real life.”

“You...believed you found...oh darling you think…” Narcissa turned her gaze to meet Hermione’s and the woman laughed a little, shaking her head. “no this isn’t _exactly_ what I had in mind but...oh my darling, it is _perfect.”_

“Even though I gave you a such a fright?”

“Even so.”

“I made chocolate chip pancakes to fuel your gardening,” she offered just in case she could use the extra points.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“I _love_ your chocolate chip pancakes and I mean this with all of my heart,” Narcissa assured sincerely, pressing a lingering kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “I _love_ ... _everything_ about what you’ve done today.”

Maybe not everything. “...I ran into your sister, in the Apothecary,” Hermione confessed, and when Narcissa raised her brow at that, “...she said she won’t tattle on me, sneaking off school grounds.”

Narcissa threw her head back and laughed, “Oh I certainly hope not. Have I ever told you, Miss Granger, about the time in our years at Hogwarts when Andromeda whisked me away for a day of shopping in _Muggle London?_ No?” she linked arms with Hermione, guiding her back toward the kitchen. “Well then allow me to regale you over the marvelous breakfast you’ve made and then you are to rest, darling.”

Oh, so she wasn’t pissed Hermione had gotten caught. Cool.

...Hermione was pretty pissed off, all told, come Monday afternoon.

She turned over in bed to face the window as Narcissa peeked into the darkened bedroom, nightlight glowing on the bedside table. “Darling I quite assure you, I absolutely promise it wasn’t my intention,” she said, sounding still much too amused about it all! She did sigh albeit disappointed, the bed sank behind her a bit as Narcisa sat. “Won’t you please say something?”

“I’m not talking to you!” She'd come up here to take a nap! And avoid Narcissa's traitorous face!

“...I do believe that was your voice just now, unless my longing has manifested some form of mental delusion.”

_“Bite me!”_

_“Oh,_ that I _could,”_ Narcissa teasingly lamented with a chuckle, laughing when Hermione let out a frustrated growl.

Her memories of their third potions lesson under one _treacherous_ Professor Black came in that afternoon.

_“Books closed, quills down ladies, gentlemen, and all respected persons,” their Professor’s voice rang out as she entered the classroom, everyone’s books slamming closed in unison with a wave of her wand and Hermione pouted at her poor crushed quill caught in the crossfire._ What was the idiom from the State’s Baseball? Strike one!

_And then Hermione’s gaze went from her fallen quill, to its murderer…_

_To it’s murderer’s backside...unobscured by teaching robes, because she wasn’t wearing any. Professor Black, hair pulled into a long blonde braid that hung forward over her shoulder, was wearing a flowy emerald green button up shirt, sleeves having some hang to them before they cinched closed at her wrists, the collar popped and first several buttons undone to reveal both collar and breastbone. This shirt tucked into tight black jeans tucked into knee high black leather boots,_ jeans _, that...had to have been donned_ magically, _there was no other explanation for how perfectly they hugged absolutely every last curve of-_

Wherever could she have gotten such inspiration? ‘Nothing at all darling’, she’d said when she’d been questioned on just what was in Narcissa’s note to herself!

Strike two!

_Hermione averted her gaze...to see Draco holding his forehead in his hands, blazing red with embarrassment. “Merlin what fresh hell is this?” he whispered to either himself or the universe at large._

_“We’ve a change of pace for today my dears,” the Professor announced, hands on her hips as she reached the front of the class and turned to face them. “I’ve spent the last week, my weekend restocking our Hospital Wing with proper potion for the student body. But as one store is filled, another is depleted—mine. Our ingredients stockroom is rather sparse, and that simply won't do. As a great many ingredients grow on the school’s expansive grounds proper, we’ll be spending today in practical application of your knowledge of the ingredients we so often work with. Identifying as many useful ingredients as possible and collecting them successfully will be how you earn your points today. Now, line up, and follow me.”_

And follow they did. They followed Professor Black out onto the grounds and began the search. And then several things happened, in quick succession.

_Hermione spotted a thriving lilac bush with several clusters of blossoms in excellent form for picking. They would be useful in Wart Removal, Calming Draught, Sleeping Draught, Dreamless Sleep…_

_However, the grounds were in something of poor condition for their assigned activity. It had rained terribly, all night, and while conditions were clear now, the grass was barely dried and the mud? Well._

_Hermione let out a startled shriek as her foot twisted out from under her as she barely toed a patch of slick, slippery mud and she was falling forward-_

_Someone’s legs slid between hers, a hand cradling her head while the other was low on her back, pulling her directly into their chest as_ they _landed on their own ass in the mud and she landed unscathed on top of them. Hermione’s face against soft porcelain skin, the barest peek of emerald green in her peripheral, and a voice low and quiet against her ear._

_“Are you hurt, darling?”_

_She blushed from head to toe as she realized Professor Black had caught her, oh Merlin! “I’m fine,” Hermione assured, scrambling to cease sitting directly in the woman’s lap._

_“Hermione, Professor?” Draco asked, just in time to help save Hermione from her rescue, she’d only just gotten to her feet, hissing a bit when she put weight on the dumb, stupid foot that got her into all this. She reached a bit blindly and met his arm bracing hers to support her, “shh...oot,” Draco caught his swear, “you’re hurt,” he announced her as he looked to his mother, “Are you, Professor?” he worried, offering his hand down to the woman._

_She scoffed, waving his hand away as she rose of her own power. “Hardly,” she drawled, raising her wand, about to cast to cleanse._

_“Are you alright Professor?” Pansy Parkinson’s voice wondered as she sneered, “This is what happens when they allow filthy little_ mudbloods _to go mucking about. Their filth_ spreads-” _there was this horrific sound as the girl practically swallowed her last word in her fright, eyes bugging out of her head as Narcissa Malfoy’s wand was leveled in her direction menacingly. Draco muttered ‘fuck’ as he pulled Hermione more securely against him as if to brace her for whatever panic attack her magic was about to throw at her…_

_Except it didn’t. Not this time, no for the first time in over month, that horrible word didn’t leave Hermione feeling violently ill or sending random pains through her magic. It was actually fine and...and that might be because,_

_“You foul-mouthed, insipid stain on Witch-kind!” Professor Black roared at Pansy, “You are never to use that filthy word in Albus Dumbledore’s institution, so help me- guard your pithy tongue or I will seal it to the roof of your mouth indefinitely!”_

_“B-but I- you- you-” Pansy slapped a hand over her mouth as if that could shield it if the Professor made good on her threat._

_The woman towered over her, leaning down into her face to seethe, “You bring undue attention to yourself. It services_ no one.” _Not even the Dark Lord, Hermione supposed was what she was implying, saving face, that she’d blown up at Pansy for being uncouth while on-mission and drawing attention to her Blood Supremacy while trying to non-obviously conduct a top-secret operation for the leader of Blood Supremacists._

_“Y-y-y-yes Lady Malfoy m-m-my apologies.”_

_“Are you alright, Hermione?” Susan Bones had drawn nearer from where she and Padma had been picking Lavender sprigs, brow furrowed. “Can I help you to the Hospital Wing?”_

_Hermione didn’t much notice Susan’s approach, and she only just heard her offer as her stare lingered still on Professor Black, waving Pansy away with all the ease she waved her wand to cleanse herself of mud. “No I’m good,” she said absentmindedly._

_The Professor turned to face her again, gaze piercing as she caught Hermione’s and her lips twitched in a way she recognized as the woman concealing a smile of relief. Oh. She could...Hermione didn’t have any memories on display yet, but she was in her library, in her brilliant white light, Occluding as she’d been instructed to try to build to maintain at all times. “You are injured, Miss Granger. But neither can I trust you to go and not abuse leave to go to the Hospital Wing as an opportunity to sneak off, or perhaps abuse Madam Pomfrey’s services to skive off my class entirely. No, that won’t do at all,” the Professor decided. “Miss Bones, you and Miss Patil are a competent pair. Do please watch over the class while I see to it Miss Granger reaches the infirmary.”_

_She didn’t. Reach the infirmary, that was. She was transferred from the hold of one Malfoy to the other, and Narcissa wrapped Hermione’s arm over her shoulders, wrapping her own around Hermione’s waist to rest on her hip and she primly walked her all the way to the courtyard entrance, which...once crossed, she quietly cast secure privacy wards before calling on Jinsey with instruction to bring potion and bandaging as she sat Hermione down on a bench. The Elf appeared...wearing another copy of her Mistress’s attire which came off more cartoonish on the House Elf’s frame, spindly legged and wide, bone-thin hipped, a silvery bow atop her head which...looked a bit askew, like it had been removed and then hastily pulled back on. And the Elf was blazing green from the tips of her ears to her neck. So...what came off as looking a little silly to a human must um...really check all the boxes of one Dobby the House Elf, huh?_

_That was fair. Valid, since Hermione was pretty well...boxes checked by Jinsey’s Mistress as the Professor knelt, cast away Hermione’s left shoe and sock, and gingerly applied tincture she massaged into her ankle before gently wrapping it secured to stay still in bandaging. Securing it and...well. Hermione’s ever-growing, now for-permanent feeling crush._

In the future Hermione? This meant the Kitchens and evenings in the Astronomy Tower...that February* afternoon under the Quidditch stands with Susan Bones became distant memories she had to focus on to call, to be eternally tethered to existence only by their living in Hermione’s mind alone.

Strike. Three.

“Darling?” the future’s Narcissa still seated on the bed beside Hermione. “It isn’t that bad-”

“You Butterfly Effected* me right back into a _virgin!”_ Hermione snapped.

“You have absolutely no evidence that I have done any such thing, how was I to know what my present’s self might take it into her head to wear? And even if I _did,_ I truly didn’t mean to cause such drastic change in you. It was merely meant to tease _you_ not...virginize your present self.” The weight in the bed shifted again, as the woman rested against Hermione’s back, speaking directly into her ear. “I do promise you, I will endeavor to make it up to you.”

Hermione blazed red as she pulled at her pillow to drag it up over her head. “Shut up! Leave me alone!”

The woman sat back. “Well...I admit I fancy a nap myself. Shall I leave you the bedroom then, darling? Am I banished to the couch?”

Hermione groaned a bit, growling, “I didn’t say that! Just! No more talking! Lie down already and let's just go to sleep!”

Narcissa slipped into bed alongside Hermione, lying to face the younger Witch.

"Did...you love Miss Bones a great deal?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know what to think right now, I'm just really tired." Sad. Because maybe it hadn't been 'till death do us part' love, but it was definitely been the 'nice while it lasted' kind. She'd really cared about the Hufflepuff girl, thought of her often when she and Harry and Ron had been on the run. When she truly considered anything hinting at romantic after the war? It was seeing if Susan would care to take things more seriously. "Can we not talk about this?"

Narcissa's brow was furrowed and she reached out tentatively to rest her hand on the younger Witch's unscarred forearm. "I truly am sorry for the losses you've faced in our changes to the timeline," she offered sincerely. "Oh my darling, please don't be sad."

"I feel how I feel and we'll just have to deal with it."

The woman nodded, "Of course…" and then, tentatively, "Do you still love me, Hermione?”

“ _I guess!”_

"Is it at least an educated one?" she pressed.

Hermione sighed. "I still love you, you horrible traitorous Witch. I might never forgive you, but I still love you."

Narcissa...might love her too, maybe.

She woke to find the woman still dozing peacefully. She shouldn't be allowed to look so- it always sort of gave her heart this sweet melting sensation to see her so tranquil, at ease, not a single trace of stress in her face. She didn't always have opportunity to look like that. But it made it hard to stay mad at her! ...maybe she shouldn't be upset with her.

Bearing in mind the last time she left without more than a note, she brushed some of the woman's hair back, fingers ghosting feather light over her forehead and Narcissa opened her eyes, breathing in a sleepy sigh, "Hmm?"

"I'm going downstairs to journal a bit," she had alerts for messages from Harry and Draco zip across her magic, she was pretty sure that's what woke her to begin with.

"Do give Draco my apologies for my tone with him, earlier?" Tone? Oh, when he tried helping her up after their fall.

"He knows you didn't mean it, if anything he offered to help, you know, so he could express some love to you while also giving you the opportunity to smack his hand away and turn him away in front of Pansy and the others,” she assured, but, “I’ll make sure he knows. Are you alright? Need anything from downstairs?” the woman’s expression warmed at that but she shook her head. “Alright, get some rest, I’ll come check on you when it’s time for dinner.”

“You’ll not send me to bed without supper for my earlier transgression?”

“Well, you’re always treating me to dinner when I disrupt your class.”

Narcissa gasped...as if utterly delighted. “Am I in detention tonight, darling?”

“Uh-huh. So dinner and maybe we can finish the next chapter of _On Human Nature_?”

“Oh, I would do absolutely anything to earn your forgiveness, Professor Granger,” Narcissa assured, warm laughter in her voice.

“Even if I make good on your ‘flobberworms for dinner’ idea?”

“They are an Elvish delicacy you realize? Jinsey knows the most marvelous recipe.”

“Nope, sorry, a delicacy is a reward, punishment? Live flobberworms.”

Narcissa shrugged, “A pinch of salt and they go down rather splendidly.”

Hermione’s nose wrinkled at that, “Narcissa,” she complained, shuddering a bit. “Honestly, half the time I don’t know what to do with you.”

Narcissa settled further against her pillow, closing her eyes again. “Mystery maintains the allure.”

Hermione laughed softly, rising up from bed and heading downstairs with journal and notebook in hand. She felt a little silly for not having written them before she laid down, it was...kind of ridiculous to focus on the ‘Susan’ thing and not the ‘Dread Curse Scar’ didn’t rear its ugly head thing. She opened her notebook with Draco first since she kept getting little prompts across her magic like he was leaving new messages rapidfire...the boy was impatiently tapping his pencil against the next empty line of their notebooks after a series of _It happened again, as you might unfortunately know._ And when she didn’t respond. _Was there any change, Hermione? Your present self didn’t seem affected, I hope the same can be said for you._ And then _Did it help?_ Followed by, _Goddamn it, Granger! Answer me, was it worse somehow? Are you alright?_ And now the tapping.

_Hi, sorry! Everything was fine, I even got a relaxing nap in, that’s what kept me from writing you back. My memories came through clearly and I didn’t feel anything._ She peeked at Harry’s messages, and...well, her present self wasn’t the only good wing woman to be had. _Would you mind telling Harry I’m alright? Oh, your mother wanted me to tell you she’s sorry, by the way, for being cross with you for offering to help her up. We both thought it was very sweet of you. Thanks for helping me, too, by the way._

_Oh. Well, I hope your nap was worth my heart attack! I thought maybe I managed to_ _f_ _mess this up worse for you, that it just left you bearing the brunt of the curse or trying to circumvent it makes it react more violently-_

_Draco_ their writing almost overlapped as she cut him off at the next line, _your idea was brilliant and it worked! And even if it hadn’t, even if it backfired it would still be amazing, it’s a clever way of thinking about it, and it was incredibly kind of you to think of someway to help._

_Ideas aren’t clever unless they work, Granger._

_Well it did and if you don’t stop being a little arsehole to yourself, I’m going to have to risk time paradox and come over there!_

_You want to duel me or something, Granger?_

_Hug you. In front of everyone in Slytherin and ruin your entire reputation.You’ll talk to Harry for me?_

_Sure, fine. If I must._

Good, that it gave Draco excuse to talk to Harry, he sometimes felt like he needed that, as ridiculous as that was. And that she didn’t need to write further because her memories of her latest Occlusion lesson was coming in and she couldn’t much focus on anything else, and it had little to do with her Professor’s attire.

_“You...do have the concept of layering down nicely, darling but your faux wall is terribly sparse. Comprised entirely of your time at Hogwarts, and you are being rather guarded with those.”_

_“Well I have to be, I mean what if Voldemort or someone who wants to hurt Harry gets a look at it? The whole purpose is to keep sensitive information and my genuine in-the-moment thoughts concealed. I can’t show just anything.”_

_“I’m not criticizing that, but as it stands...what you have will do little to guard your mind and keep such a person from realizing you’re Occluding and they should assault your mind more fiercely to break through. My own example should make it clear that the forefront of all thought has some measure of past and present combined. Long-standing past, even, I display childhood memories, a great many things from my youth, from Draco’s. You’ve eighteen years of memory locked away in your mind but you only pull from…well, honestly you’ve essentially completed nearly seven years of schooling, you’re practically graduated,” the woman went for teasing and then, “Darling? What is it?” the woman questioned, quietly alarmed as she leaned forward in her seat on the floor before Hermione, taking the younger Witch’s hands in hers. “Hermione,” she spoke with warning worry, “you’re trembling, whatever is the matter?”_

_Hermione kept her gaze down, trying to focus on breathing past quiet, rising panic attempting to make that difficult, “I...I-I can’t.”_

_The older Witch gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “You’re mastering Occlusion brilliantly. If you feel you’ve reached some stumbling block in layering...I assure you, you merely need only select more, you have your technique down impeccably.”_

_“I mean I_ can’t, _I- there aren’t- I can’t use m-memories of- I can’t use anything from before I became a Witch!”_

_“Oh, darling,” Narcissa breathed, “_ you _have_ always _been a Witch,” she intoned. “Never doubt that, you’ve every claim to your status as anyone at this school.” And when Hermione couldn’t speak to that, frantic and thinking how she could explain without_ explaining _, because that was so not the issue, the woman released hold of her hand to take hold of her chin, drawing her face upward until she met her gaze. “Hermione, what is-” the woman’s question died in her throat as she simply stared at her student._

Hermione shot up off of the couch, panic surging her forward with no idea what she was actually meaning to do with the motion just- oh Merlin, Narcissa was learning _now! Present Narcissa!_ What if she couldn’t handle it, what if her Future self had experience she didn’t that made her so swift to accept what Hermione had done? What if the present Hermione couldn’t handle someone knowing? Oh _God, her parents!_

Magic was rising under her skin, pitching upward and falling and back again, erratic and threatening and she couldn’t breathe, it didn’t much feel like she could even as she could hear the ragged sound in her ears as she stumbled into the kitchen and moved for the doors, throwing them wide to gulp in fresh air. Oh, it made her want to cry, seeing how much progress Narcissa had made with her planting, planning out her garden, the work of her hand evident in freshly turned soil all along the fence. Oh God, what if that didn’t happen now? What if this broke what they were doing here? What if Narcissa saw and couldn’t understand despite what her Future self has done and this- they cease working together? She refuses to take party in plans that involve Hermione, would never feel comfortable or safe being condemned to such close quarters with someone clearly so competent in such horrible, awful, violating magic? What if it changed her current standing with the Future Narcissa? The woman comes downstairs and just _hates her, resents_ being brought to the past with her?

This was- she was going to break something or pass out or both, if she didn’t calm down. This wasn’t helping anything, if Narcissa was scared or angry or didn’t trust her anymore, finding her surrounded in magical destruction was probably the last thing she needed added to the list of red flags. Kitchen. Tea. Yeah, she could- it was something to focus on, lighting the stove and fetching wait- wait turn that off, Merlin, she should probably put the kettle on first. Kettle, water, she focused on the kettle’s handle in her hand, the pressure of it increasing as the kettle began growing weighed down with filling water. Now fire, and the _clank_ of resting the kettle over it and...now what? Fuck, _fuck._

She gripped tight the edge of the countertop when she heard Narcissa’s footsteps padding softly but swiftly down the stairs and the woman _ran,_ she wasn’t one for _running,_ into the kitchen and Hermione was afraid to turn around because- usually the woman Apparated if she was so bothered to get somewhere swiftly, if she’d run she was panicking on an all new level and it was probably because-

_“Hermione_ ,” the woman rasped, marching straight to her.

And then there was a hand on her elbow pulling her around to face forward, face Narcissa, the woman’s gaze fierce, eyes glittering with unshed tears and that was distracting enough on its own, but what it came with? Her hands gripped Hermione’s hips _tight_ before bloody _hoisting her_ up land smack ass onto the countertop, Hermione’s head against a cabinet door as Narcissa stood directly between her legs, her own hips resting directly against the edge of the counter as she brought her arms up, elbows bent just above Hermione’s shoulders, arms on either side of the younger Witch’s head, fists clenched as she held captive Hermione’s gaze. 

“N- Narcissa I’m- I’m so sor-”

“I am _restrained_ , Hermione. Do you understand that? There are things I wish to say and do but I _cannot_ because of that, the vows that quite literally _bind me,”_ Narcissa said, speaking in low, firm and measured tones, and Hermione could only nod. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. I _love_ this house and _everything_ in it. I love my garden. I love our meals together. I love learning how to cook. I love reading together, and watching telly, and learning to sign any word I care to ask of you. I love that you have brought me here on this quest. I love working with you. I love _being here with you._ I love all that we have accomplished together. I love every possibility I want for our future. I love the care you have for my son. And I love the care that you have for me. And above all, _I love that you love me,”_ she insisted, unblinking, tears streaking her face. “Do you understand?”

Hermione swallowed, panic dying down and leaving warm nerves in its wake, “I- I think so, yeah. I…” Merlin that was a lot of ‘I loves’ not to get the point, she’d have to be just _dense_ not to get it. How _awful,_ her vows to Lucius that they kept Narcissa from...gosh, she could say she loved Draco, in fact she seemed to have trouble getting enough of it, but _magical laws of motherhood overshadow marriage laws of any sort_ , she’d said. But everything else? Narcissa couldn’t...Narcissa couldn’t even say she _loves her friends?!_ What the hell sort of trip was Lucius even on? “I love you too, Narcissa.”

Something in Narcissa’s expression melted as she breathed a contented sigh and rested her forehead against Hermione’s, closing her eyes as she whispered, “That’s certainly closer. Thank you, darling, for listening to me.”

Yeah, well, it was the least she could do considering everything Narcissa was doing, an intensive vow-rebellion in their kitchen while at Hogwarts...Hermione felt something almost physically healing in her mind. Their present selves were seated rather similarly, on the floor of the room of Requirement, Narcissa holding Hermione’s gaze as she threw open her mind and showed her _exactly_ what she felt after reviewing every last thing Hermione had to think on the matter, herself. Because the truth of the matter was, she was so _ashamed_ of what she’d done, she hated herself for it, the _only thing_ that had her going through with it was the fact that her parent’s lives? Mattered far more than her feelings. She would rather them alive to despise her than dying or worse for their love of her. _Now_ when she thought of what she’d done she felt more certainty in her decision, that what was done was done, and she had truly done her best, that she had _succeeded,_ and her parents were _safe_ and _alive_ because of her and someday they would be reunited and it mightn’t happen overnight but they would _understand_. Where she’d felt shame, she now felt pride, her weakness made strength, and her uncertainty replaced with unshakable conviction.

The Future’s Hermione and Narcissa called it an early night once dinner was through, climbing into bed and the older Witch holding Hermione close as she read aloud, and Hermione fell asleep to the sound of Narcissa’s voice, and the memory of her pulling Draco, Harry, and Ron aside when they came to walk her from detention, and the blessed relief of finally confessing, finally telling them _why_ she skipped that family ski trip Fifth Year and hadn’t gone home on holiday since, drifting off to the sensation of Narcissa stroking a hand through her hair, and her best friends in all the world folding her in a hug.

* * *

She woke in the middle of the night to Narcissa holding her more tightly against herself, the hand in her hair on the crown of her head, a hand...on her bottom squeezing as the woman mumbled out something nonsensical but worried sounding, confused. Oh, there was a sound...what was making that? Ringing…oh!

“S’the mobile,” Hermione mumbled, “accio tag seven,” lucky number seven...unfortunate one through six. The mobile sailed from the bedside table and into Hermione’s hand, the little clock numbers reading 2:14 and the name? SARA. Oh! “Sara’s calling,” she said as she sat up and Narcissa was immediate to rise with her as Hermione flipped the phone open and held it to her ear, between them. “Hello? Sara?”

“Sara darling, I’m here too,” Narcissa announced.

“...oh my God,” Sara’s voice sounded over the phone, “are you in bed to-? Never-” she drew in a sharp breath, “nevermind, we’ll talk about that later,” she...something was wrong, oh Merlin something sounded wrong. “I need a favor.”

“Anything,” Hermione said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing...probably I just- I’ve had a headache I can’t shake and I’m…” she let out a sigh, and then her mouth was away from the phone a bit, “yeah baby that’s perfect, Miss Narcissa’s going to think you’re so handsome bug,” she sounded like she was cupping the phone and her mouth with her hand to cover it as she said, “we’re a little worried my blood pressure’s too high and my doctor wants me in hospital immediately. Jessie’s okay and we’re trying not to worry him but if he sees anything or- God, he was the one that- he knows somethings wrong I think even though we’re keeping it on the down low, and you know how...if he gets scared or something happens-” Sara swallowed, “I _trust you_ Stacie, with watching him. Will you, please? Tonight and the rest of the day...maybe more I promise we’ll try to keep you updated.”

“Absolutely, I can be there in-”

Sara breathed a sigh of relief, it sounded like she might be crying a bit, “Thank you, don’t worry about it, we’ll bring him to you on our way to the hospital. I still have your address.”

“Alright, I’ll have the porch light on, we’ll get him settled in and try to keep him on his schedule. Still on his no-meat kick?”

“Yup, still going strong.”

“We’re good to go, don’t even worry about it, he’ll be so wrapped up getting to live with Narcissa for a few days he’ll be living his best life.”

“Thank you, thank you thank you, I love you so much Stace.”

“Love you too, see you in a bit.”

“No meat kick?” Narcissa questioned as Hermione lept from the bed, summoning a pair of jeans to tuck her tee into, Narcissa rising up and going to the armoire to follow suit, not greet the toddler in her lingerie. 

Hermione had already hopping to pull her jeans up, buttoning and zipping as she absently informed, “It makes his magic sad I think,” as she twisted about looking for...what was she looking for? Socks, she’d kicked them off in her sleep.

Narcissa stilled as she pulled her blouse on over her shoulders, keeping her back to Hermione as she looked over her shoulder to address, “...his _magic?”_

Oh. Hermione froze where she stood with her freshly found socks in her hands before rotating on the balls of her feet to face Narcissa. “Um...I’m not _positive_ , but I _think_ Jessie might be a muggle born? Sara...has never outright said anything but I think she knows something is amiss and I’ve seen...he had fright, an upset because his dad had surgery, and there was a bit of a complication, everything worked out but the doctors came out to inform Sara that Mike was being transferred to emergency surgery immediately after being put into the recovery room after the surgery he went in for. I was sitting with them for moral support, I was holding Jessie and Narcissa he was burning so badly for a split second, like I was holding a little furnace, and then the waiting room lights flickered before there was a power outage just in that immediate area. Sara says Jessie was the first to realize she was pregnant, he signed 'baby' at random for days after uhhh they would have conceived." On a changing table in a family restroom while the Whitakers watched after Jessie in the play area at the park. Did she _need_ to know that? No. Had _Sara_ needed her to know that? Yes. "And then yeah the meat thing, I went through a similar thing where mum and dad couldn’t get me to eat anything even resembling meat, I'd just start crying and just grieve over it, and on reflection, I realize it was my magic being sad something died.”

Narcissa had a look on her face like she thought that was absolutely just precious before she scoffed, “You ate an entire package of bacon before working the morning shift,” she deadpanned.

“It was a phase!” Hermione argued, slipping on her second sock before disapparating downstairs to flip the lights on, living room, kitchen, porch light. She let out a soft, “Oh!” and popped back up stairs, appearing in her own bedroom just as Narcissa’s apparation sounded from downstairs and then,

“Darling?”

“My room!” she called, “Jessie needs a place to sleep and nothing says ‘welcome to our home’ like bra’s hanging on the closet doorhandle.”

Narcissa appeared in a plume of smoke at her side giving the aforementioned bra a considering glance, “It’s at least a captivating shade of red,” she supposed.

“Yeah no, not leaving it up for decoration," Hermione said, sliding open a dresser drawer and tossing the thing in before slamming and securing it shut.

“You know darling, there is plenty of room in my chest of drawers and armoire. You could keep a select few items on hand in there if it would aid you in preparing for the day.”

Hermione grinned, laughing a bit, “Narcissa...are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well you’ve never formally asked me, one of us should,” Narcissa teased in return.

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind, it would be a little nice to not have to summon things or run to my bedroom every morning," she supposed, looking around, “Is there anything in here that screams ‘child hazard’?”

Narcissa scanned the room, “...not that I can perceive.”

“Draco’s still kicking so that’s good enough for me,” Hermione supposed, smoothing the blankets on her bed a bit. Jessie was in a big-boy bed, she’d helped Mike put it together her first weekend back working at Whitakers...but there were still guard rails on that, so...she plied cushioning charms to the floorboards on either side of the bed, warded it so he couldn’t fall out full stop, he still sometimes crawled, enjoyed investigating the world from there, and if he climbed out of bed in the morning the floor would be soft underfoot or kneecap. She warded everything to stay put on her nightstands and dresser, her desk, drawers to stick closed save for if she or Narcissa opened them, cleaning a dresser drawer out for Jessie’s things. She could keep a kid alive for a day or so, right? Absolutely. Probably. Oh Merlin.

Narcissa flinched when Hermione sucked in a harsh, startled gasp before crying out, "The kitchen!" Knives and fire! Surely something needed secured in there! Oh God, they had a fireplace- oh how did children even _survive?_

She might have had to catch her breath a bit before pulling open the door when the bell rang, Mike standing there, a little pale green suitcase in one hand, and Jessie in his other arm, resting his head on his father’s shoulder, half asleep with a thumb in his mouth. The man smiled his greetings and shook the suitcase, shrugging his child-carrying arm with an air of apology.

“Hi Mike, here, let me take that oh, this is Narcissa,” she performed the Name Sign for the woman just beside her before taking the suitcase and set it in the door and then reaching to carefully extract the sleepy boy from his father since she could feel Narcissa practically vibrating out of her skin wanting to breeze through the pleasantries to go run and have a quick word with Sara seated in the passenger seat of the van parked out front of their house.

_Nice to meet you,_ Mike signed, mouthing his words.

“Oh! It’s nice to meet you likewise,” Narcissa offered in return, signing along with her words. “May I…” she gestured toward the yard.

Mike smiled and stepped aside so Narcissa could slip past him more easily, and for the second time in under twenty four hours Narcissa Malfoy was running, dashing across the yard to the van, tapping on the glass before Sara rolled the window down and then her hands were in Narcissa’s, and the Witch rested her forehead against hers, mouth moving a mile a minute to speak what looked to Hermione to be blessings of some sort, whatever it was had Sara bawling and smiling all at once.

_Thank you for taking him,_ Mike signed and Hermione smiled, rocking a bit with the boy on her hip as she nodded and said, “Of course. Don’t worry, we’ll have everything handled here, focus on you and our girls, alright?”

_She’s not even here yet and she’s already a drama queen like her mother,_ he tried to make light, worry, pressing fear evident in his eyes.

“She’s going to be nothing but wonderful trouble and I can’t wait to meet her,” Hermione offered, tears pricking her eyes and voice tight. Please let everything be alright. “Drive safe, I’ll text you updates.”

_Same._ and then he signed a quick thanks before reaching out to brush a hand through his son’s hair, press a kiss to his temple before, _be good_ , for his sleeping son, and then he dashed from the porch to run around the back of the van and get to the driver's seat, and Narcissa said her goodbyes and he nodded to her, waving before starting up the van as Narcissa headed back for the house, and Hermione stood in the doorway, taking hold of Jessie’s free hand to give Sara a little wave and the woman blew them a kiss before her husband pulled away.

Narcissa gave a weary sigh as she joined Hermione on the porch, taking hold of her available hand, thumb rubbing along the back of it as she looked between her and then to Jessie. “The sweet boy is asleep?”

“Yeah, lets get him settled in and try to get some more sleep ourselves,” Hermione said and Narcissa kept hold of her hand as she trailed after her into the house, the older Witch closing the door behind them before taking up Jessie’s suitcase.

They got him tucked in, and Hermione knelt and brushed his hair a bit, trying to stir him and when the boy opened his eyes he smiled up at them. “Hi baby,” she said and then signed along with her words, “You're with Auntie Stacie and Narcissa now. Mummy and daddy love you very much and they’ll be back soon, but in the meantime, we’re going to have lots of fun,” she promised scratching a finger against his tummy and he smiled brighter, “now, you see that door?” she asked, pointing, “that’s the bathroom if you need it, and the other door inside will lead into Aunties’ room, or you can go out into the hall, and we’re at the end, okay? If you need anything, anything at all, just come to us.” He nodded. “Do you need anything right now? Do you have any questions?”

_Is mummy going to be okay?_

Hermione smiled, “Yeah baby, mummy’s going to be just fine. Daddy’s with her and he and all her nice doctors and nurses are going to take such good care of her, and your baby sister. She’s going to be so excited to finally meet you,” she promised.

_She is!_ Jessie signed as if confirming, _She’s a little scared but mummy makes her feel safe, and she’s excited!_

“I’m glad,” Hermione softly assured, before looking back over her shoulder to share a look with Narcissa. Yeah, kids talked like that sometimes, playing pretend but Narcissa nodded, that she’d the same feeling Hermione did.

The blonde Witch smiled at Jessie as she knelt alongside Hermione and took hold of Jessie’s hand to give it a squeeze before releasing it so sign. “You’re sure you don’t need anything, darling?” the boy blushed and shook his head shyly. “Very well, do let us know if that changes.”

“Think happy thoughts and have sweet dreams, okay? We’ll see you in the morning, and _I heard_ that there’s a _very_ pretty lady who makes the most wonderful pancakes if you ask her very nicely,” she shared conspiratorially, jerking her head slightly in Narcissa’s direction and Jessie giggled, wriggling a bit in his excitement. Yeah, he was golden, Sara would be lucky if he ever wanted to leave. She rose up to kiss the boy on the cheek and went to her dresser while Narcissa scooted to take her place, saying her own goodnights, wishing him pleasant sleep while Hermione organized his things in the drawer she’d emptied for him, before digging around in another for a few things to take to Narcissa’s room.

They left her room with the door ajar so the hall light could break through, returning to the master bedroom. She wasn’t sure about Narcissa but Hermione somehow felt keyed-up and drained all at once, she wasn’t certain how well she’d sleep but she’d try, potion was out of the question, she wouldn’t dare sleep through Jessie needing something and there were only a few hours before she needed to be up for her shift.

Narcissa looked a bit perplexed as they entered the bedroom. “I worry my nighttime attire mightn’t be appropriate for the company we keep, if Jessie comes to us while we’re sleeping.” It wasn’t appropriate period, Hermione felt like most nights, if she hadn’t seen confirmation that that’s literally just how Narcissa dresses to sleep, evidenced by her Present self doing the same, she would assume the woman was trying to murder her...and that still might be the case.

“I thought you might feel that way, so…” Hermione held out her father’s sweatshirt, holding onto her jumper for herself, “here, and I brought sleep shorts and sweatpants too if you’re interested.”

“I might just be interested in your pants, Miss Granger,” Narcissa teased, reaching further than Hermione’s offered sweatshirt to take hold of her jumper instead, and with a wave of a wand Narcissa stood in Hermione’s overly large red jumper, golden ‘H’ on her chest as the woman twisted about, looking down at herself, “is it long enough darling or do you think its too short?” she requested the younger Witch’s opinion. Yeah, murder, the woman was out to kill Hermione, a slow, painful, lovely death.

“Put some pants on and come to bed,” Hermione said, leaving options for Narcissa while she took her own shorts and sweatshirt into the bathroom to change and maybe wash her face a bit, some cool water would not be amiss just now, Merlin help them all.

Teasing aside, Narcissa sat with her legs criss-crossed on her side of the bed, looking restless when Hermione returned. “Narcissa? You okay? Want me to make you some tea or anything before I lay down?”

“I...am very scared for Sara, I’ve no affinity for healing but my magic imbued me with the sense that something is very, very wrong, and…” her chin quivered a bit before she shook herself, looking up to Hermione. “Are you alright, darling? She...she is your very dear friend.”

Hermione crawled onto the bed, sitting on her knees and taking hold of Narcissa’s hands. “She is, and she’s your very dear friend too. I’m...yeah. God, it might actually kill me if something-” she swallowed. “Mike just looked like he’s petrified, helpless, and Sara has to be so scared. Hopefully we can make things easier for them and keep Jessie’s mind off of it, and all this memory winds up being for him is a fun few days he got to spend with us before getting to meet his baby sister,” Narcissa sniffled, squeezing Hermione’s hands as she nodded but she looked like she was about to cry...more than she already had. “Its going to be okay. Sara’s really tough, I mean Jessie wasn’t necessarily a walk in the park, his birth was more like a slow crawl through a war zone.”

“Were you there for this?” Narcissa wondered.

“I literally wouldn’t have a hand right now if it wasn’t for magic I don’t think. Mike was out of town with his parents to help them get this huge freezer, for the kitchen at Whitakers,” at Narcissa’s little confused head tilt, “Oh! Uh...okay so Mike’s birth family lived in an apartment up the block from the place, and he used to come by all the time when he was younger, I mean little he’s known the Whitakers for forever um. His parents...should not have been parents, they definitely didn’t handle anything about their son being born deaf well at all from the sounds of it. All I know is he started coming around more and more, usually because he was hungry. He never really had money on him but Mrs. never let him leave without making sure he had something to eat, and Mister Whitaker had him teach him a few signs, eventually they both took it up and learned it so Mike could,” she shrugged, “have people he could go to to talk, about anything from how his day went to...problems he was having. He would run away from home a lot, wind up on their couch. They were never able to do anything, save report his parents to the authorities, but they always kept track of him, gave him a place he could always come if he ever needed it, they couldn’t adopt him but...well, obviously that doesn’t much matter. They’re more parents than his ever were, and he’s their son. So, Sara’s in-laws, technically. That’s how they met, he worked in the shop while they helped support him through uni, she started working there too. He’s an accountant now, helps the Whitakers with their books, has a firm a few streets over from their shop.”

“Oh...will they be hurt we’re watching their grandson?” Narcissa worried.

Hermione shook her head. “No, I mean I doubt Sara’s said ‘hey I’m a little worried something strange is going on with my child on a supernatural level’ to them, she hasn’t to me and she’s pretty sure I know and I’m cool with it, know to expect bizzare things to happen if he should have an upset. And with Mister’s health, he adores Jessie but he can be hard to keep up with, they’d probably have to close down the kitchen if not the shop entirely so Mrs can take after them both.” What had she been on about? Oh. She shook herself a bit, to wake up, focus, “Anyway they were all out of town when Sara went into labor, earlier than expected. Mike and his parents had left after the morning shift and Sara and I worked the place until close and she offered me a lift home. Except we get about half way there and...her water breaks. And she’s freaking out and I’m freaking out and we’re just sitting at his stop light screaming,” she huffed a laugh when Narcissa laughed at that. “She was petrified, because Mike was hours away, and Sara doesn’t have other family. But I promised I’d stay with her so, we got our collective shit together and made it to hospital in one piece. It was twenty hours of her screaming and taking it out on my hands like _I_ did this to her,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “Poor Mike, just about everything that could go wrong on his end did, they tried to get back as soon as we got to hospital and called to tell them Sara was having the baby, but they hit horrible weather, traffic, a flat and _then_ , an hour out, they run out of petrol.”

“My word,” Narcissa sympathised, “that must have been difficult for all of them. Sara...was very lucky to have a friend such as you at her side.”

“She was amazing, I mean it was insane and kind of terrifying in the ‘oh God I might never want to actually do this, who would do this to themselves?’ way...and then you see their stupid little adorable baby cheeks and suddenly you forget the horror show you just watched, and you just want one of your own.”

“Is that something you wish for your future, Hermione? To be a mother?” Narcissa wondered warmly.

Hermione shrugged. “Yeah I...I think. There’s definitely things I want to do first, I’m definitely not interested in bringing someone into the world while a raving lunatic has a concerning amount of the Wizarding World at his beck and call. And I want to finish my education, through uni, start my career, things like that. Be...solid before I make a decision like that. But yeah, I’d love to, someday.” And then, “You’re okay to sleep? I can handle breakfast if you want to lie in a bit um...I still have work in the morning but Patrick is taking over in the afternoon again, is that okay with you? I can’t really miss much work especially now that I’m taking on less hours as it stands, and it’s sort of an emergency so they’d understand but it doesn’t necessarily stop me from coming in. I’d stay home if you wanted me to, didn’t feel up to watching Jessie on your own for a few hours.”

“Firstly, I was under the impression that I am the ‘very pretty lady’ in charge of making pancakes...do you enjoy the pancakes I make, Miss Granger?”

“Uh yeah, I don’t know what you do to them but they’re better than mine, hands down, you get them fluffier somehow and they’re just amazing.”

“It’s a simple matter of whipping a few egg whites to peak and folding them in after the rest of your batter is prepared, Jinsey showed…” a sort of strange look came over Narcissa’s face, “...me.”

“Yeah?” Hermione wondered.

Narcissa squinted as if suspicious. “My present self...is apparently learning to cook.”

“Oh, well that’s nice,” Hermione encouraged.

“Apparently,” Narcissa said in doubtful tones.

“Narcissa?”

“I-” Narcissa fell silent for a moment before she cleared her throat. “Well, perhaps I am due for a taste of my own medicine. You’ve lost experiences you held dear, after all.”

“What are you on about? How is learning to cook going to take away-”

“I- I want to-” Narcissa blushed furiously, looking very shy as she averted her gaze, opting instead to stare down at their hands. “I very much enjoyed learning to cook from you. It is something cherished, for me, Hermione. I...will mourn that loss of experience.”

“Narcissa,” Hermione soothed, squeezing the woman’s hands to prompt her to look up, “silly. We’re still going to cook together. We’ll still have that experience the second time around, and we’ll have the experience _we’ve_ had together too, on top of that. _We’ll_ never lose that. And... _I’ll_ always remember it, the same as you. So it isn’t gone or lost it’s...change, something new for us to remember later and look back on. I think that’s kind of nice.”

Narcissa stared at her, eyes glittering a bit in the low light of their room and then, “I love...absolutely everything you’ve just said.”

Hermione smiled, getting it. “I love you too.”

The woman’s brow furrowed as she smiled, like she’d found something about that incredibly precious before she leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to Hermione’s cheek, heaving a sigh as she pulled away. “Oh my darling,” she shook her head. “Come. Yes, you do have work tomorrow, I’ve no issue watching after Jessie on my own. Let’s get some rest.”

Hermione was about to nod but she twisted about to look behind her as she heard the bathroom door creaking open, Jessie peeking in, rubbing sleep from his eyes or...awe, maybe tears. Hermione shifted to turn to sit facing him, “Hey baby, you okay?” she signed.

_Scared._ He signed back, _alone._

“Oh honey,” Hermione pouted a bit, Merlin that hurt her heart, she held out her arms and waved her fingers to beckon him forward, “c’mon, you wanna lie down with us?” oh. She turned a bit to look over her shoulder at Narcissa to check, “is that okay? I can go lie down with him in my room if-”

“Come on darling,” Narcissa said as she signed for Jessie’s understanding, “lets get some sleep, and have the most pleasant dreams, shall we?”

Jessie padded over to the bed determinedly climbing, waving Hermione’s hand away when she made to help him because _he could do it_ , and he could, even as it did take a great deal of effort that had the Witches giggling at his expense. He just smiled as if proud of himself, and then he crawled around to be between them, sitting and looking up at them expectantly. Ahh. He let out a happy little squeal when Hermione whisked him up and rose from the bed so Narcissa could pull back the covers before the younger Witch deposited the boy on the mattress and he took claim of the center of the bed, flopping back...and then spreading out like he meant to sleep, a sole little king in a queen sized bed, smiling mischievously before pulling in on himself more like he _supposed_ he could stand to share with them. And so they did, curling up together, warm and safe, Jessie dropping off curled up between them, sleeping sweetly.

She woke to his not-so-sweet foot resting against her cheek, the boy somehow managing to flip all the way around in his sleep, lying on his stomach, head toward the footboard...was it healthy for a toddler to snore? She didn’t think it was...oh. No. That was Narcissa, she was asleep with her head at an odd angle to avoid the other little foot resting on her pillow.

The woman, of course, denied any such allegations that she’d been doing any such thing, _snoring, honestly._ “Were we not in a situation where we must maintain a lower profile, I would sue you for slander, I quite assure you,” was all she had to say on the matter. Their only other witness couldn’t exactly _hear_ said snoring, so Hermione supposed she could drop her case for now.

Jessie was content to wait on breakfast, seated under the kitchen table playing with the plushie Elmo his parents had packed for him, babbling softly to himself. Narcissa found the thing ‘demonic’, and it wasn’t doing it any favors that occasionally it let out admittedly mildly creepy sounding laughs whenever Jessie squeezed it just so. But _she_ was rather content to find distraction in preparing breakfast with Hermione. The younger Witch nearly forgot what an Elmo even was, let alone that there was one in their kitchen, the captive companion to the child in their care.

She forgot, because when she sidled up to the woman at the counter with an offer of assistance, Narcissa smirked and informed her, “Why yes darling, there is something you can help with. I found your notion very dear, in finding the positives in the loss of my lack of knowledge of cooking when we first arrived in this time. While our next venture time traveling will bear a Narcissa competent in cooking without your assistance...this venture time traveling could benefit in ways I’d not considered.”

“Oh, you found something you’re happy about, with the whole ‘now you’ll know how to cook’ thing?”

“Indeed. Allow me to exemplify,” she invited.

Hermione’s heart stopped in her chest, brain fizzling out when she was suddenly pulled by her elbow to be drawn into the _small_ space between Narcissa’s body and the counter, sandwiched between the two, Narcissa’s hips against hers which fit snugly against the edge of the counter and then her voice was directly in the younger Witch’s ear, pitching low and warm and mischievous,

“In a world where I've proper cooking instruction... _I_ can teach _you_ a thing or two.”

Hermione nearly voiced the argument that she already _knew_ how to make pancakes. Except the ability escaped her just now—speech and making pancakes what...what were they again? She supposed she was here to learn. She knew she liked learning for a reason. Acquiring knowledge one may or may not have previously had was a venture wrought from sizzling nerves and careful guidance as the older Witch assumed control of her blushing counterpart’s hands, voice speaking instruction and explanation in her ear as she puppeted her through a process she thought she’d completed successfully on her own a hundred times before but uh...nope. No. This was the first time she got it right, she was absolutely certain. She’d been an utter fool and this was exactly how all pancakes ever should be prepared. With helping hands. And whipped egg whites. That apparently made them fluffier.

That wasn’t...this felt...she wasn’t sure what this felt like. Warm and amazing and…confusing. This was...more than just some simple flirting, friendliness between friends who felt comfortable together, who knew nothing was going to come of the things they said, small actions they took. This was intentional and…

“Well now, what a remarkable pair we make, these turned out simply splendid, don’t you think?” Narcissa wondered, voice ringing with amusement as she and Hermione set the platter of warm, fluffy pancakes down on the counter. Amusement. Yeah. That sounded about right, this was just- this was funny for her. And sometimes yeah, it was funny for Hermione too, she knew it was ridiculous to have a crush on the older Witch but...well it was one thing to be in on the joke.

It was another entirely to _be_ the joke.

“Yeah they’re great, thanks,” Hermione said, a little hollowly. That was a downside to everything feeling so amazing and wonderfully pleasant...when it was time to realize it wasn’t, it felt that much worse.

“Darling?”

“I should get to work,” she said, pulling her hands free and side stepping away from whatever that was, walking briskly to where her bag and jacket hang on the back of a kitchen chair, pulling them on. 

“My dear, you really should learn to check a clock, you’ve plenty of time to eat breakf-”

“I’m not hungry,” she felt kind of sick, really. She was stepping away from the table as Narcissa made to cross the kitchen after her.

“Hermione, if I’ve-” she grabbed hold of her arm, high on her forearm but still right now she didn’t like it any more than having her wrist up for grabs, Hermione turned and pulled her arm from the woman’s hold.

“Look I’m sorry if- I’m _sorry_ that I have a crush on you, I can’t much help it, I’ve _tried._ I’m being mature about this, I know there’s nothing realistic- I know you would nev- I just know it’s not going to happen and I’d never act like it was, and I don’t appreciate you taking that as fodder for some gas. Oh, the Queer little Witch has a crush on me why don’t I take things too far and watch her squirm while I have a laugh. Well it’s not funny, Narcissa, it’s mean. I already know its stupid, you don’t have to go to the effort to make me feel as much.”

Narcissa’s eyes were wide and assessing, mouth working as she seemed to be cycling through what to respond.

Crap, Jessie, she- she nearly forgot, but the boy came out from under the table then, worried gaze peering up at her, and then Narcissa, and back again.

Hermione crouched to be level with him, offering what she could of a smile, “Hey baby, auntie’s going to work, okay? You have a good day with Narcissa.”

_Not funny,_ the boy signed. Oh. He’d picked up on that, seen her say so.

“No, I didn’t think so, but it's okay don’t worry about it.”

“Hermione, let us discuss this, I-” Narcissa started.

Jessie shook his head insistently, _Not funny!_ he signed, _Love!_

Hermione nodded. “Yeah honey, I love you too,” she returned, pressing a kiss to his forehead though he squacked at that as if annoyed. Oh, crap. She used to ask if he wanted affection before she doled it out but he’d always been enthusiastic about receiving it, it fell out of practice. “Sorry, no kisses, got it,” she apologized, met with an indignant huff. “I’ll bring home some of Grammy’s biscuits to make up for it,” she promised. “Have fun, be good.” She rose up and turned away, and took her leave of the house.

This was stupid, she was stupid! She shouldn’t have...she shouldn’t have indulged in- whatever this was. Narcissa...cared about her, she was genuine about that, but that didn’t make having her feelings made fun of and belittled any better. They needed clearer boundaries or something, she wasn’t allowed to just get her laughs this way. What else was there? Had everything just been going entirely over her head this whole time? Most Brilliant Witch of an Age, can’t tell what’s going on right in front of her!

She made it to Whitakers over an hour before she was actually due to clock in, evidenced in, “Oh! Heavens, Stacie, you’re early!” Mrs. Whitaker greeted with some alarm, the woman emerging from the restroom to find Hermione hastily donning her apron, tying it tight like she could take out her frustrations on its strings. The woman approached, resting a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, “Oh, honey, Mike had someone at the hospital call to update us for him, Sara’s stable and the baby is fine, they’re running a few more tests before deciding whether to induce or not.”

Hermione bit her lip, nodding. “That’s great,” she said with some relief, “Y-yeah, he texted us.” Preeclampsia, something about blood not flowing adequately through the umbilical cord or something because of an aberration in artery function, high blood pressure. She offered the woman a smile. “Sara’ll be back giving us hell in no time. Jessie’s great, he slept really well and he was having a nice little adventure with his Elmo this morning.” She’d caught a few of his signs to his toy, “I’m pretty sure they found buried treasure under our kitchen table...but on the off chance there isn’t any, I’m here to hack away at another shift,” she tried a laugh, winking.

“Thank you and Narcissa for taking care of him, we wish we could, but if anything happened on our watch because we can’t keep up with him on our own, oh we’d never forgive ourselves. John…” her chin quivered a bit.

“Everythings stressful right now, I know,” Hermione sympathized, John just adored Sara, and he was so excited to be a grandpa again and he probably felt pretty miserable not being well enough to help as much as he’d love to. “I’m here early enough maybe I can help you in the kitchen? We’ll finish faster if you’d like to get back upstairs to him, and I promise I’ll call with any updates I get from Mike. If we still have Jessie tonight I’ll bring him by tomorrow to pay a visit? Maybe hearing as much will cheer Mister up?”

“Oh honey, that’s a wonderful idea,” she insisted, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s forehead that was so motherly it put a lump in Hermione’s throat, oh Merlin. God she loved these people, and if Sara wasn’t okay, someone was going to answer for it. “Thank you, I honestly don’t know what we would do without you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” she felt...beyond relieved she could be here now, it felt like righting the timeline even further. Merlin, she was scared to think about what had happened the first time around, had there been anyone to help? Had Sara been all alone in hospital because Mike had to stay with Jessie? That absolutely broke her heart. She thought she was making things safer, keeping so much distance between herself and her Muggle life but she should have kept contact with them somehow, found a way to stay in touch while she was at school. She hadn’t a clue Sara was even pregnant again until she came looking for her job back. Or that Mike decided now that he had the option to, he wanted cochlear implants, who sat and kept Jessie calm, watched his outburst of wild magic without suspicion or question, had Sara just had to scramble with that herself? Or had someone else been with her who called it to question, made things complicated for their family? “I want to be there for you, no matter what. I’m...I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

“Well honey, you had...school?” the woman tried to think, it was best if she didn’t.

“Yeah, I got busy with school and couldn’t work but I should have kept in touch.”

“Don’t sweat it too much lovey, you’ve got a life of your own to lead after all, we’re just glad you’re here,” the woman said, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Sweetheart...we love having you here, and you’ll always have a job with us if you need it, but when it comes time that you don’t, when it’s time for you to move on to the bigger, better things you’re meant for? Don’t even hesitate to chase after them on account of us. John and I have always thought you were just, the most special, incredible young lady, and sweetheart sometimes the way you talk, the way you think? You’re a brilliant, capable force to be reckoned with and when you figure out exactly where it is you want to take the world by storm? We’ll be proud of you, cheering you on,” she smiled, nose crinkling a bit as she teasingly assured, “even if you get a little busy and lose touch.”

“...so I don’t know the health codes verbatim, can we use tears for salt content in our baked goods or should I go wash my face?”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Whitaker chuckled, sympathetic as she took Hermione’s face in her hands, thumbing away at her tears, “I didn’t mean to get so serious, sappy,” she sniffled, “Oh we’re just a mess today aren’t we? You go wash your face dear, join me in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

That mightn’t be for a minute, she felt a tug on her magic from Draco’s notebook, pulling it from her bag to check and see what he needed in case it was something important.

_Hermione, quick. Where are you right now? Are you busy?_

_What’s wrong? What do you need?_

_Are you alone?_

Mrs. was in the kitchen...would he need her to cast? Or apparate somewhere? She went ahead and moved into the privacy of the bathroom, notebook in hand, scratching _Yes._

_Good. I apologize in advance, I don’t know what’s going on but mother was insistent._

Oh Merlin, did the present’s Narcissa need her? _Is she in trouble?_

_That depends entirely on you I think_. What?

Hermione startled as smoke filled the air momentarily and Narcissa appeared in Whitaker’s restroom. 

“Narcissa!” Hermione hissed, “You’re supposed to be watching-”

“Jessie is well at hand, behaving and making play with that _abomination_ passing as a child’s toy, with several protective and monitoring spells surrounding him, he will still be alive and well in the next five minutes while you cease your inane nonsense and let me exemplify something you have grossly neglected to take into consideration,” the woman seethed, “How were you harmed, Miss Granger, by Severus’s protections on the sending sack when I allowed you access to it?”

“It was designed to hurt anyone who wasn’t you.”

“Yes. But, _I_ was under the misconception that my opening the bag would grant you painless access. If I had known the contrary? If I had _known_ it would cause you harm? I would be physically incapable of inviting you to be harmed.”

“And?”

Narcissa took a few heaving breaths, “You, you filth-, you path-,” she struggled, her arms at her sides...like they were constrained there even as it looked like she very much wished to slap Hermione senseless. “You m-, mu-” her face was red, veins in her neck and forehead protruding with the strain. “I know a great many things that could be said to hurt you, Hermione. I have absolutely no desire to say them, but neither can I, if it is within my intent to cause you harm. I cannot intentionally hurt you.”

“…you didn’t think it would hurt my feelings,” Hermione conceded, that just meant she thought Hermione was stupid and wouldn’t understand she was being made fun of.

“I wasn’t endeavoring to do anything harmful! Hermione I was just- I was having fun but not expecting it to be at your _expense_ . It was meant to be an enjoyable experience for us _both_. I was not making a mockery of your feelings. I do not- I do not think you are something to belittle. I’m not offended nor am I unaffected by your affections in a way that would make me callous. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable this morning, made things too...flirtatious while I lack the ability to entertain such a thing. I-” Narcissa sighed. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“...so...what, I got upset over nothing? That didn’t...it was fun but it...I didn’t feel right, afterward. Something about it was just off and I…” she swallowed, nervous and scared she wouldn’t be able to even begin explaining this right. “It was like the other day, when you…Narcissa you took my private thought and shared it with yourself to- to tease me about it. I can’t…there isn’t anything I can do to reciprocate, not something like that. You’re hardly interested in me in such a way for one, all it would do is make you feel terribly uncomfortable and it- I know your vows are specific and vengeful, you c-can be punished for trying to break them,” _Merlin_ she’d caught glimpses of just _awful_ things, instances where Narcissa’s magic _attacked her_ for rebelling against her vows, her present self left confused because she didn’t have the context her future self did. “Someone…taking things too far and actually intentionally trying to really truly get some sort of response out of you like that might trigger something that hurts- God I- I would never forgive myself if I did something stupid that made you feel uncomfortable being around me, let alone actually h- _hurt_ you.”

“That is…sound thinking, I do appreciate that you have taken such consideration for my circumstance I…” Narcissa’s chin quivered at that, “I apologize that I did not do likewise. You’ve every right to be upset, it was unkind of me to tease at things I am incapable of giving you. I pushed things too far, too soon, and I pray you can forgive me.”

“You pray?” Hermione gently teased. “To who?”

“To you, Hermione,” she steadily assured.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset, this was kind of the last thing we needed right now. I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me too?”

“Absolutely, darling,” Narcissa said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I should return to Jessie. Be well. And do eat something please. Shall I bring you lunch?”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be home this afternoon.”

“I feel how I feel…and we’ll just have to deal with it,” the older Witch quoted Hermione to herself. “Stay safe.”

“You too.”

She felt a lot better about that...a little stupid, but because she’d been stupid, she felt like, letting herself get so upset. But she was excited to get home, see Jessie, hear about what he and Narcissa have been getting up to all day, she’d not gotten any phone calls or heard some great catastrophe broke out in Muggle London, so she figured they must have found some tame way to entertain themselves...the poor house might just suffer for it. She wasn’t sure if it was just ‘children are creatures of chaos with access to a seemingly unending source of energy’, or if his magic was presenting in his constant need to exert energy in some way, the boy was always bouncing or dancing or running and he was never much for naps, it was nearly impossible to get him down for one, save for when Sara’s naps started happening to get through the day as she went about keeping one child alive and in one piece while making another from scratch. Jessie would always lay down with her then, Sara said, to keep the baby company while his mummy slept.

She half expected to find the house in disarray, and a bedraggled, bone-tired Narcissa standing in the midst of the destruction while its cause ran in circles, Elmo laughing with his triumph. 

What she found was the house in mostly the same condition she left it, little remnants of the time that had passed in her absence to be discovered. There were blankets pooled on either side of the couch, and the VCR was hooked up, the case for Jessie’s favorite _Budgie the Little Helicopter_ tape resting atop it, and on the floor between the living room and the kitchen were scattered Jacks and a little red rubber ball, and in the kitchen...a note, waiting for her on the fridge. 

_I feel compelled to apologize once again, for this morning. Hurting you was never my intention. Accidents happen, but still, there is remorse to be had. Very few relationships have ever been as important to me as this, darling. Ever. And even a woman such as myself often finds herself at a loss to appropriately convey this. Could you be patient with me, just a bit longer, in this regard? Reassurances are necessary of course, and those will be provided whenever you’ve need, simply inform me of my transgression and it will be righted. Understand that this is the best that can be offered at this time. Short of a miracle, this is how it must be. However, there is always hope for the future, that things will improve soon. Optimism can be rewarding, you make me absolutely positive of it. Never doubt my regard for you, my absolute respect. You are without doubt worth nothing less than my utmost regard, you deserve nothing short of genuine, enthusiastic pursuit by someone capable of giving it. Overall, always know that. Unfortunately, this is the way things must be, at this point._

_There is lunch awaiting you in the refrigerator. Our young guest has taken an interest in my gardening, and it is my pleasure to introduce him to mild magical concepts he won’t perceive, but be entertained by all the same. On the chance you care to, we would be delighted if you would join us,_ _after_ _you have eaten._

Bossy as ever. It was sweet of her to apologize again, to have lunch waiting. So Hermione tucked the note away in her bag to put with the others tomorrow, and made quick work of her instruction so she could go in search of just what was causing the sweet giggling she heard through the kitchen window, the din of Narcissa speaking warmly, her own soft laughter.

She found them in the garden, seated together along the fence just to her left as she stepped out of the house. They were on their knees, hands in the dirt, Jessie following along with the Witch, watching her mouth as she spoke,

"It is always vital to bless your soil and be grateful for what life it will provide, the joy and sustenance it might give. It spreads that blessing to the seeds we've planted, and through that, the flowers we grow will bless us in return."

_Happy!_ Jessie signed, bouncing in place a bit before he returned his hands to squishy wet soil.

Narcissa giggled, " _Exactly_ darling, it makes the soil and what we plant here very happy, joy we will receive in kind. Now we're going to think our happiest thoughts and the joy we feel will be shared with the soil. Are you ready?" And when Jessie nodded she closed her eyes and Jessie followed suit, his bouncing stilling as he focused on the task at hand. God, it was almost heartbreakingly sweet, and Hermione leaned against the outside of the doorframe, arms folded over her chest as she watched.

Oh...magical instruction. There...was precious little doubt now, Jessie's status. He'd gone perfectly still and done as he was instructed, and there was a visible glow to his hands as there was in Narcissa's, magic flowing from them into the soil to activate and nurture the seeds they'd planted, and when they opened their eyes? It was to the sight of the first signs of life peeking up from the ground far faster than natural, and Jessie wriggled with his excitement, clapping and giggling as Narcissa smiled, leaning to drop a kiss to his hair that sent the boy blushing as he beamed.

"You did amazing darling," the woman said as she signed her praise.

_The flowers will be so pretty! Baby can come see them?_

"Certainly darling, a few adjustments might be necessary, but I'm sure a visit can be arranged," Narcissa supposed.

"Anyone inside the fence will be able to see despite magical status," Hermione assured.

"Oh!" Narcissa twisted about, turning her smile on Hermione, "Darling, you're home, how excellent."

Jessie let out a happy sound before jumping to his feet and running to greet her, hands reaching high, hands on her thigh, going on tip toes to reach the hem of her sweater, to the tune of Narcissa calling after him, "Darling you're filthy."

"A little dirt never hurt," Hermione shrugged, squatting to scoop the boy up for a hug, "have you had a good day with your Auntie Narcissa?" The woman's expression startled a bit at that before her cheeks pinked and she rested a hand against her heart, looking pleased. What? Oh, being called 'auntie'? She got on well enough with Sara and she was taking care of her son and engraning herself in their lives, and she clearly loved them all dearly.

_Yes! We played jacks and auntie made them fly! And we watched Budgie! And she made me soup! And I helped make toast!_

"You did?" Hermione asked cheerily, praising, "You're such a big boy helping make lunch! I'm glad you've had fun."

_Do you want to help make flowers?_

"I would love to," she assured.

"Oh yes, do join us," Narcissa invited, patting the space beside her. "We're planting Gardenias."

"Great!"

"It is. Do inform my son I so appreciate his apt choices in flower selection."

She almost said the woman could easily do so herself, but it clicked for her, Slytherin. She wanted _Hermione_ to know they were apt...and she was bemused with Draco over it. Huh. "Sure thing." And then, "Show me what to do."

She did, the woman taking up a trowel to dig before dropping seeds into the ground and covering them, before leading them in blessing the soil further, sending their magic into the seeds. They’d already planted Daffodils, Roses, and Gardenias, and once Hermione joined them they got through Hydrangea, Lilacs, Chrysanthemum, Yarrow, and Lavender before Jessie yawned. Once, and then twice, before his face quirked in confusion and he pouted a bit, signing _sleepy._

“Really?” Hermione asked, and he nodded, before signing _Blanket?_ … “You want to nap out here?” and he nodded, _I like the flowers._ Well...she had warded the garden bearing in mind that Narcissa might well be spending hours in it, in the sun, the sun would grant all of its benefits and none of its harm here, they weren’t going to burn to a crisp. So, “Alright honey, close your eyes,” she instructed. _Auntie_ had apparently made the jacks fly earlier but Hermione was trying to strike some balance in exposing Jessie to magic, she was nervous to overwhelm him and it...felt like a parenting decision, to some degree, that his mother and father should have some control in how fast Jessie had the concept of power introduced to him. So she waited until his eyes were closed and then summoned a few blankets, pillows, casting cushioning so the ground in the center of the garden. And then there was a soft rush of magic that coasted over all of them, like a quick gust of wind, as Narcissa cast cleansing over them all, though she summoned a washcloth, and cast to wet it, taking Jessie’s hands in hers and smiling as the boy giggled as she cleaned his hands, wiped at them really but Hermione supposed she was just following her lead, so when the boy opened his eyes and saw he was clean he’d attribute it to the perfectly normal method of cloth and water. 

“Would you care to nap, darling?” Narcissa wondered, “Our sleep was rather disturbed.”

_Is it okay if I join you?_ She signed to Jessie who smiled wide and nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I think I’ll lie down for a bit,” she said, scooping the boy up and smiling as he giggled as she carried him with a bit of swing, to let him whoosh in the air a bit before plopping down on the blanket she laid out and depositing the boy beside her. Narcissa hadn’t moved to join them though. “Are you going to keep gardening, or would you like to join us?”

“Oh, I- yes if...if it would not put you to discomfort,” Narcissa said.

Hermione patted the space alongside Jessie on the blanket and Narcissa smiled her relief, rising up and joining them on the blanket, Jessie snuggled between them, already drifting off and...he was out. Wow. Hermione rather envied the ability to go horizontal and just conk out. Even with potion it still felt like she had to petition the gods themselves before she could sleep most nights, worry picking away in her brain.

“This is some amazing work, Narcissa,” Hermione quietly complimented.

“It is natural gardening magic, if little Jessie had an affinity for gardening his magic would most likely guide him to do as much on its own,” Narcissa brushed it off, even as she seemed pleased with the praise.

“Oh yeah, that’s amazing too but I mean getting Jessie to nap. He’s usually running around like we keep him rolling in espresso or something.”

“I am rather familiar with the experience of caring for a magical child,” Narcissa drawled with a smile, “Underage use of magic aside, there are benign ways of exhibiting and using magic, in play and games, natural magic, that lets off its energy with their own without raising concern from the Ministry.” Fondness entered her gaze as she looked to the boy who had shifted to rest on Hermione’s chest. “This has been very reminiscent of Draco’s youth, spending my days keeping him entertained. I must say I rather enjoy revisiting the experience.”

Awe. She knew things were complicated with Lucius but…she gently questioned, “Did...you want more children, after Draco?”

“Oh...absolutely yes and yet a clear resounding no, all at once,” Narcissa breathed a sigh that spoke to past fear. Hermione carefully shifted the arm Jessie was half lying on, taking hold of the woman’s hand in the bit of tense silence that followed. She was worried she’d pressed something painful but Narcissa looked like she was working up to something she wanted to speak of. “Lucius...I had every reason to fear what he might take it into his head to do to Draco should he ever fall from his father’s good graces, fall short of the rigid demands made of him. Merely...revealing himself to be not entirely at ease with the arrangement of marriage between himself and a pureblood witch, could have inspired Lucius to abscond of him, if he’d an heir and a spare,” the woman swallowed, blinking back tears as she squeezed Hermione’s hand before turning her head to look to her. “After Draco’s birth...the medi-witch, Healer Marigold, she aided me, feigned complication in me in the aftermath of his birth so Lucius would not question my being taken to St. Mungos where I made my miraculous recovery...as I recovered from in truth...having elected the removal of my ability to produce further children.”

Oh God. “You...you had a hysterectomy?” she rasped a bit breathlessly.

“I...I knew I would have no choice in the matter if Lucius wished for another heir. It was the only way to ensure his every attempt to do so would always be unsuccessful.”

“Narcissa,” Hermione breathed, tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s...I’m so sorry.” Oh hell, was _that_ what Lucius had meant? That horrible echo of his voice in Narcissa’s mind reprimanding her ridding herself of...of her ‘one’ purpose, and not being fit to be called a mother? “ _You_ are an _amazing, incredible_ mother, Narcissa. That you would go to such lengths for your child? Is absolute proof of that.” The older Witch’s chin quivered, offering a wobbly smile at that. “I…”

“Yes darling?”

“If...if things changed for you, if Lucius ever has like, a full blown exorcism and turns into someone worthy of being a husband and father or...I dunno, if you ever found yourself in the position it wouldn’t put Draco at risk um…” was this stupid? She felt stupid, like she mighn’t be neccessarily thinking it all the way through but, “if you wanted more children, you absolutely deserve to have that experience. I mean adoption is always an incredible option but if you wanted...I duno, if you wanted another child that comes from you, and the wonderful stuff you’re made of? I...I don’t much plan on starting a family of my own, you know, for a while but...if you needed it, if you wanted that, I- I wouldn’t be opposed to um...standing in.”

“...standing in?”

“As a surrogate?” there was a lot to it, pregnancy but it wasn’t...she’d not have to put a career or her education in a different balance or at least not for very long, it wasn’t a dedication to being solely responsible for raising a child, it was just...aiding in their production, helping a friend. “Um, there’s magic for that, right? Muggles do it, more and more often now, there’s all sorts of reasons people struggle with pregnancy. You and your partner of choice combining whatever and...someone you trust carrying them for you.”

“Magic...yes, there are such ways. Most naturally would be the method that...well it would not require another partner, the child would merely be imbued with your own qualities.” Hermione’s brow furrowed at that and Narcissa’s expression entertained some concern. “Darling...do you not consider your traits worthy of passing to another? Because that is entirely absurd. Is this...something you offer me that you would not do for yourself? You plan to adopt?”

“Oh. I mean I dunno how exactly the whole ‘future family’ thing will sort out for me. I mean I’m 18...20...something. I’ve not finished school, and I’m newly revirginized,” she smiled, shooting the woman a playful glare, earning a soft laugh. “So yeah, maybe I’d adopt, but I’m not opposed to having a child myself. Just, you know, surrogating,I don’t know how comfortable I’d be with that, let alone whoever you might be doing this with if you were in a better situation.”

Narcissa looked relieved to hear as much, a bit bemused as she squeezed Hermione’s hand again. “This is...a very considerate, generous offer, darling. I do promise to remember it.”

“I just...you deserve to be happy.”

The older Witch smiled softly. “I am.”

“I mean in all aspects of your life.”

“...I will be, I believe. Someday,” Narcissa assured. “You absolutely deserve the same, as well.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, settling in and lying quiet in the peaceful calm of their building garden.

It really was the best place to nap. She woke and almost startled because Jessie wasn’t on her chest anymore but she felt little hands in her hair and tilted her chin back to look and see Jessie sitting up alongside her head, babbling to himself as he played with her hair, taking handfuls he pulled upward to release so he could watch them fall. They couldn’t have been down for more than an hour and he was already back in regular afternoon-Jessie form. Did Auntie Narcissa want to plant more? The Witch gave it a moment’s consideration before she decided yes, that would suit, Hermione knew she was terribly excited to really have something to work with and Jessie would sleep better tonight, if they wore him out magically, he might...start to notice he still isn’t with his parents, that something still isn’t right on the homefront, and worry without proper distraction. Hermione was worried Mike hadn’t texted since this morning, but she wasn’t the one that needed assurances just now, he and Sara were dealing with the difficult stuff. So she sent him a quick little update, that Jessie was having a blast. He really was, absolutely elated as he followed Narcissa and Hermione around the garden, keeping on with lining the fence with more seeds. Tulips, Blue Iris, Alstroemeria, and then Sunflowers, along the right end of the fence as it returned to the corner of the house, alongside the cellar. They spent the entire afternoon dedicated to it and when they were done? ...well, they could all use a washing up but Jessie definately needed a bath, straight after dinner. Which involved a bit of debate since the boy gave up a sign Narcissa didn’t recognize, which resulted in Hermione informing her of the existance of _chip butty’s_ , and the very thought of _sandwiches_ comprised of white bread and chips, horrified the older Witch.

“Honestly, what a ghastly sounding thing. I do enjoy chips but I quite assure you darling if you seek to feed that precious boy such garbage I will contact the authorities to have him taken from your so-called care at once.”

So Hermione offered up the healthier alternative of veggie pizza. Which got her an eye roll from Narcissa but she _supposed_ that was agreeable. It certainly must have been, she ate nearly five slices of the stuff. Four, and then half of a fifth Hermione convinced her to split with her since Jessie looked fit to pass out from eating two slices the size of his head and the big double-chocolate biscuit his grandmother had sent him, and there was only a single slice left, they might as _well_ just finish it off.

“You’re terrible influence,” the woman informed her.

“Oh yeah, that’s what I’m known for, being a bad influence, a bookworm from the wrong side of the tracks, forcing pizza-pressure on her friends.”

Narcissa shook her head before she looked to Jessie, “Alright young man, its time we got you cleaned up, come along darling.”

“You go on ahead, clean up the boy, while I clean up down here,” Hermione said. “I’ll be up in a bit.”

“Very well,” Narcissa nodded, hoisting Jessie onto her hip when he signed _up!_ “Up we go indeed,” she smiled, whisking him upstairs.

Hermione took care of their dinner mess, brought in the blankets and pillows they’d left outside, righting the ground because the last thing they needed was someone twisting their ankles forgetting where the ground had been cushioned and stepping into softness where they expected firm earth. She was excited to see what the place would look like as Narcissa kept up her work. Then she headed back into the house to tidy up a bit, clear the game of jacks off the floor, fold the blankets on the couch, made sure Jessie’s tape was rewound and back in its box. Her mobile chirped and she pulled it from her pocket to see a text. _Sara and baby okay, inducing labor tonight. -M_

_Hang in there. Give Sara my love. Jessie’s fed and bathing now, everything’s all good here._

She called the Whitakers to make sure they were in the loop, before she took the tape upstairs to store away in Jessie’s suitcase again since...well she wasn’t sure what would happen next. It could be tomorrow morning that they gave him back over to his parents, or it could be days yet.Oh Merlin...everything was going to be okay. It’d be fine, Sara would be fine, baby would be fine, and that’s...that's just how it was going to be! The universe at large should know better than to test her!

She sighed, sitting on the floor with her back against her dresser just...a little wiped in the moment, it felt like a little of everything catching up to her. Time Travel, and war, and Narcissa, and Sara and the baby. She sat curled a bit, with her arms on her knees, resting her head on her arms as she focused on her breathing, and she smiled a bit as she heard the echoey laughter from Jessie in the bath, splashing a bit.

“...yes,” Narcissa was saying, as if in agreement with him on something, which was apparently, “she does. Your auntie does indeed make me very happy,” the Witch informed him, and he let out a happy sound and a little giggle, met with a chuckle from Narcissa. And then, “I love your auntie, Jessie,” she shared as if in conspiracy. “I love her with quite possibly my entire heart, it frustrates me to no end that I cannot say as much to her. But I’m apparently at perfect liberty to tell others,” she sighed. “So thank you, little one, for being such a good listener.” 

Oh...Merlin, that was a good distraction and it sent Hermione blushing, feeling shy from hearing the woman be so honest about it. Magical vows...she didn’t regret the ones she’d taken with Narcissa but they could be a real nightmare, it shouldn’t be legal to own a person so entirely that you restrict their words, it...she’d appreciated the sentiment of Narcissa’s example when she came to explain that she couldn’t intentionally harm her but it’d made her stomach turn something awful when the woman didn’t have the freedom to voice her intended words. She’d...been decently sure she was trying to use a solid example in trying to say _Mudblood_ , and Hermione honestly wished she _could_ have said it, she didn’t like that there was a part of the woman’s will unavailable to her, that if...if Hermione did something that warranted hurting her, the woman couldn’t argue or express herself as she’d like. Narcissa...really did love her, didn’t she? She was glad. Maybe someday the woman would be free to tell Hermione to her face. 

For now, the woman expressed that love in the brilliant smile she gave when Hermione joined them, kissing the older Witch on the cheek as sat down alongside her by the tub, and in the offer of letting Hermione have first crack at taking a shower once Jessie was all cleaned up and in his jammies. And when they were all clean, in sweatshirts and sleep shorts and feeling ready for bed after a long day, Narcissa looked a bit out of sorts as she seemed to be mentally filing through every last activity she could think of, because Jessie was still a bit riled, and it wasn’t quite bedtime yet. But...well Hermione got an idea, mostly from Jessie’s restless wriggling in place as he waited for someone to decide what to do.

“Alright baby, come on, I know just the thing,” Hermione said as she took the boy’s hand, leading him toward the stairs, Narcissa following after, curious.

“Is there something on the telly he might enjoy?” she wondered as they descended into the living room.

“Not this time of night I don’t think, no, this bug needs to get his wriggles out,” Hermione informed her, with all the not-even-twenty-four-hours of sage wisdom she’d acquired today. She opened up the victrola they left in its spot on the window seat since they didn’t often sit there and they did often enjoy music when they worked.

“...he’ll enjoy music?” Narcissa wondered, something hopeful in her voice like she’d a fear it might be something he couldn’t enjoy full-stop.

“Oh yeah, as long as it's loud enough to feel the vibration, has some decent bass to it? It’s his jam,” Hermione assured as she set the needle in place and turned her attention to the boy at her side, “isn’t it?” and she smiled as he just beamed up at her, jumping and wriggling in place as he clapped to the beat.

“Oh, how delightful,” Narcissa voiced with some laughter as she perched herself on the window seat alongside the victrola, watching with amusement as Hermione joined in on Jessie’s little dance, copying his bouncy, clappy wriggle session. Viktor Krum had definitely hit the jackpot in dance partners when he asked Hermione to the Yule Ball, she was a quick, oh so graceful study who had Jessie’s style basically mastered. Oh she absolutely looked ridiculous and she absolutely did not care.

Jessie was giggling up a little storm as he signed to Narcissa, _Auntie! Come dance!_

And dance she did, but, “Let Auntie show you how a proper Wiz- gentleman composes himself on the dancefloor,”...she didn’t quite know the sign for ‘dancefloor’ and finger spelling it wasn’t exactly going to convey it to a two year old so she opted to in fact indulge in just a bit of wriggling before pointing to the floor to get the point across and Jessie nodded, holding his arms up, and the woman took him up on her hip, his hand on her shoulder while she took his other hand and swayed with him to the music, the woman’s smile brightening all the more when Jessie was still set in his ways, bopping his head to and fro to the beat of the music as they swayed. Hermione stopped to watch, take amusement in the sweet act. Yeah, yeah if Narcissa Malfoy asked for her help having another go at motherhood in future? She absolutely deserved it. Draco somehow landed the actual worst father and the most incredible mother.

Incredible, and ever sassy. “See, Jessie? _This_ is a proper dance, I do so fear for the poor attendees of Hogwarts Yule ball if they were subject to your Auntie’s dancing.”

Um, “Those were Jessie’s sweet moves that I was killing-”

“It certainly was a crime.”

“And I was the picture of elegance at Yule. I didn’t break any of Viktor’s toes.”

Narcissa arched a brow, “Any?” 

She hadn’t! But for the sake of humor, “...many,” she conceded. “Honestly I don’t know what you’re on about, _that_ is hardly proper form,” she teased.

“Oh, it isn’t?” Narcissa wondered, “Well, I’ll admit this would be a great deal closer with a partner more matching my height, but what young Jessie lacks in stature he makes up for in gravitas.”

“Ahh yes, the bouncing toddler, the epitome of gravitas,” Hermione drawled.

“...your auntie is testing me, darling,” Narcissa complained to the boy. “I really do believe she is in serious need of correction, I am, in fact, a perfectly marvelous dancer.”

“Oh _I_ need correction?” Hermione asked.

“Absolutely,” the woman assured.

“We’ll see about that. You’d best watch yourself Narcissa, my Jessie-Jam is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Ahh, well, now I’ve been put to task,” Narcissa said, looking to Jessie, “Darling will it upset you if I set you down so I might see to it your dear Aunt Stacie rues the moment she decided to test me?”

_Dance!_ Jessie encouraged, wriggling in her hold like he wished to be put down, so Narcissa set him on his feet and uh, yeah. Hermione was already kind of rueing the moment she decided to test the woman, her throat sort of dried up when Narcissa turned her full attention on her, smirk at her lips, eyes alight with amusement and something dangerous, even as it seemed like she took pause for a moment, like a touch of hesitation where she was assessing something. She felt a more intentional knock of Narcissa’s mind against her own like she was making certain she wasn’t overstepping before she stepped right on over to take Hermione’s hand and bring it to rest on the older Witch’s shoulder, before taking hold of her free hand, and placing her own on the small of Hermione’s back to draw her nearer. Huh. Maybe the problem this morning was Hermione’d gotten into her own head, and she hadn’t been able to see Narcissa’s face, because this _felt_ a great deal like the pancake fiasco, Hermione feeling shy and blushy and her everything felt very focused on the hand resting just above her ass, holding her close and in place and guiding her with strength and certainty, the way the woman’s hands had been over her own that morning. Then she’d just been caught up in the sensation of it all and then hit like a bucket of bricks to the face when she heard so much amusement in Narcissa over it all. But seeing her face now, warm sky-eyes peering down into her own, she was absolutely certain she was not a joke. This was not a joke. This was...well another expression of Narcissa’s ‘I love you’s. She just felt...dearly, sweetly loved, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.

“Do you stand corrected, darling?” Narcissa wondered, seeming pleased.

“...perhaps.”

Narcissa smiled, shaking her head and with her back to Jessie she complained, “Vexing, Miss Granger. Entirely vexing.”

It was entirely...the opposite of vexing, to lie down at the end of their day. It was nearly eleven when the mobile vibrated with a text _Inducing her now_ , Hermione holding the phone for Narcissa to view the message, the woman’s chin crinkling with her worry. The Witches joining hands, Jessie fast asleep between them, and Hermione closed her eyes and squeezed the other Witch’s hand as Narcissa whispered,

“Ohh, there is no better time, than under moonlight for life to be brought into the world,” she sniffled, offering up the prayer, “Lucina* Juno, Diana. May your light shine strong and true upon Sara Winter nee…?” oh, she wished to be specific Hermione supposed but she was already.

“Mike took her last name,” she whispered back, peeking at the older Witch and the woman grinned at that.

“May your light shine strong and true upon Sara Winter and the child she carries. Bring her safely into this world and deliver her to her mother’s arms, their health and happiness secure. So let it be.”

“So let it be,” crested softly over Hermione’s lips, and she felt something in her magic like reassurance or...almost like she’d cast along with Narcissa. Perhaps they had, she wasn’t certain how much there was to the ‘gods’ thing, but she also wasn’t certain how much there was to the ‘God’ thing and she’d no problem invoking that when need be.

She fell asleep to Jessie sighing contently, and what she could swear was the boy’s first intelligible audible word, a sleepy, happy sounding, “Ba-by,” whispered in his slumber.

It wasn’t vexing at all to wake up to the texts _Mummy and baby are here and healthy._ Followed by, _Staying under observation. We want Sara getting some more rest before Jessie sees her, and comes ‘round to meet the baby. Would you mind bringing him to hospital this afternoon?_ And then, _Thank you so much for watching him._

_Absolutely! You and Sara get some rest. Do you guys need anything from the house? We could bring fresh clothes._ She knew Sara had a bag but everything had gotten pretty hectic, they may well have forgotten it, and even if not, Mike mightn’t have anything. _We can bring food too, just name it._

“Oh, praise be,” Narcissa breathed when Hermione showed her the texts as they slipped out of bed and began getting ready while Jessie slept a bit more, and Hermione took the mental note that magical children _got_ their full nights rest when they were given the ability to be active both physically and magically. They dressed and cast so they would be alerted when Jessie woke, and headed downstairs to make breakfast together...not as intimately as the day before, in fact Narcissa seemed to be trying to keep a respectful distance. Hermione was the one to slide her work of chopping up fruit, dicing some apples and slicing grapes, down the counter to stand alongside the older Witch, knocking her hip against Narcissa’s playfully as she joined her, and the woman smiled softly, relaxing as she stirred pancake batter. 

And the Whitakers were both present and waiting in the kitchens when they arrived, calling for Narcissa to come on in too, Mister Whitaker was gladly winded when he knelt to take on Jessie running at him to hug his grandpa, though the boy did pull away to sign _ouchy, sorry_ , and his grandfather shook his head, smiling and pressing a kiss to the boy’s hair, Mrs. Whitaker looking on in adoration before she looked to Hermione and Narcissa, her expression not much changing, as she said,

“Thank you, both of you, so much for watching after him. Sara called this morning and said you two would be taking him to see her and the baby?”

Hermione nodded, “Yeah, if there's anything you want us to take for you, just let us know okay?” they couldn’t much risk going to the hospital unless they were suffering a medical emergency themselves, Mister couldn’t afford to catch cold let alone anything else nasty that could be picked up, and it would just kill Mrs. if she brought home something to him.

“We’ll be going to their house to make sure everything is nice and orderly for them, we’ll be staying there to help them out, we’ll be opening later, shorter hours all next week, maybe longer,” Mrs. Whitaker said, sounding almost apologetic.

“That’s great, Sara and Mike will be so excited to have you around and you’ll get to love on Jessie and the new baby,” Gabbie, she was pretty sure Sara settled on, “take all the time you can afford to, if you need the shop still running, I’m no Mrs. but I can keep a few favorites whipped up, just come in earlier. Whatever you need.”

“Oh honey, we couldn’t ask you to do that,” Mister Whitaker argued.

“You didn’t,” Hermione informed with a smile, “I offered.”

The couple looked to one another, as if silently communicating, and she supposed even Muggles held some ability to do so after so many years together. “If you could do something like that for us honey, we’d be beyond grateful,” Mrs. said.

“You’re to just say the word if it's too much,” Mister intoned.

“If she doesn’t, I certainly will,” Narcissa spoke up to assure, giving Hermione something of a wry stare before smiling to the older Muggle couple. “You’re to absolutely enjoy your time with your children and grandchildren. Everyone will work together to make certain your shop yet thrives in your absence. Mister Duncan has come along quite nicely, there is plenty of help at hand.”

“Thank you,” Mister Whitaker nodded, smiling with his gratitude. Though he startled a bit when Jessie babbled and reached up to tug on the upward twist of his silvery mustache, the action eliciting a smile from the elderly man as he looked to his grandson, “Well forgive me, Mister Winter, I’ve been ignoring you haven’t I? Did you have fun with your Aunties?”

Jessie started signing to his grandparents, hands moving rapidfire to excitedly inform them of the fun he had, and Hermione and Narcissa left him to it, Narcissa leaving them with the assurance that they were free to join her or leave Jessie at her table when they’d need.

And the second time in a little over twenty four hours...a third time in as many days, Narcissa Malfoy trapped Hermione against a bit of counterspace, joining her as she moved to go behind the counter once she exited the kitchen, her bottom against the edge of the counter while Narcissa stood before her, hands going to rest on either side of Hermione as she leaned in to address her quietly, 

“You are the singlemost frustratingly thoughtful young lady, I swear to Morgana you could drive me to madness itself,” she informed her. “If you’re going to go traipsing off at ungodly hours of the morning-”

“I promise not to wake you, I can go back to sleeping in my room if you think it’ll disturb your sl-”

“Cease speaking for me, I was saying nothing of the sort. I’m more than capable of following instruction. If you are going to be coming in earlier to prepare baked goods for the shop, I would join you, and be of assistance.”

Oh. “Really? That’s...that’s really sweet, Narcissa.”

“I am known to be sweetness personified.”

Hermione snorted quietly, “Oh absolutely,” then, “I couldn’t ask-”

“In your own words, I am offering. In truth I am merely informing. I will be joining you, and you will simply have to endure it.”

“Oh no, early morning baking in the kitchens with Narcissa Black? Whatever shall I do?”

Narcissa drew in a deep breath, grip tightening on the edge of the counter for a moment before she released, and stepped back, “Whatever shall I do,” she returned in kind, moving to go and lay claim to her table.

Or at least Hermione thought that was what she was going to do, the woman had been halfway across the shop when Hermione crouched behind the counter to grab her apron and withdraw the little cardboard box she’d charmed her cubby to hold and conceal, pulling her note from Narcissa out of her bag to add to the others for-

“Miss Greene...whatever are you doing?”

Hermione startled, jumping and pitching backward off her feet to land on her bottom, box bouncing from her grasp to spill over, little notes scattering on the floor, crap! “Nothing!” she insisted as she looked up, meeting the woman’s gaze as she was apparently standing at the counter, leaning over to peer down at her.

Narcissa gasped softly, cheeks pinking as she cleared her throat, “I’m pleased you cherish them as much as I take pleasure in writing them,” she warmly assured.

“I just- its really thoughtful of you and-” they really were sweet, often encouraging. They were definitely a high point of her day and occasionally she reread a few favorites on particularly difficult days to cheer herself up.

Narcissa’s expression melted, “Darling…” she cleared her throat again, opting to step around directly addressing it further, to spare Hermione feeling embarrassed and letting her sit with the fact that Narcissa didn’t think it strange or pathetic that the younger Witch was saving her notes. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just- we are going to visit Sara, welcome a new precious life to the world. We...there should be some ceremony yes? Offerings?”

“Gifts?” Hermione checked, and when the woman nodded. “Oh! Crap, I forgot them in the cellar! I tucked them away during my whole ‘I’m going to be responsible for keeping a child alive in my house’ panic.”

“What is it, darling? I could retrieve them.”

“There's two white wicker baskets on one of the work tables in the cellar. They’ll have a little gift bag in them too but make sure you bring the baskets as well, please? It's a bit to carry but they aren’t heavy-”

“Certainly, I’ll be just a moment.”

When she returned, it was with the compliment, “These are a thing of genius, I should think, for the parents of a newborn solely in charge of keeping up with the laundry...and I had to cast to cleanse Jessie’s attire on more than one occasion yesterday.” They weren’t just...well it was more like they were _literal_ laundry baskets. Hermione had charmed one to instantly cleanse anything non-sentient placed inside, and the other charmed likewise, to warm things up, dry them. And then a giftbag full of little headband bows and matching onesies and dresses because Hermione took two steps into that section of the store and she might have blacked out and woken up walking out the door with her budget blown the day she returned to work and discovered Sara was pregnant. “You are...certain of this?”

Hermione nodded. “Jessie...he’s definitely like us, that’s not changing anytime soon. Sara already has her suspicions and I know she’s made some connection, that I understand, that there must be a why for my understanding. So...the plan is to introduce them to the wonders in a benign and beneficial way, and whenever they’re ready, they’ll know they can come to me with questions.”

“Excellent thinking,” Narcissa nodded, “shall I take these to the car?”

Hermione nodded, and when the older Witch returned she looked a little perplexed, like she was concerned about something, caught between being upset...and pleased? She sounded more on the upset side, when she walked up to the counter again, and stared at Hermione hard. “You placed my name, where one indicates from whom a present is being received.”

“...yeah?” She’d...she’d not signed it ‘Malfoy’ or anything, she just wrote ‘Hermione & Narcissa’ on the tag? They liked keeping track of what presents came from who so, it was the done thing? Wasn’t it? Was there...some facet of Magical culture she’d mistepped in?

“I took no hand in gathering or creating such gifts.”

“You didn’t know Sara when I got them,” Hermione shrugged. “You just carried them to the car, so...you kind of had a hand in the handles-”

“I would not be the sort of person to leave such efforts up entirely to the work of another only to do absolutely nothing and claim equal credit for it.”

“Uhh...I- I’m sorry, I’m not quite...did I do something wrong? This,” she used an index finger to gesture between them as if to reference their current interaction, “is only happening because you were worried we didn’t have presents. We do. I’m sorry I didn’t include you in shopping or casting but that was all back when I was, you know, hiding everything about Whitakers from you. Crap, I’m sorry, I should have seen if you wanted to go shopping for the baby.”

“I am not upset you didn’t think to-” Narcissa sighed. “I’ve never cared for having credit claimed for my own thoughtfulness to others. It is usually a thankless and undermining job and I would be remorseful if I have put you in that role because _I_ didn’t consider needing a present for the occasion until the occasion was upon us.”

Oh. Translation; my worthless husband is a lazy git who takes credit for all my gift giving. “That isn’t what's happened here. You really love and care about Sara, those are things you’d truly think to get for her. We act on a unified front like this in other things and it isn’t a problem. This wasn’t you taking advantage, it’s just...a form of team work.”

“You do not begrudge the credit-”

“No, of course not! It’s a baby present, not the makings for an Order of M- Nobel Peace Prize!” Hermione said, incredulous. “Look, it’s really no big deal Narcissa. Next time Sara has a baby you can be in charge of the shopping, and just slap my name on the card if it bothers you that much.”

“You believe Sara will have another child?” oh she sounded excited at the prospect.

“Sara and Mike might just be the next Weasleys. They’re looking into adoption and everything, they definitely want more kids.”

Narcissa nodded. “Very well, so long as you’re certain I’m not overstepping.”

“No need to cajole Draco into arranging another ambush,” Hermione assured.

“I did not _cajole_ . I _requested_ and he met it with compliance because he is a most wonderful and loyal son.”

Jessie was likewise, a wonderful and loyal son. Merlin, she almost worried the boy’s magic would send him into Wild Apparation, when he learned it was time to go see mummy and baby, and the instant he was free of his carseat and standing on solid ground in the Hospital parking lot Narcissa had to be quick to snatch him up, much to his complaint, or he would have bolted. When they’d gathered everything, presents, meals for Mike and Sara piled into the basket meant to keep non-sentient things warm, Narcissa kept a hand in his and set him on his feet and he pulled her along, leading them, into the hospital, directly to an elevator, Mike had texted her their floor and room number but the little boy jumped to slap the _2_ once they were in the elevator without the Witches consulting him, and the moment the doors were open he was off again and they moved to keep up, following after as he ran directly for his mothers room and Merlin help them all, Divination might be a legitimate magical class and Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about it, she really wasn’t. 

_Mummy! Daddy!_ The boy signed as he stormed the room, Hermione and Narcissa on his heels.

Mike had been half asleep in a chair at Sara’s bedside, and he jerked awake when his wife reached out to pat his knee, and he waved for his son to come to him, to bound into his arms with all the exuberance he could, Mike pressing a few kisses to his son’s hair before pulling back to sign _Be gentle with mummy, okay love-bug? She’s worked very hard and now she’s tired, she’s okay but she’ll be sore for a while._

_I’ll be careful!_ He promised sincerely, bouncing a bit impatient, but he went very still when his father deposited him on his mother’s bed.

“Hi bug,” Sara looked worn, but color was good, and she was smiling like mad, brushing a hand through Jessie’s hair as he sat on his knees at her side. “Oh honey, you can hug me, just take it easy,” she invited, and he snuggled against her side, sighing contently. She looked up to Hermione and Narcissa standing in the doorway, a little smirk on her lips as she greeted, “Hey you two,” she winked, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh Sara darling, I’m so relieved you’re alright,” Narcissa breathed, stepping into the room and then she halted as if catching herself, “Oh!” uh...maybe they should have talked customs? The woman crossed one leg behind the other and dipped a low, low bow, one arm behind her, at the small of her back while the other reached forward, palm upturned as she announced, “Blessings to you and yours on this most sacred of days. May your love build and bless.” And then with a moment’s consideration she brought her hands before her to sign her blessings for Mike’s benefit, the man blinking at her like he wasn’t certain if he was misperceiving due to lack of being fully awake before he signed a tentative _Thank you._

While his wife stared and then decided, “Sweet uh...thank you, Narcissa!” she said, looking to Hermione, as if assessing if that was one of _those things_ that indicated Narcissa was like Hermione, like Jessie.

“Of course my dear,” Narcissa said. 

“Congratulations mumma,” Hermione offered for herself, hoisting the baskets higher on her hips to bring attention to them, “we brought offerings and sustenance.”

“Offerings can go over there, and sustenance can make its sweet way over here,” Sara said, motioning for Hermione to set the baskets atop a little table by the door and bring the food to the bed, the little roller table was just off to the side and Mike took the bags of food Hermione offered and set them on it, Narcissa trailing after, and Mike stood up, slipping past them to go around to the other side of the bed, the little tiny Hospital crib Narcissa kept shooting little glances at to peek at the sleeping baby bundled inside. “You ready everyone?” Sara asked, Jessie nodding eagerly. Oh Merlin, Hermione felt like she might cry, she was so relieved to see Sara well and- and they were about to meet her baby! “We finally settled the great Xena/Gabbie debate, thankfully her middle name was a breeze, I’ve had it picked since this one’s birth. It’s a little out there, but Stacie suggested it,” Sara said, brushing a hand through Jessie’s hair...oh...Jenny? She’d kind of panicked when Sara asked name suggestions for Jessie if he was a girl, they’d not elected to learn his physical gender before having him. She parcled through all the names she knew, and the ones that were most familiar were pretty...Witchy, Ginny was the closest to normal so she suggested Jenny. How was that weird? “Stace...you were a major trooper, all through Jessie’s birth, I mean you were so calm and you just rolled with everything, you didn’t have to stay but you did. But you were like what? Fifteen, maybe sixteen? A little young, for this, and we’d only just started getting to know each other but...you’re older now, and you’re family. So...would you like to meet your Goddaughter?”

Oh...oh she might cry yeah. “Is that you asking me to be her Godmother?” Hermione returned, grinning wide as Sara nodded.

“Uh-huh, figured I’d spring it on you, manipulative like, you can’t say no to the precious newborn you half-way named,” Sara said, looking to Mike as he carefully lifted their daughter, to place her in her mother’s arms, “this is your sister,” she whispered happily to Jessie who snuggled against his mother before sitting up and reaching out to stroke the blanketing over his baby sister, smiling as he signed _Hi! Happy! You’re here!_ Oh _Merlin_ , she was _gorgeous!_ Such pretty, big brown eyes that sparkled like pools of amber as she opened them to peer up at her brother before closing them to sleep still, and her hair...Narcissa’s hand clasped hold of Hermione’s at their sides and squeezed because...well Jessie’s hair had been like that, like finespun genuine gold, it practically glowed. Sara had this look in her eyes like acceptance, she saw it too, she knew both of her children were different, and Hermione might just know how. 

And then she introduced Hermione to her goddaughter...with a middle name the young Witch wouldn’t have suggested in a million years, but memory charms were a complex, complicated thing.

_“This_ …” Sara said, “is Gabrielle Hermione Winter.”

_“Oh,”_ Narcissa breathed, squeezing her hand more firmly as Hermione sucked in a harsh, strangled gasp, that turned into a sob on the exhale because, oh _Merlin, Juno, whoever,_ this was-

“Awe, Stace,” Sara cooed with sympathy, sniffling a bit, “Oh man you’re going to make me cry- Mike! Now I’m really going to lose it,” she warned, eyes welling up with tears because Hermione was officially a sobbing mess and Mike was crying too, and Narcissa wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, pulling her against her side and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she murmured,

“Oh darling, it’s alright.” Was it? She wasn’t sure if this was the happiest accident or some horrible sign that something went wrong with her casting, or...or just something for the future to ruin, the lead up to a terrible falling out when Sara realized what Hermione had done. “It is going to be alright,” Narcissa whispered directly into her hair.

_Love!_ Jessie signed, looking at Hermione, and then he...performed Hermione’s name-sign with an ‘H’ instead of an ‘S’. He hadn’t- he’d been a few months old, she hadn’t cast on him full stop obviously that would just be insane, but he’d certainly never heard her name. _Hermione! Mum and dad will love you! My mummy and daddy will too._ Too? ...oh God. Mum and dad. _Her_ mum and dad would love her still, someday.

“Yeah baby, we love Stacie,” Sara sniffled, correcting, “but it’s ‘S’, bug, for Stacie,” she said, signing the name. Jessie rolled his eyes and her mouth dropped open, “Stacie Middle-Name! Did you teach my son to sass me?”

“I believe we both gave the dear boy poor example, a great deal of sass to immulate,” Narcissa assured.

“Well I can’t wait to hear what kind of trouble he got up to with you,” Sara assured, rocking the sleepy baby in her arms before she looked up to Hermione, “You wanna hold her?”

Hermione nodded, trying to compose herself before Narcissa released her hold so Hermione could step forward and accept the baby as Sara passed her over. Awe, she opened her eyes, lips quivering before she let out a little cry at being taken into the arms of someone who wasn’t her mother.

“Hi,” she whispered, taking her Goddaughter’s sweet little hand between her index finger and thumb. “Hello Gabbie. I’m your Auntie,” Hermione. “I love you so much, I’m so, so happy to finally meet you,” she sought to soothe.

Oh Merlin help her. Someone, anyone please.

Hermione’s magic blazed warm and proud and full of love as the tiniest, _tiniest_ , most precious bit of magic, reached out for contact, and left the small, sleepy Witch in her arms sighing and resuming her utter peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sylphies--not to be confused with selkies. Luna's out here trying to convene with Fae folk. Sylphies (see Sylph) are invisible air spirits, not a part of canon so it seems like a fun thing Luna might believe in that mightn't be considered a 'real' magical creature.  
> *"You haven’t a guess? Of course not. Understandable, given the circumstances" Narcissa spends some time delivering coded messages in this chapter, 2 of them are in her dialog, here and then in one more place shortly after. The code will be explained in Always Bet on Black, THIS is just a "hey, if you feel like taking a crack at a little puzzle" thing, reading through the instructions Narcissa has Hermione write to Present!Narcissa, and Hermione's lunch notes, will give you examples to look at and see if you can crack it yourself.  
> *Hufflepuff and Gryffindor have a canon Quidditch match around Valentines day each year, which is kind of convenient for my "Hermione and Susan slipping off for some under-the-bleachers romance" thing.  
> *the term Butterfly Effect was coined in 1972 by Meteorologist Edward Lorenz to describe how small changes in one place in space can alter larger things throughout.  
> *Lucina is a neat ass title for upper goddesses in Roman religion. Juno is the primary goddess (the equivalent of Hera in Greek Pantheon) and she's the goddess of love and marriage, Diana is the goddess of the moon, has strong ties to animal life, but she's also the goddess of conception and delivery.


	8. Always Bet on Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between Birthdays and Holy-days, one majorly successful bank heist, and a surprisingly successful divorce there's a lot to celebrate! 
> 
> In which our ladies party hard, love harder, rob a bank, and finally! get! together!
> 
> Just a heads up, herein lies the valid reason for our M for Mitochondria is the Powerhouse of the Cell Rating. More upper-range on the 'M' scale toward the end of the chapter, so if you aren't here for that, when we get to mention of dessert in Hermione Pov, just scroll it on down to the next scene break where we jump back into Narcissa Pov!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE HERE!  
> Be blessed this Pride Month!  
> 💖🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤  
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting and Kudosing! I love you so many!  
> and as always thanks to inkheart9459 for reading and encouraging and dragging my ass for being gay for 90 pages to get our favorite ship sailing!  
> 🖤 ENJOY!

Hermione Granger was the most brilliant…and belligerently ignorant Witch of an entire Age, Narcissa Malfoy, soon-to-be-Black was absolutely certain. How someone could be so intuitive, so ingenious, so devastatingly intelligent and could not conceive for the life of her that Narcissa was head over heels, besotted with her, was beyond vexing.

Soon. Narcissa could make herself perfectly clear soon. Just not…soon enough for her liking and Merlin help her it might just kill her. If she didn’t get to kiss her absolutely senseless _soon_ she might absolutely lose her mind.

She’d been startled to discover the girl was not at her side when she woke the morning Draco was due to leave for Hogwarts. But the moment she spoke her name in confusion, questioning tiredly, _“Hermione?”_ the younger Witch emerged from the bathroom, attired for the day, and asking if Narcissa would prefer a coat, or cloak, to make a discrete trip to Kings Cross. Narcissa had just stared at her momentarily, confused until the girl came and sat on the edge of the bed,

There was a memory forming in her mind—Lucius reading the paper at the other end of their formal dining table where he’d just finished eating while Narcissa sat staring at him in silence, the plate before her full and untouched. " _Oh is it the first?"_ He’d smugly wondered, turning in a corner of the paper to meet her gaze and relish in the fact it was indeed a form of torture for her that she would miss the opportunity she would have so few times in this life, getting to see her precious child off to another school year. 

Hermione leaned in, smiling into Narcissa’s face as her hand closed over her own. _“Come on, don’t pretend you aren’t totally bummed. You’ve never not seen Draco off. I know it won’t be the same but…present you might not be able there, so I figured…you shouldn’t have to miss out on it entirely, right?”_ she said, _“Come on, breakfast is ready. Get dressed and we’ll head that way.”_

She’d laughed, loud and boisterous and beautiful, oh she’d barely been able to breathe, when Narcissa made question of which nation the Queen singing about murder on the car radio preceded over. The only answer she received being, _“Dr- Dr- Draco just as-asked the same thing!”_ she sighed amusedly, _“God that was just cute. Oh, I just love him.”_

Narcissa's heart thunked in her chest in the same moment it felt like sweet light blooming in its chambers, at the very thought that, _“You love my son?”_

And she’d merely shrugged, _“Of course.”_ And then, after a sidelong glance at the older Witch, _“…I do, my Present’s self included. And the Weasleys, the Tonks, they’ve all been assuring Draco he’s to write them all day, if he has need of them in school. And yeah, there’s some limitations on how much we can get involved but he knows he can always write you, too. He isn’t alone, just because your present self can’t be there for him right now as she’d like.”_ She’d written the woman as much that morning. It was focus on that message she’d seen in her day planner before joining Lucius for another biteless breakfast, that had eased the ache in her chest, softened the blow of her burdens, that Hermione had seen to her need…both Narcissas' needs…to know that her son was so loved. 

She did. Oh she absolutely did. Narcissa was uncertain just what was happening from the distance at which they watched Draco’s arrival at the station, but her son looked upset about something and the present’s Hermione had been immediate to console. She looked…like she might be making lecture of him, fists clenched at her side, stomping her foot indignantly, and then she pulled him down into a hug.

 _“He’s alright, just having a moment. He’s still getting used to the ‘genuine friendship’ thing, I had to give him the ‘what-for’ for claiming he isn’t a good friend,”_ Hermione spoke from behind her, eyes closed but her memories forming from her Present self’s point of view. She wasn’t even looking at Narcissa and she knew, she knew exactly what she needed in the moment. Narcissa reached back and took hold of the younger Witch’s hand, squeezing tightly. For a second she thought it was her action that earned the, _“Awe”_ from Hermione’s lips, but no. Draco…had been freed from a hug, and gave one of his own which- her son was not quick to physical affection in others. Merlin, that he could do as much with Hermione said…a great deal of his comfort with her, his care. Even more so than his words. _“He wants me to have the memory of him thanking me? Like future-me. For our mission and helping him and taking care of you.”_

Narcissa had looked on Miss Granger in her ridiculous muggle-camouflage of a ball cap and trench coat, and felt every bit the mixture of her absolute adoration, and burning outrage that she could not move more than a fraction of the distance between them, when her intent was snog the younger Witch against the station wall until the only thing she would be capable of remembering was Narcissa ridding her of every sense and leaving her wanting, panting mess to be led from the muggle train station.

Hermione Granger was _excellent_ at knowing _exactly_ what Narcissa needs.

Save for one single, solitary thing: _herself._

Narcissa had gone to every effort to make it clear to the girl, from the roundabout ways she had to use to put words to her feelings, her verbal I love…anything else that she could connect to the girl without denoting the love being attached directly to her, her coded messages. She’d gotten the idea when she sent as much to her Present Self, in the instructions Hermione had insisted she write for her. Narcissa had been a bit frustrated at that, the girl’s interference but it had born delightful inspiration. She’d tried to pen the words, but an _I love you_ penned with the intent of Hermione seeing, was physically impossible. Even if she could get the words down, she would be incapable of letting the girl see, she would be forced to scratch them out or hide them or banish them altogether. But putting the intent from her mind and focusing solely on writing the girl a note of greeting to go with her lunches? Perfectly benign statements her vows would allow, where she was wholly focused on the challenge of their craftsmanship rather than the feeling behind their meaning? Well it wasn’t _her_ fault if her carefully placed capital letters revealed truths she could not speak.

Draco, her sweet dragon, oh, he even tried to assist her in this way. His choice of flowers had been entirely wonderful and spoke…well it spoke both to his knowledge of her feelings and his acceptance and she knew that was not easily done. She’d done what she could, dropping hints that the flowers meanings were significant.

“I got it!” the younger Witch had declared one day when they were lying together in the midst of their garden, their first Sunday off after spending most of the week together at Whitakers. Narcissa did not necessarily care for the early hours but she loved getting to exercise her newfound expertise, work alongside Hermione, listening to music and preparing baked goods for the day ahead. Their first day off Narcissa woke late, having been allowed to sleep in by the Witch who had prepared her pancakes and fruit and slices of buttery toast and brought them with her to bed, so they could laze and eat before descending into the garden to laze and read, lying on a blanket over a bit of cushioned earth. Narcissa had been reading aloud while Hermione made study of a book she’d taken interest in at Whitakers, building anticipation rising in the older Witch because this tome claimed in its title, to be on the language of flowers. Hermione had sat up, and turned to face Narcissa, vibrating with excitement as she launched into explanation, “At first I thought he was just, you know, picking your favorite flowers, and then I considered ‘oh!’ they’re all potions ingredients!”

“They are,” Narcissa conceded, saving her disappointment for if the girl truly missed the point—her knowledge of potions did not require a book on flower language. In a bit of mischief, and…well it was stalling, which was inane but she would be devastated if Hermione came to understand and…somehow did not reciprocate or felt ill-at-ease, or perceive it to be further mockery of her feelings. “Of what sort, Miss Granger?”

Hermione leveled her a playful glare, eyes squinting as she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, before giggling and saying, _“Well_ Professor Black,” oh Merlin perhaps she miscalculated. This might only make it worse if this did not go to plan. The younger Witch’s hand rested alongside Narcissa’s head, and she shifted her weight to it, leaning over the older Witch, hair spilling over her shoulders as she met the woman’s gaze and steadily listed with utmost confidence, “Alstroemeria, Daffodils, and Blue Iris are found in potions that promote luck and protection. Lilac has antifungal properties but paired with lavender they are necessary for calming draught, sleep, and dreamless sleep. Sunflowers are nutrient rich in vitamins B, C, and E, and it responds powerfully to magic which makes it a vital foundation for nutritive potion. Chrysanthemum is an excellent pain reliever. Yarrow works in both the realms of potions used in summoning rites and for healing—in that, it is akin to Tulips and Roses, though Roses may also be used in sedation, it is also anti inflammatory.” Not in Narcissa’s experience, not when mixed with the vanilla of Hermione’s hair care regimen, in fact at this moment the scent worked in kind to, “Gardenia, while antibacterial, is a powerful aphrodisiac.”

“Very good, Miss Granger. And their meaning?”

Hermione smiled brilliantly at that, a reassurance Narcissa needed in the moment because tears welled up in the younger Witch’s eyes. Narcissa rolled onto her stomach to sit up on her knees and reach for the girl’s cheek, swiping a thumb under a tear-spilling eye, “Hermione?”

“Sorry, sorry—it’s just, God its so sweet.”

“Truly?” Narcissa breathed the question and Hermione nodded. “You understand, my darling, what the flowers in this garden mean?”

“Love. They all, every single one of them, mean love, from undying love, to secret love and- Merlin it’s just-“ she swallowed, and then, “Draco loves you so much, I swear it kills me. He’s just the sweetest!”

Narcissa could only stare at the girl for a moment as her mind practically screamed. How had she missed the point so utterly, and yet- she- she was so close and yet so far and all it managed to do was drive-

Well. It was apparently Hermione’s chosen method for driving Narcissa up the wall.

“That he does, Miss Granger. This garden is indeed meant to reflect much love.”

“It’s really beautiful,” Hermione sweetly complimented, taking Narcissa’s hand. “I can’t believe it’s barely been a week and everything’s already shaping up to bloom soon,” she said as she drug her gaze along every bush and rising stem lining the fence.

Narcissa prayed love did indeed bloom soon. If it did not she felt certain she might die.

In fact she was positive of it, the following day, when she learned just how very unkind she had been to Miss Granger with their bit of pancake upset. She’d been entirely intentional in seeking a rise out of the girl, she thought…well she wasn’t certain what she’d been thinking. She’d been testing the waters of what she _could_ do. She’d been a bit inspired by how very close she got the night before, hoisting Hermione up onto the counter, pinning her perfectly in place, arms on either side of her and- her fists had clenched because she could not touch her as she wanted, frame locked rigid and firm a bare few inches of space between them keeping her from proving with action, just what she felt for the Witch. She could not kiss her, she could not touch her as a lover, but under the guise of kitchen guidance, hands over Hermione’s? she could stand close and…well. She’d made the girl certain she was _trying_ to seduce her, she just couldn’t appropriately convey the _why_ which left Hermione coming to…well the only conclusions she could reasonably come to at this time.

Hermione…was not acting with intent when she returned the favor, and that was perhaps what made it even worse. She didn’t know, she didn’t understand what exactly she’d just done but-

They’d been in the kitchen at Whitakers. And the girl had already done the inane ritual of capturing her hair—it was unnecessary, there were spells used in the food service industry and potions making to keep hair from falling into your product, but Narcissa was certainly not going to point that out. It would rob her of the sight of Hermione turning her back on the woman and pitching forward, running her hands through her hair all the while…today she caught a hint of pale blue lace high on her thighs where it met her backside, she would indeed point that out to the young lady before she went to serve customers, it would be the height of impropriety to display there. When she did point this out, the got a blush and Miss Granger turned her back on the camera in the kitchen’s corner that pointed toward the door, and cast to stretch her skirt so its hem fell lower toward her knees before bending forward once more and asking Narcissa if that was better. It was much the same reaction in Narcissa, even as she could no longer see the hint of temptuous panties. But no customers would see, so. “Yes, Miss Greene, much better.”

“Great! Let’s get started!”

They washed their hands. And then started on what would ultimately be Narcissa’s downfall. Pastry. Honey coated lengths of braided pastry.

“Narcissa, it’s like this,” Hermione gently corrected, a bit of laughter in her voice as she demonstrated for a fifth time for the woman’s benefit. She kept messing up and required drawing her wand low under the counter keeping her body shielding her work from view so there was no video evidence of poorly braided mangled pastry dough magically righting itself.

Narcissa let out a frustrated sigh. “I can see what you are doing, darling, I just cannot quite copy the action myself. I do promise I am trying.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Lets try something different. Do you mind if I show you?”

She’d been about to point out that she _had_ been, when her words dried up in her throat. Miss Granger had taken the downward snap of her head as she turned her gaze on the girl to glare, as a nod. And then she stepped to the side, to stand directly behind Narcissa, hips low against her backside, kitchen counter blessedly cool against a part of Narcissa that ran hot, built to blazing as Hermione took hold of her hands, looking around Narcissa to guide her through braiding the pastry to perfection, the twist and drag, turn, repeating motions the younger Witch praised her through, “See? You’re getting it, you’re doing so well.” and when she was through, “Do you want to try on your own now?”

She demonstrated in this way thrice more, at Narcissa’s request before the older Witch was absolutely certain she would make an embarrassment of herself if she allowed such a thing to go on a moment longer. She ‘got the hang of it’, as the younger Witch would say. And through her haze she realized it wasn’t necessarily right of her, to continue this out of sheer…out of Hermione stoking desire unawares.

Though she very nearly became very much aware. In the most mortifying of fashions.

“Do please forgive me, but there is something I must see to at home,” she excused herself, the very moment they were through with their mornings baking.

“Oh! Uh…” the Witch seemed to consider it a moment. “Mister doesn’t check the tapes unless something’s happened—I avoid doing anything suspect because I worry the moment I do will be the same day we get burglarized or something. I can close up and drive you home or you could step into the bathroom and Apparate? Its up to you.”

No, it was not, not really. She’d absolutely no intention of sitting through an unbearable car ride, she could not abide it just now. “I’ll Apparate.”

“Will you be back?”

“Perhaps.”

“Narcissa?” Hermione gently questioned, concerned as she caught hold of Narcissa’s arm. “Are you okay?” she worried.

“I’m fine.”

“If something was the matter you’d tell me, right?”

She physically could not speak to this matter. But if she could, “I would. You’ve no need to fret so darling I’ll return to you when I can.”

“Great!” she said, rising up on tip toes to press a kiss to the woman’s cheek, “See you in a bit. Stay safe.”

She stepped into the privacy of the bathroom and Apparated into the privacy of their home, directly into her bedroom and quickly cast to her own relief, blouse and skirt, underthings banished to be replaced by one of her Slytherin green negligees, silken material blissfully cool against her too-warm skin. Oh Merlin help her, she could hardly stand it.

_“My glass could use refilling.”_

_The girl had blushed from how closely Narcissa had leaned in to retrieve said glass, watching as the older Witch rattled her ice to beckon. But then she met Narcissa’s gaze, the faintest bit of smirk at her lips as she steadily assured, “Your wish is my command.”_

_“Of course, Mistress.”_

_“It wasn’t for nothing, Narcissa, it was for you!”_

_Hermione in the cellar on the eve of Draco’s Marking, sweat on her brow, worn from her work to_ protect _her_ son _, and still, she could summon the strength to look into Narcissa’s eyes and smile, speak assurance to the older Witch that her son would be okay._

_The younger Witch emerging from the bathroom, flush from her drink, warm and giggly and in nothing but a towel._

_“Narcissa!”_

_“God, Narcissa!”_

_“I want to help you, and be there for you, and protect you however I can because you are my friend, and I love you.”_

_“Narcissa? I love you. Get over it.”_

_“You deserve to love_ yourself _.”_

That was what she was reduced to, throwing herself onto the bed they shared, staring up at the ceiling for the briefest moment before escaping to her void to layer memory after memory over her faux wall that very much matched her true, genuine thought, pools of memory she could peer into at random and relive to her utter ecstasy. Focusing on such things, Hermione’s voice her lips as they spoke such wondrous words. Her love, her affection, her praise. All while Narcissa’s hands traced the lines of her body where she craved Hermione’s in their stead, raising a hand to grasp at her breast as her dominant hand slipped low, middle finger grazing her clit.

_“I still love you, you nutter!”_

_“God, Narcissa!”_

_Oh Merlin, if she took it into her head to wear trousers that fit like that-_

_“I said, ‘fuck me’ professor!”_

She rubbed smooth, feather light circles that only sparked further heat through her body, her magic blazing with her want, warm and wet and _wishing_ , _wishing_ it could be Hermione doing this to her more so than she already was to blame for this moment of reprieve, wishing she could do this for the younger Witch. Did she touch herself like this, Narcissa wondered? When did she ever have such opportunity to? They were always together, the girl hardly ever left her alone save for when Narcissa requested as much and then she was always at work. Did she slip into the bathroom, cast for quiet and sate herself as Narcissa did now? Slip her hands into pale blue panties, the color of Narcissa’s eyes, and touch herself where Narcissa envied her ability to do so.

Oh, everything preserve her the bed was going to be an utter mess, she was sopping as she slid her fingers inside herself, middle first to test, feel just how tight she was before daring to press her blissfully empty ring finger in after. _Narcissa really is so beautiful._ And, _God, she’s amazing._ And, _Oh Merlin, I could kiss her_ echos of Hermione’s mind in her own, sweet thoughts she’s been privy to and she prayed she never lost this young woman’s trust in that regard, she’d come so terribly close to losing it it had been foolish. Hermione’s mind was as beautiful as her body and her thoughts the most cherished to Narcissa. _She deserves everything. She deserves everything good she wants in life. She can do anything._ Narcissa cried out as she ventured deeper, fingers striking the most delicious place as she turned her thumb to bring attention to her clit once more. _Her hands on Hermione’s hips, gripping tight and hoisting her up onto the kitchen counter, pinning her there, if she could have she would have done this, would have taken her lips in her own, slipped her hand up her skirt and done just this, fill the kitchen with the sounds of her breathless gasps, sent her spasming with complete and utter ecstasy,_ stroking and swirling, setting a steadily building pace, a race with her own breathing which quickened with the speed of her ministrations, sending herself gasping as the hand on her breast moved to grasp a fistful of bedspread, legs trembling, echoes of snippets of Hermione’s voice in her mind _Narcissa. God, Narcissa!_ The ghost of a giggle and then, _Narcissa!_

“Hermione!” Narcissa screamed as her orgasm coursed through her.

“Narcissa!” the younger Witch’s voice cried.

“Yes!” she cried in…in return-

There was the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs and Narcissa bolted upward with eyes wide.

…her room was warded to alert Miss Granger if ever the woman called her name.

She just barely managed to crawl backwards on the bed, press her back against the headboard and grasp hold of the blankets- oh Merlin! She had to reach to grab lower and pull so she could free the end of the blankets from between the bed and the footboard, to pull the bottom of their blanketing upward and over herself and if Hermione thought that was strange that- well that would just have to be! she was embarrassed enough as it was to feel her own slick against her forearm as she pulled the blanket up, still working to catch her breath as the bedroom door blew open.

Hermione Granger stormed the bedroom with wand in hand, hair wild and eyes wide and assessing before they fell on her and then her stare dragged along Narcissa and the bed and the woman- well she wanted the girl to know her interest desperately but she didn’t want her finding out like _this!_

“Narcissa, what is it? Are you sick?” Yes. But not in the way Miss Granger was apparently thinking, in her mind she was going over every last thing that could possibly be afflicting the woman—had she eaten something bad this morning? Was it their baking, had she maybe consumed raw flour or egg somehow, or had she had some allergic reaction to something? Was she stricken with illness? Oh God, if she picked up some muggle disease at the hospital that her magic couldn’t fight off- Narcissa blazed blushing from head to toe she thought as Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand against her forehead, “Oh my God, you’re burning up. Should I call the Secret Keeper?”

She did not need Healer Marigold just now, good heavens! The last thing she needed was a kindly elderly woman being called to Muggle London to examine Narcissa after thoroughly fucking herself both literally and now figuratively with this asinine circumstance!

“Absolutely not! I’m fine.”

“You wouldn’t have called for me if you were fine, Narcissa! You’re feverish and sweaty and breathless and you look like you’re about to sick up and- and God, Narcissa! You're trembling! Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“I- I didn’t realize anything was the matter. I just needed to lie down, I thought.”

“Well you are and that’s not much helping, is it?” the girl teased, just a bit of bite in it from her frustrations, but her fingers were gentle against Narcissa’s forehead as she brushed her hair out of her face, “Cissa you have to talk to me, I can’t read your mind, so I need you to articulate for me, whenever you’re in need. If you’re sick, of course I’m going to take care of you.”

Cissa? That wasn’t- “Miss Granger none of this- I-“ none of this was helping! In fact it was only making it worse—of course I’m going to take care of you indeed! “I- my head aches, speaking, listening it…”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed quietly, speaking softly, her voice just a bare whisper, “Okay, you’ve a fever and a headache. Anything else? Can…can you sign it to me?”

Not unless she wanted to add _excreting a clear, semi-viscous substance from her fingers_ to her list of symptoms. There was headache draught just in the nightstand, and she needed the girl to _leave_ even if just for a moment. Narcissa spoke quietly back, “I am entertaining some stomach upset.”

Hermione’s expression melted with sympathy, “I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to Narcissa’s forehead. She was sitting back when she stopped and sniffed as if she’d found something curious.

“Miss Granger?”

“Nothing, sorry you just smell different—nice, good, just different.” Oh Merlin help her. She shrugged as she sat back, drew her wand and for a moment Narcissa was afraid she was going to summon stomach calming draught but she cast to cleanse, Narcissa and the bedding, sweat and…all evidence of her misadventures being swept away, and then she did regard how she had her blankets arranged with some criticism, and with a flick of her wand the blanket was properly draped bottom returned to the edge of the bed while its top half draped over Narcissa’s lap, “I’ll be right back.”

“Miss Granger, I can fetch potion on my own-“

“Narcissa, why did you call me here if you didn’t need me?”

“I shouldn’t have, you should be at work-“

“Narcissa,” Hermione firmly intoned, “Shut up, sit back, and let me take care of you.”

…anything she had to say up to this point had only made things worse. So Narcissa stayed silent, and allowed Hermione to do just that.

The girl apparated from sight, and she was gone for several minutes, and returned a moment later, potion in one hand and a teacup clattering on a saucer in the other. She rested the tea on the nightstand and summoned headache draught from the nightstand and unstoppered potion for her, handing each off for Narcissa to consume. “Darjeeling with a touch of elderflower, for your fever.”

“You returned to the shop.”

“Just real quick. Mister Jacobson was thrilled to hear I’ve got ‘Women troubles’,” she rolled her eyes.

Narcissa nearly choked on her stomach calming draught, she swallowed harshly dropping the empty bottle as her hand shot out to grasp hold of Hermione’s forearm. “You are alone with that cad in your shop?” That absolutely could not stand! She shouldn’t have left the young lady, there was no one else in the building, the Whitakers were not just in the kitchen or right upstairs, they were miles away with their grandchildren!

“Its fine, Narcissa-“

“Potion will set me to rights, I’ll-“

“You’ll stay right here and rest. Potion treats symptoms it’s not a cure-all. You’re absolutely certain you don’t want our Secret Keeper to come check you out?”

“I’m _fine_ . You should not be left _alone_ , if that man seeks to take advantage I will _eviscerate-”_

“Narcissa—I can take care of myself. You have to do the same, please. Don’t…don’t worry about anything, just focus on feeling better. I’ll come back and check on you in a bit, and if you need anything don’t hesitate to call. Just…maybe not so loudly next time, you don’t need to yell, I’ll hear you just fine if you just, you know, say my name-”

“Y-y-your warding enables you to _hear me-“_

“If you call, yeah. I told you that’s what it does-“

“I thought it would merely pull on your magic!”

“It does that too? I- I’m sorry, I don’t rightly know any other way of warding, matching the call with a spoken word. It’s not quite the same as warding the journals, that’s tied to a physical sensation, it’s the press of quill to parchment we feel against our magic before the pull, if we needed a password or something to use them our magic would transfer the sound,” she supposed and then she shook her head as if to clear it, “Is it a problem? Do you want me to remove it? I- gosh I mean you can call me on the mobile but if something’s really wrong and you couldn’t reach it or-“ a flurry of fears were being filed through in her mind, images of Narcissa weak and in pain and incapable of casting or reaching the phone that held the girl’s breath ransom in her panic.

“Hermione, I’m fine. I’ll rest as you’ve requested.”

“Good,” she sighed her relief. “I’ll be back, I’ll bring you lunch so don’t worry about that. Just stay in bed and feel better.”

She did and she didn’t. Momentary release was nothing when it was thwarted by further frustration. Miss Granger appeared to leave her with far too much fodder for such an activity while she’d not dare attempt as much again so soon, not with the potential for the girl to take worry into her mind and come to check up on her unannounced, and then she left her without her company for the majority of the remainder of her shift.

She realized she could feel worse, later in the week. Thursday morning Narcissa woke to an air of something being amiss, the very atmosphere felt heavy with dread. She opened her eyes to see Hermione lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“Hermione?” Narcissa asked, to no response, like she’d gone unheard. She rested a hand on the younger Witch’s arm, to the same. “Darling?”

The girl breathed in a long, startled breath, blearily turning her head to meet Narcissa’s gaze with a, “Hm?” and-

_“Good morning my darling!” her mother was seated on the edge of her bed, hand over hers squeezing, her father kneeling at her bedside, the pair of them smiling wide as her father informed her,_

_“You’ve opened your eyes to the happiest day of the year!”_

_There was soft, sweet giggling, a much younger Hermione correcting, “Daddy, its not the happiest day of the year—that’s Christmas!”_

_“Oh I beg to differ little love-“_

_…Mister Potter’s laughter resounded in Hermione’s mind then, a memory surfacing of a wintry afternoon in Hogsmeade._

…one of the memories Miss Granger placed in her faux-wall.

“Is something the matter, darling?”

She shook her head wordlessly. And then again, like she sought to bring herself focus and then she- she forced a smile said, “I’m fine. Just waking up I guess. Sorry,” and then she pressed a kiss to Narcissa’s cheek. “I’m going to go start breakfast.”

…Miss Granger certainly seemed to beg to differ from the memory of her father that had resonated in her mind that morning. She was slow to smile, distracted when Narcissa joined her for their breakfast preparation. A breakfast Hermione picked at, claiming she just wasn’t hungry quite yet and promising she’d eat better later. She…

Well she seemed depressed. Perhaps…Narcissa worried, the things she saw on occasion in Hermione’s mind. Thoughts of feeling useless, feelings of worthlessness when she could not perfectly execute a solution to some monumental problem that shouldn’t be on her shoulders in the first place, shame and guilt. Narcissa had done some work to abate that, the evening her Present self learned of just what Hermione had done to secure her parents lives. Legilimency was a powerful tool, Narcissa had even considered it as a method to convey her feelings more accurately for the younger Witch but…to no avail. She physically couldn’t voice the suggestion, and if she did manage a work-around, she was certain she would be forced to stop before Hermione could truly understand. That was neither here nor there! The girl was clearly depressed today but obviously trying to hide as much to the point she wasn’t being forthright with her mind! And Narcissa wasn’t certain how many ways she could ask what was wrong. She didn’t wish to make complaint that Hermione was Occluding if…if she wished for privacy in her own mind Narcissa wasn’t going to whine about that…out loud. She could only hope to do something to cheer her, genuinely and truly.

_She was seated in her rightful place at the Head Table…she hoped Miss Granger was alright. The Futures, of course, but also the Presents. She was quiet and subdued, it seemed, as she entered the Great Hall, trailing after her friends. Draco was right at her side, shooting the girl worried sidelong glances as he walked alongside her with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets, an act that clenched something in Narcissa’s heart. When he wanted to hold his mother’s hand but did not out of fear of criticism from his father or anyone else who might see the display of affection, he put his hands in his pockets to repress the urge. He wouldn’t receive criticism for comforting Miss Granger, she didn’t think, but perhaps the boy felt she mightn’t be put to comfort by it, that she needed to be alone with…whatever the issue was. There was certainly an issue. She sat surrounded by her friends, who made quiet conversation it seemed, there wasn’t the usual joviality she’d grown to adore watching with silent neutrality, her son with good friends who kept a smile on his face, his frame relaxed and expression open as he shared a meal and lively conversation with those he’d come to love. Mister Potter and Weasley seemed quiet, eating their meal, taking on any offers of conversation from the Slytherins that sat with them like they were running interception as Hermione sat and…sat. She’d her fork in hand but she merely worked the same piece of scrambled egg back and forth with its tines._

_Narcissa rose up from her seat, opting to walk around the end of the table, down the aisle that led her along Gryffindor row._

_“Feelin’ okay, ‘mione?” Gregory Goyle was asking. He was seated next to Miss Granger, Miss Weasley and Lovegood alongside him. He rested a hand high, between her shoulder blades when she didn’t speak._

_“Oh!” she shook herself, looking up at him and offering a smile and somehow that did nothing to quell Narcissa’s worries, neither did, “I’m fine.”_

“Welcome to Whitakers! How may I assist you?” Hermione’s voice asked cheerily as a middle-aged couple entered the shop arm in arm, taking their order as Narcissa took to her journals.

_Good morning, Miss Granger. I hope you’re well._

_Yeah, I’m great. Are you okay? Having a good day?_

_I’m well, having a perfectly lovely day. Let me know if you’ve need to speak with me later. Of course you’re welcome to write me when you’ve no need at all. Very convenient, our method of communication is, for that. Evidently the mobiles work in such a fashion, with text messages, those are delightful. You know that, of course. Oh this is rambling now, isn’t it? Until next we speak, be well my darling._

_You too,_ the younger Witch wrote back.

Well then, that was to little reward.

_Dragon, my sweet. I hope you’re having a pleasant day. Could you please enlighten me as to why Miss Granger might be upset today?_

_I’m trying to find-_

Her heart leapt into her throat as a long harsh line was whipped across the page like his quill had moved uncontrolled! Had his journal been snatched away? Had he been _attacked?_ She was about to raise alarm with both present and future Hermiones when she remembered that yes, Draco was in fact under a form of attack. Of a more welcome sort.

_“Mother!” Draco hissed in surprise, quill dragging along the page he’d been writing upon as he walked to Herbology when her hand shot out of a disillusioned alcove to pull him in and away from his friends. Mister Potter, Hermione, Mister Weasley all startled and stopped to look about and she cast to allow her wards to flicker so they would see he was safe, and they moved along, further down the corridor._

_“Dragon,” Narcissa greeted calmly. Oh, it was a bit mean to startle him so, but it was something of an emergency. Oh…_ Narcissa remembered now, her present self had written the future’s Hermione asking if she could remember having an upset today. Hermione wrote back that nothing had happened, she was likely just tired, it had been a long week and she’d an assignment in Ancient Runes to turn in that day she wasn’t certain how well she’d done on _. The Future Miss Granger wouldn’t tell her what was the matter! She reached out to card a hand through his hair, smoothing it a bit, the action likewise smoothing his furrowed brow as he stared at his mother._

_“I was just writing you-“_

_Her future self? “Ignore her.”_

Oh honestly! _Dragon!_ Narcissa wrote in her journal, _Do nothing of the sort!_

_Draco’s gaze darted nervously between his journal and the Narcissa before him, conflicted, “M-mother I- I mean I can write and talk- I shouldn’t ignore- I love you but this having two mother’s business is a kind of hell sometimes.”_

_“…two of the same mother might be conflicting at times,” Narcissa conceded and then, clearing her throat, “I should hope I would see reason that your speaking to me now will answer questions for us both, as opposed to she alone receiving answers in future? What interest is it of hers if there is something amiss with the present Miss Granger?”_

_I care for Miss Granger across time! And the future’s suffers likewise you-_ she only remembered her written words would be conveyed through her son and too, Hermione’s insistence she be kind to herself gave her some restraint. _Your reasoning is sound, Draco discussing this with your present mother to convey information to me. Hermione hasn’t eaten today, she woke crying, she closes her mind off to me today and she never conducts herself as such. Something is wrong and I am worried, Dragon._

_Draco swallowed harshly as he read to himself, journal-bearing hand trembling a bit before he raised silvery eyes to stare into his mother’s face, “Hermione’s upset too, her Hermione,” he said, jostling the journal a bit, “Mother says she hasn’t eaten and er…” his expression soured a bit, “that she woke up upset, she’s Occluding which she uh...apparently doesn’t usually do, around mother.”_

_“She…” her mind was presently reeling at that bit of information, that Hermione wasn’t in habit of keeping her mind concealed in her presence. But she settled on, “I did not realize the future’s Hermione was anguished likewise. Dragon, is there anything you can think of, anything you’ve seen or heard that might lend to what the issue is?”_

_“I’m not sure uh...exactly, but she um...she was the last one down this morning when I went to meet up with everyone in Gryffindor. Harry and Ron beat her down for once and between the two of them, you’d think one of them could keep track of the date but her absence had them asking me what day it was. When I informed them it was the 19th they sobered up pretty fast, all they said was it’s Hermione’s birthday*.” He looked utterly perplexed over it, “I didn’t- I didn’t know! I hadn’t thought to ask about their birthdays, I- I haven’t gotten her anything and those two dolts obviously couldn’t be damned to remember what day it is, I doubt they’ve gotten her a thing! And she likely expects it, that they’d forget and...well it...it’s not like her parents can mark the day, can they? Fuc- sorry. Just. I thought Potter was better than that, but he...he doesn’t have a lot of experience with good birthdays. But Weasley! Birthdays are like a weekly thing in the Weasley house they’ve got so many to account for! Of course she’s upset! I’m going to try and whip those two idiots into shape over the free period, while Hermione’s in Ancient Runes. I can’t get her a proper present in time but I’ll send for something.”_

_“You’ve money?” Narcissa checked, regretful, she’d still no ability to provide for her son._

_“Uncle Teddy and Aunt Andy send me a er...an allowance. To save up for Hogsmeade, or whatever,” he shrugged, blushing fiercely. He’d not much shyness about his former allowance but then that had been something expected, and perhaps the only bit of kindness he might receive from his father, something the man often held over his head, reminding him he owned nothing, that he was dependant upon Lucius for everything and it could be taken away at a moments notice if he did not fall in line. This was genuine kindness, unnecessary atop the love they’d already shown her son, deeply appreciated all the more, apparently. “I’ll get her_ something. _A book if there’s actually one in existence she hasn’t already gotten her hands on. Or a...crap, what do girls like? Scarves? Jewelry? Maybe I’ll get something for Crooks.”_

_“...her cat?”_

_Draco nodded. “I should ask when she celebrates his birthday,” he seemed to catch himself then, clearing his throat, “Not that I care, necessarily I mean,” he scoffed, “its- he’s just a cat. But he is a Witch’s familiar and that should be paid due reverence.”_

_Narcissa had caught her son on more than one occasion holding said ‘just a cat’ in his arms when the creature paid him attention, tracked him down in Hogwarts library, only to be hoisted and held and coddled, her Dragon scratching behind the cat’s ears and peppering kisses to his head. And the boy would never admit to as much, but she was absolutely certain she heard the words 'who's my perfect little genius boy?’ from her son, commending the cat for having knocked a pile of books onto the floor, the sound of which jolted Mister Potter awake when he fell asleep, head resting in his arms on the table top while Draco read to him. Narcissa wondered at the practice, given Mister Potter’s confusion with spoken word...when she questioned their study practice, Draco had blushed rather deeply and shrugged, ‘Potter’ had apparently voiced a dear enjoyment of listening to Draco read._

_“Miss Granger may well be endeared by a present for her familiar, but do remember that it is_ her _birthday,” Narcissa sighed her frustration._

Both of them. Merlin! Why wouldn’t- why would Hermione go directly to being upset that her birthday went unrecognized? The Present’s upset was understandable, expecting her friends to ignore the date so callously! But she could have merely _told_ Narcissa the day’s importance! But perhaps she...oh, she might well assume Narcissa was aware of the date, given her position as Professor, perhaps that of a Governor's wife, to a man who had some obsession with the muggle-born he pitted his son against. But the man had been more concerned with her grades than sending her a birthday wish, and she’d not consulted the girl’s file, she’d had rather a good idea her grades already and she’d access to Hermione’s mind in their lessons, there was little need to consult a scroll of parchment with a meager drop of information when she’d proper access to the ocean it came from.

But a birthday was a pretty vital drop! Oh, she hated this, that Hermione believed Narcissa to be ignoring the date! That she was left with nothing but the mourning of the loss of her parents.

She felt utter relief when she felt the formation of her present self’s thoughts. She’d been spending the last few weeks working on enchantments for Hermione’s watch. She’d been tasked with retrieving it on the 2nd, secured the watch itself the evening of the 3rd! But over a fortnight passed and nothing appeared in the sending sack, much to the future Narcissa’s ire though...it was not without good cause. She had been studying how best to enchant the thing with Hermione’s…discomfort with pressure on her wrist, in mind. She was worried that perhaps wearing such an accessory might put her ill at ease, so she wanted to ensure Hermione could wear the watch securely without feeling its weight around her wrist. But it might be disconcerting to wear something she couldn’t feel, she might spend most of her day checking to make certain it was there as opposed to the time, panicking thinking she’d lost the thing, or truly losing it because she couldn’t feel its loss. Her solution was warding it so it would not ply physical pressure, but a magical sort. It would resonate with Hermione’s magic whenever she wore it, and she would know it was there. It was quite a great deal of effort and she’d little time to work on it between teaching and Occlusion lessons, her duties to the Dark Lord, returning to the Manor as expected each evening where she worked in caution, she preferred Lucius not ask questions about something meant for the Future Miss Granger. But she’d a single potions lesson to deliver today, to younger forms. She was certain she was close enough to the exact perfect warding for her present, if she dedicated herself to the task today, she was positive she could have something in the sending sack for Hermione’s birthday. She’d paid close attention to her preferences when examining her mind, looking into her memories, seeing what sorts of jewelry drew the younger Witch’s gaze, seeing what she liked to wear herself, and she prayed she liked it, that it cheered her truly. And she would see about Jinsey assisting in setting up something of a birthday dinner for them in the Room of Requirement, to mark the occasion with the Present Hermione. Good.

Miss Granger mightn’t feel it was the happiest day of the year but Narcissa would right that, as much as was possible, she- well she had to do _something._

What...would the muggle-born girl expect, of a birthday? Was...was there some sort of plan in the works from those in her muggle life? The Winter-Whitaker clan had a bit of chaos at the moment, it was an adjustment adding new life to a family, and even with their grandparents at hand, that was hardly a houseful of House Elves working around the clock to tend their every need. Perhaps it had fallen through the cracks but...well. She would be cautious but she needed assistance! She cast under the table for further privacy, and withdrew the mobile from her briefcase, scrolling through until she found Sara’s number.

There was the din of squealing in the background, Jessie’s she believed, and a bit of crying from a fussy Gabrielle, as Sara’s voice came over the phone, as if she’d answered but grown distracted and held it some distance from her mouth, “Jessie baby, hey!” there was a snapping of fingers, “Put those down, no playing with matches! Bug, I love a good birthday as much as the next girl but we don’t need birthday candles today! Mike! Thank you, beautiful man, I might let you touch me again in the foreseeable future.” She sighed as if tired and then, “Hey Stace, what’s shakin’? Everything cool at the shop? Yeah mom, it’s Stacie.”

“Actually, it is Narcissa, I hope that is alright,” Narcissa said.

“Oh! It’s Narcissa!” she called the correction and she heard,

“Oh good morning, Narcissa!” called from Mrs. Whitaker and Mister Whitaker’s warm, “Oh, do give her my best.”

“Blessings to you all,” Narcissa returned in kind, “I hope this isn’t a bad time?”

“Oh, Jessie’s just running around like the sweet pyromaniac I’m raising him to be, Mike’s got him, and Gabbie’s obsessed with grandma’s hair, so she should be chilling out in...now,” she supposed as her child’s fussing quieted into giggling. “What’s up?”

“Coincidentally, I have questions about birthdays. Jessie has been exhibiting some need to celebrate today? ...needlessly?” she wondered.

“Oh yeah, he’s been on a kick about birthdays today, I’m like _this_ close to locking myself in the pantry, we tried throwing a party with his stuffed animals, but he’s being a little gremlin about it.”

...oh dear. No one in her muggle life knew of her birthday, did they? “I apologize if the topic is bothersome, but I find myself out of depth with certain aspects of the topic.”

“Oh uh...do...you have different...customs? Stacie’s killer at party planning,” Sara said. Ahh. They’d not quite broached the subject in full, but Hermione had explained the purpose of their gifted baskets, that they were perfectly safe and would only affect non-sentient objects, make them clean, warm and dry, and if ever they got to a place they felt ready to ask questions, they knew who to come to. Sara knew well Narcissa came from...a different sort of society, perhaps Hermione might well hale from as well.

“Perhaps. I’m uncertain and hence I’m...seeking reference.”

“Okay uh...well I mean there’s cake and icecream, those are pretty much a given at any birthday party. Candles go in the cake, little tiny birthday candles, um, usually enough to account for the birthday person’s age, sometimes just a few, if they’re shaped like the right numbers. Or the wrong ones. Mike thought it was a gas to put ‘12’ on my birthday cake the year I turned ‘21’.”

There was a loud, uncontrolled sounding laugh from a voice Narcissa hadn’t heard before and then a deep, albeit clumsy, lisping declaration of, “Was funny!”

“You’re hilarious. King of comedy. That’s why I married you,” Sara drawled. “Umm…”

“Do m-” Narcissa cleared her throat, “what of the poem*?”

“...poem?” Sara asked, “...you mean the birthday song?”

“Which one?”

“Is there more than one?”

“...in certain circles. I’m...uncertain if the one you are considering would be one in my realm of knowledge.”

“Oh uhhh...shit,” Sara groaned. She moved the phone away to inform, “Narcissa doesn't know the birthday song. I’m cool in a crowd but I’m not serenading the poor woman over the phone I would rather jab a rusty fork in my eye and if I sing to her, Narcissa would probably want to be the one stabbing me.”

“I would want no such thing!” Narcissa insisted. “To make song is a perfectly beautiful and natural thing, a bird does not sing because it is the sweetest of sounds, it is an act of celebration and communication and it does not have to hold perfection to be wondrous.”

Sara snorted. “God, Narcissa, I mean this with all of my heart, I love you. Do not ever change. I’m still not singing for you.”

“Oh deary here,” Mrs. Whitaker said, and there was the sound of air as the phone was passed and then the woman cleared her throat, and in a somewhat wavery but in tune impressive mezzo-soprano voice, “ _Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Nar-cis-sa,”_ and then, oh, Narcissa’s heart melted when a rasping, handsome tenor joined in, Mister Whitaker harmonizing sweetly with his wife, _“Happy Birthday toooo yooou!”_

“And many moooore!” Mike’s voice added with some theatrics, off tune and too loud and Narcissa absolutely _adored_ it! Oh she would absolutely get Sara to sing at some point!

“Oh, that was simply marvelous!” Narcissa encouraged, she would clap if she could keep a hand on the mobile, she wasn’t certain what it would do if she put it down while it was in use, it might hang up as some landlines did when set down and she knew it was absolute rudeness to hang up on a person. “I dearly appreciate the example,” she thanked them. She’d not heard the tune before, and she pulled out a spare piece of parchment to take down the words before they escaped her, simplistic as the song was, she’d be embarrassed to mangle its phrasing.

“I can’t think of anything else, really? Those are the major traditions. There’s usually some partying, where there’s either snacks or you have dinner, and then eventually pull out the birthday cake, sing the song, blow out the candles. Then you pig out on cake and ice cream, party some more. If you’re lucky and an adult, you get to kick everyone out and have some good old fashioned birthday sex.”

...that...would be an idea for another time, perhaps. “Thank you, Sara, for your assistance in this matter.”

“Do you have a birthday coming up?” Sara wondered.

Her own would not be for months yet, “The subject came to mind today, I merely wished to prepare. Do tell Jessie all whom he loves who have birthdays today will be celebrated, won’t you? That should quell his restlessness.”

“Uhh…” there was a pause, quiet breathless bare-whispers that sometimes escaped Sara when she mouthed words as she signed to her son, the soft slap of hands in motion together, and then Jessie made a happy sound. “Well dang. That- how did you- as soon as my nipple destroyer starts sleeping through the night and I have more than one functioning brain cell I’m gonna have questions.”

“Gabrielle does not sleep through the night?” Narcissa worried.

“No newborn does, they wake up and they’re scared or lonely or cranky and they need a little encouragement and a feeding to get back to sleep.”

Babies often did have such upsets, emotional ones, when their magic grew restless and frightened in the night. Just as babies are experiencing the world anew, so is their magic, absorbing new information can be frightening and confusing when it has no older magic to commune with and soothe with its guidance, as a parents magic would do for their child’s. “...Jessie has the ability to hold his sister, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah he’s good at it, and one of us is usually holding him, why?”

“He may be able to soothe her, perhaps some nightly ritual of holding them together could be of service, and too it...is of benefit to perhaps consider speaking to your daughter and assuring her she is never alone, that she’s...a power within herself, ever present. Assurance of this early in...development can be vital to children. It may encourage her to be capable of self-soothing. When she wakes in the night, if she does not hunger, she may be able to calm herself and resume sleep.”

“...alright, I’ll try it.”

“And darling, if your breasts suffer terribly from feeding, might I suggest applying a bit of the milk you produce to the problem? I do assure you it soothes and promotes healing.”

“Mike I’m leaving you...no, not for Stacie, Narcissa. Awe thanks babe,” she cooed, the soft smack of her lips blowing him a kiss and then, “he says that’s fair.”

“Oh, don’t leave your sweet husband on my account. You...you are very blessed, Sara, more than you might realize, to have such a wonderful person you are wed to, raising such incredible children with.”

Perhaps she’d gotten a touch too emotional. “...Narcissa? You okay?”

“I cannot speak ill of my husband,” shot from her mouth unbidden.

There was silence on the other end of the line. “...okay honey. But if you ever need to...babe are...are you in danger or something? You um, never mentioned you were married. Is that why you’re staying with Stacie?”

“I’m very safe with Miss...Greene,” Narcissa assured.

“Shit. I mean yeah, you are, holy crap, Stacie’d go straight feral on someone trying to hurt you. I- I swear to God Narcissa, if you ever need help, if that asshole comes around or something Mike’ll kick his ass, he’s a big number nerd but he boxed all through college, it gave him a sweet ass and a mean right hook.” Lucius had a mean Cruciatus and the capability to cast _every_ Unforgivable. “Don’t hesitate to point it out if something isn’t right or if you don’t feel safe, I mean it. He...he doesn’t know where you are?”

“No, he doesn’t. I assure you I’m quite alright but I do...thank you, for your concern. I really must be going now.”

“Alright. You have my number if you need me.”

“Thank you darling.”

Narcissa launched into her work. She needed votives and foodstuff and...well perhaps decoration of some sort? She had been complaintitive the other evening when Hermione informed her she would be working until six, as dear Patrick had an examination this afternoon he absolutely had to attend, but that served her now.

“Darling?” Narcissa prompted as she approached Miss Granger at the counter. The girl had been staring into space, but she started, met Narcissa’s gaze, albeit confused.

“Oh, is it lunch time already?”

“No, but you absolutely are to eat. I’ve some errands I must attend. I will have the mobile on my person. You are to call me before you begin the journey home, or if you’ve need.”

“Sure thing,” and then she shook herself a bit, looking to Narcissa, “Wait, sorry, is...is everything okay? Do you need help or money?”

“I’ve everything well at hand. I will call you in emergency, and barring that, I will meet you at home.”

“Want me to bring anything?”

“Just your perfect, lovely self.”

Miss Granger snorted, bemused. “Alright, you got it.”

“Darling…” Narcissa reached out and rested her hand over Hermione’s on the countertop, squeezing tight, “I _absolutely love_ that you will be coming home tonight.”

Oh. Her offer of love was met with Miss Granger tearing up at bit. Perhaps...she’d not expected to hear as much, an offer of ‘I love you’ on a day it was often expressed. “I love you too.”

Narcissa leaned across the counter, and pressed a lingering kiss to the younger Witch’s cheek, and then she was off. Where did Muggles keep their birthday candles?

She was just about to step out of Whitaker’s when she had the memory of being in her Office, Jinsey at her side, assisting her in gathering things to place into the sending sack...she had to fight the urge to be annoyed with herself. _She_ wanted to procure things for Hermione’s birthday, and she supposed she _was!_ But _still! She_ wanted to do it, whatever sense that made. She turned and smiled to Hermione, and gestured lightly toward the bathroom to indicate she was Apparating home, and the girl nodded.

The sending sack bore essentials. Her present self had no frame of reference for Hermione’s birthdays, upon reflection those had been among the memories the girl had kept absolutely hidden, but she’d paid attention to her choices of desert in the Great Hall, what she had enjoyed greatly in their detention dining. There were ingredients for a small blueberry lemon cake, appropriate for a party of two, and a large carton of vanilla-bean, lavender ice cream from Florean’s. Oh, she wasn’t certain it would be comforting, having access to the poor man’s icecream again as he’d yet to meet his demise, or if it would only be a terrible reminder of the less-than pleasant things to come. She decided the confection could stay in the freezer as she would merely cast to serve it anyway, Hermione wouldn’t lay eyes on it. There would be no unpleasantness this evening, none at all, so help her. There were candles enough to mark twenty years of precious life and a twenty-first, that would stand alone, be placed at table on its own, a tall white candle as big around as a Galleon. And lastly, a little note from dear Jinsey, asking if Mistresses needed ingredients for dinner.

 _We’ve dinner in hand, however Severus was to secure a bottle of Fire Whiskey for Miss Granger but he is nothing if not a spectacular failure at the worst of times._ Narcissa wrote back. _Do please, if you could, procure a bottle of Blishen's for Hermione?_

_"Mistress is wishing Blishen's for her Hermione!" Jinsey cheerily reported, bouncing high on her feet._

_“Jinsey, would you? Their finest, please. Purchase a case on Lucius’s key, and denote it as preparation for future nightcaps when he hosts his little Govenor’s Wand-measuring meetings. A bottle won’t go missing.” Well, it would, but only in the way that mattered._

_“Jinsey is being doing this right away for Mistresses’s Hermione!”_

Excellent, it was pleasing to spend such a great deal of Lucius’s money on a cause he would truly hate if he ever learned of it. Too, it was a bit of a passive-aggressive motion, reminding him they would be divorced soon and he would be solely responsible for thinking of such things, having good drink at hand for guests, hosting, and Narcissa leaving him with a case of the stuff was a backhanded act of kindness. A way of saying she didn’t believe him capable of handling it on his own when the time came, that he would indeed struggle without her once she was free of him, and he would simply have to suffer it.

And so both Narcissas launched into their work. The Present’s working on...their presents, plural, she’d a feeling the Present Miss Granger would balk at receiving something lavish from a Professor so she settled on something of a more home made variety. She sent word to Draco to ask if he would come while her classroom was vacant and he’d a free period, to prepare a formulation of Calming Cream specifically tailored to suit Hermione better than what she could purchase on Diagon Alley. It might quell his guilt at having overlooked asking when his friends birthdays were, and his need to procure a present of his own, it could be something of a joint venture, too it would free her to have more time to work with the Future Hermione’s watch. Meanwhile the Future Narcissa set about preparing dessert to cool in the fridge, got dinner in the oven, and simmering on the stove where everything was charmed to cook and then halt at a point of perfection, remain warm until it was time to serve, while she moved on to the task of making certain the house was presentable, tidy or Miss Granger might allow herself to get distracted. She did that, she would come home after a day playing House Elf at Whitakers only to further do so in their home, dusting and cleansing the place from top to bottom, mostly with magic but still, it was an effort she needn’t grow preoccupied with tonight. And then she stepped out into the garden, her magic proficentally bringing it to full bloom, and selected several rose blossoms and gardenias, bunches of yarrow to compliment their pair, and used one of the Granger’s lovely crystal...well, clear glass, elegant enough in its own right, vases, and arranging a proper centerpiece for their table. She set the larger white candle on a candlestick holder to rest before the bouquet, for Miss Granger to light later. And then she sat down and went to work on...well, she wished to adhere to traditions Hermione might be accustomed to and expect, be comforted by, but she also wished to introduce her to proper Magical tradition. She would have her ‘birthday song’ _and_ a birthday poem.

Poetry was...well, Narcissa adored reading it, and she savored the challenge of writing it, but it was just that, a challenge. Page after page of her efforts required banishing before she got down just what she wanted to say, and then she took it to task to memorize it.

_“Alright, that ought to do it,” Draco said, seeming satisfied with his work as he capped the jar of freshly made medicinal lotion. “Would...it be any trouble to perhaps help me develop a formulation of my own? For...me?”_

_“Are you feeling ill effects of anxiety lately, Dragon?” Narcissa fretted, looking up from her work to look into her son’s face to...find he...wasn’t Occluding. Not in her presence. Not as he usually did. She could see a few memories, anxious thoughts that plagued his mind intrusively, feelings of stress, headaches, stomach upsets. “Darling, you are absolutely to tell me, or go straight to the Hospital Wing if you believe for even a second you are developing an ulcer again,” she intoned._

_The boy scoffed! It was no laughing matter! “As if Granger would let me.”_

_“Miss Granger would not keep you from the Hospital Wing!”_

_“I don’t mean she’d stop me from going if I needed it, Merlin, she’d be dragging me there by my ear if that were the case. No, I mean she...she’d do her damndest to keep me from needing it. She’s always after me about…” he sighed, as if frustrated, “I only ask because yeah she’s been talking to me about seeking...help for my uh...anxiety...disorder.”_

_Oh. Oh that was another big confession for her son. “You...accept the suspicion you have as much?”_

_“I um...Hermione went with me to Pomfrey and she contacted a specialist from St. Mungos. They came last Friday and uh…” he shrugged. “We talked. They ran a few diagnostic spells. I’m not just devastatingly handsome, I’ve also got chronic anxiety disorder, oh won't the Wizards come a-knocking once word gets ‘round,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as if the prognosis were an undesirable blemish._

_“Dragon,” Narcissa breathed. “Oh my heart, I- I am sorry we are not in a position where I can readily join you in such spaces. I wish you could have come to me.”_

_“I know. Don’t fret over it, mother, I understand the situation we’re in. And Hermione was with me, some rot about support.” There was a glow of pride in his mind still, at the memory of Miss Granger commending him for going and seeking help, telling him how very proud she was of him for doing so, her hand squeezing his, rising up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek before pulling him along to make certain they made it to dinner in time. “I could strangle Potter and Weasley!” he had...joined her rather quickly on his free period. It extended through the 3rd and 4th learning hours of the day, and she’d her Third Years for 3rd hour on Thursdays...which Hermione pointed out was a bit of a tongue twister when they’d discussed the matter earlier in the semester. Regardless, Draco had slipped into the back of her classroom unnoticed shortly after the start of her lesson, and she kept her students attention while he walked along the side of the class to disappear into her office until he could come out to begin brewing once her students were gone. With the walk from the Great Hall he couldn’t have been with his friends for more than a few minutes, in which apparently, “They said throwing together a celebration tonight wasn’t ‘a good idea’. I’ll get them to do something for her this weekend. You um...well I hope you have a nice night in detention.”_

_“Thank you, Dragon. I plan to, hopefully the weekend's trip to Hogsmeade will bear opportunity for celebration with her friends.” The Headmaster announced a special trip awarded for kicking off the year with a surprising uptick in House Unity. “It_ is _a school night darling, they mightn’t think she’d appreciate their brand of merry making when you’ve class in the morning. You...can join your friends in Hogsmeade?” she hoped. She wasn’t_ allowed _to sign his permission slip. She had tried. She’d also conducted the rest of her afternoon classes that day concealing her mangled hand in the sleeve of her teaching robes until she could get to her office and Jinsey could gingerly aid her in setting her broken fingers back into proper place before drinking healing potion and plying Firming Balm her magic thankfully soaked up through her skin to seep into the cracks of her injuries and make her fingers steady and useable once more, evidence of her disobedience gone before her meeting with Miss Granger who would only be horrified, or her return home to Lucius who would at best, gloat, and worst seek further retribution upon the discovery of evidence that she’d attempted to disobey him._

_“Severus signed off on it,” Draco assured._

The oak box containing Hermione’s new wristwatch, and a single bottle of Blishlin’s Fire Whiskey appeared in the sending sack, just a bare five minutes before Hermione called to inform Narcissa she was done for the day and heading home, she would be an extra few minutes, Mrs. Addler had apparently stopped by the shop on the odd Thursday, and needed a ride home.

Narcissa stood in wait at the door, was it ridiculous she might be bouncing at her knees in anticipation and excitement when she heard the car pull up? She caught herself, composed, and smoothed a hand over her skirt before smoothly opening the door when she heard the near jangle of Hermione withdrawing the keys-

Oh. Oh she looked like she might have been crying, just a moment ago. Narcissa deflated at the sight of the girl's slumped shoulders, the soft sniffle that escaped her before she startled at Narcissa having opened the door she meant to unlock and raising reddened eyes to meet her gaze.

 _"I don't know who in this world knows you girl, after what you did, who makes sure_ you're _okay." Mrs. Addler, armed with the money Narcissa hexed for her bus driver._

Narcissa. Narcissa absolutely knew this girl and she would absolutely ensure she was more than 'okay'. "Darling, whatever is the matter?"

"I'm okay. Long day. ...have you eaten? I'm still pretty full from lunch. I think I'd like to call it an early night."

"Oh, I'd prepared dinner for us actually, I was waiting for you. You're certain you can't find room?" She'd not packed a feast for her lunch nor did she smell a trace of that meal on the girl's breath, or the mint of her dental charms.

"I- sorry, that's sweet of you. Yeah, I could eat," she relented at the realization of Narcissa's work. She even offered up a smile, something to assure and placate, but it was a start.

"Don't let your mind dwell on any unpleasantness tonight darling, focus on the here and now, we'll have a lovely dinner and then I can set light in the garden and we can read, you can take a long hot bath and then we'll retire. How does that sound?"

The younger Witch relaxed a bit, sighing tiredly but her smile was more genuine as she stepped forward and Narcissa was absolutely delighted that it was to wrap her arms around the woman's waist, her head resting against Narcissa's shoulder as she hugged her back. "Sure, Narcissa. That sounds great."

Narcissa relished in dropping a kiss to the Witch's hair, before pulling away to take her by the hand and lead her into the kitchen where dinner awaited them, plates of perfectly portioned roast beef and carrots, that mashed potato dish the younger Witch loved so well. Oh, even her magic felt warm with her pride when Hermione sniffed the air and smiled, complementing, “Everything looks great. Oh, Narcissa, your flowers are just gorgeous,” she said as she approached the table, reaching out to trace an index finger along a delicate petal of a gardenia, of course she would be drawn to the flower representing secret love, it almost felt like some cruelty that the younger Witch still did not understand. “Did you want this lit?” she wondered.

“Yes darling, would you?” she mightn’t recognize the tradition, but that would be righted soon enough, once their rituals were complete. “It is to symbolize the light of life, which we celebrate tonight, it is to remain lit until morning.”

“Oh…” she seemed to think, “Is it...some kind of holiday? I know I’m not very religious but I was serious when I said you’re absolutely to celebrate anything you care to, I’m always down to participate with you. I want this to feel like home for you too.”

“I am pleased you would celebrate my holy days,” Narcissa said. “This is a most cherished day to me.”

“What’s it about? Is there something I need to do? Should I...change or go bathe in some kind of oil or something?”

“Not unless you care to, darling. Lets see if you can apply your brilliant mind to the answer, shall we? I should hope my rituals leave it plain what wondrous event we celebrate this evening.”

Oh, the girl looked like she took that on as a challenge, rather determined to, yes, decipher what Magical holiday Narcissa was seeking to celebrate. This would be great fun indeed. Narcissa put the whole of her focus into the task at hand, she was excited to see how her present self fared with her efforts for the present Hermione’s but that could be experienced in full later, this? She wanted it committed to perfect memory. Her hand in Hermione’s as the younger Witch cast to light the candle, the girl squeezing her hold when Narcissa wished, “To long life, and good health.”

“To long life, and good health,” the Witch returned, casting once more to secure the flame so the candle would remain lit safely through the night.

“Excellent darling, now do sit. Tell me about your day, I wish to hear everything.”

Hermione shrugged as they took their seats, and Narcissa’s stomach sank when the girl parcelled through her day’s memories. They were cloudy and few, fogged over and robbed by- oh, was it some symptom of depression? A theft of the ability to properly form memories? “It was just a day,” she said. “Um...Mrs. Addler came around,” _Draco’s smile in her mind, blushing as he shrugged and confessed, “More a Wizard’s Wizard, myself.” her absolute pride and excitement, the honor she felt that he would share that with her._ The girl blanched, and suddenly that was whisked away from her faux-wall, like she’d thrown it up reaching for anything to conceal her conversation with Mrs. Addler, replacing it with, oh, good heavens, _Seated around a table at Florean Fortescue’s, the tail end of sound from Ronald Weasley’s voice as he ended some joke that had Draco spewing frosted Butterbeer from his nose as they all laughed. “_ She’s doing well. She says ‘hi’.”

“Oh, I do hope you gave her my regards?” Hermione nodded, and Narcissa offered. “I’d a phone call with Sara and the Whitakers this morning. Just checking in. They’re doing rather well, Gabbrielle and Jessie are in good health, Mister Whitaker even sounded well to me. And Violetta, oh. She’s simply radiant in her role as a grandmother. Mike spoke, I did not realize he was verbal.”

“Awe, that’s good, I’m glad they’re doing well. Mike speaks from time to time, if he’s comfortable enough to. He didn’t have a lot of help growing up, his parents didn’t teach him how to speak, or get him speech therapy or anything which...might not be horrible, God, the horror stories they’ve heard, there’s improvement all the time but Mike has friends now who came up getting their hands smacked for trying to sign in class. That’s at least illegal now, and Mike and Sara have been vetting schools for Jessie since he was a baby, making sure he goes somewhere they know he’ll be safe and cared for, have the option to have speech therapy if he wants it, not have it foisted on him.”

“He...well it might be necessity, if he is accepted to Hogwarts.”

“The hell it is,” Hermione begged to differ. “Magic is about intent, a great deal of it affected by wand motion, hand motion. And his entire way of communication is based in the non-verbal, it’s how he’s used to expressing himself, usually people are used to expressing themselves verbally, speaking our intent. He isn’t,” she defended firmly.

“...you believe his magic will present itself nonverbally. That he will be able to cast spells using his intent and the understanding he has of the spells he is taught.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said, and then, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so heated about it I’m just like, full prepared to storm the Headmaster’s office when Jessie gets accepted to Hogwarts like I’m...I dunno, they’re just not allowed to cast him off or disregard him or his needs because he’s different. I’ll fight some faculty, I don’t care.”

“Darling?” Narcissa prompted, laughter in her voice.

“Yeah?”

“I love that.”

Hermione blushed, fork dragging along to mark a path through the roast beef before she speared a piece and took a bite which she swallowed before returning, “Well, I love that you made dinner, everything’s amazing Narcissa. This was a lot of work. Did you have a good day? How were your errands?”

“Successful, so I’ve had rather a pleasant day preparing a rather pleasant evening.”

The girl nodded. “This is really nice. I...I’m sorry, if I’ve been in kind of a mood today.”

“Any particular reason that might be, darling?”

She shook her head. “Just one of those days I guess. I- if I’ve made you feel like it’s your fault or something, I promise it has nothing to do with you. It’s just...me,” she assured in earnest. “Thanks for um...being patient with me, trying to cheer me up.”

“Of course,” oh, Merlin, was this what the young lady felt when she offered her own ‘of course’s? It felt truly simple. There was no hesitation, no burden in Narcissa to offer comfort. It was ease, and will, and heavens above, that was another unspeakably blessed facet of love, wasn’t it? This girl loved her to the point she could give of herself without feeling its loss, and Narcissa could do the same. “I’m pleased you’re feeling better.”

Their meal passed in pleasant silence...mostly pleasant. Narcissa had to excuse herself momentarily to step into the other room and check Draco’s journal, the boy began tapping incessantly as if to get her attention but his message started, _Mother, you ha-_ and so she closed her journal and set it aside. If he were in some mortal peril, if there was an emergency at hand he needed her assistance with, he would have written _Mother dearest_ , as was their bit of code. How she knew the true answer if ever she asked if there was a problem, when before Lucius, and her son would reply, _of course not, mother dearest._ She knew to take focus from her son, or excuse him from the room, see to it he was alright, afterward. He assured he would use it to alert her if the matter was life and death, in their journaling. So, as her son wasn’t at present, on fire, he could wait until dinner was over.

“Everything okay?”

“Certainly darling, never mind a thing,” Narcissa said, seating herself at Hermione’s side once more, casting to clear away their dishes and taking hold of the younger Witch’s hand. Merlin preserve her, gods help her surely, she was hardly a poet but she had certainly tried and...well, as in all things, Hermione would not meet the effort unkindly.

She might laugh. But this was to put her to good humor, was it not?

Narcissa cleared her throat, meeting the younger Witch’s gaze, and recited her Birthday poem from memory,

_“Oh, my sweet Hermione,_

_Eight letters that sound of harmony,_

_That I could convey just what you mean to me._

_But how does one convey the indescribable?_

_Compare mere things to beauty most undeniable?_

_I find it most terribly indefinable,_

_Vexing to find what is most reliable,_

_Is a loss of words to inform you my darling,_

_My feelings, true and free._

_It is such a blessing, a gift from the gods,_

_That you were born and brought up in love,_

_So perfectly you have shown to me, just what that is meant to be._

_I must confess I was most lost,_

_I knew well love could render much cost,_

_My understanding born of continuous loss,_

_Until you proved that that was dross,_

_My ideals and expectations askew._

_Love is safety, security, and home._

_Love is certainty you are never alone._

_Love wants but never demands._

_It does not cripple, it helps us to stand._

_It is a blessing dear and grand._

_Thank you for this lesson most blessed,_

_It is a subject I had not stressed,_

_Until this matter I can properly address,_

_Know my love is true and fessed,_

_In every manner that I possess.”_

Hermione stared in bewildered bemusement, “I- um...thank...what’s happening?”

“Poetry, darling.”

“You wrote that for me?” she asked, and when Narcissa nodded, “That was...gosh that was really sweet um, I- am I supposed to...I’m really sorry I didn’t know what you’d be celebrating today, I would have prepared something.”

“Oh no my dear, a trademark of this specific day, is that it is _my_ responsibility to supply poetry, that needn’t be reciprocated, in fact it would be a matter of rudeness to arrange for as much.”

“...oh, um...huh,” she looked perplexed at that, and good heavens, there was a rush of ancient holidays, rites, rituals she’d read about in her schooling.

“Never fear, darling. We’ve a few more rituals yet, I’m certain you’ll catch on,” Narcissa assured, excitement blossoming in her chest, oh her magic was practically vibrating, anticipating the spellwork required still. With a wave of her wand the lights in the kitchen, that filtering in from the living room, went out, leaving only the light of their single candle, Hermione’s hand squeezing as if...oh, did she fear Narcissa was put to discomfort, casting them into near-darkness? Well, they were about to have a bit more light at hand, in just a moment. A single flick of her wand, and the candle adorned cake appeared on the table between them, candles sparking to flame.

Hermione’s expression went entirely lax, mouth slacked eyes shining in the candle light as she drug her gaze from the cake, to Narcissa when the woman began the ritual song,

 _“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Hermione! Happy Birthday to you!”_ she sang with a smile on her face, in her heart. She waited expectantly, for the girl to blow out her candles with whatever wish was in her spirit, for the smoke to carry to the heavens, but the younger Witch just sat and stared.

“H-how did you find out…” she swallowed harshly.

“I have my sources, darling,” Narcissa warmly assured. “Though I do wish that source had been you, Hermione. I know there are those who mightn’t know the importance of the date, but I assure you, I was not ignoring it, I merely didn't know...of _course_ I would not let it pass without due recognition- darling?” Oh Merlin, the girl looked strange, something haunted in her gaze as tears welled up in her eyes, moved to tears.

...and then heart wrenching sobs.

“Darling? Oh Hermione what-?” Narcissa moved to be closer, kneeling and bracing the girl by her elbows, peering up into her face as she hunched in on herself, head down as her shoulders shook, sobs working through her chest. What had she done? She could have _sworn_ those were the words to the Muggle birthday song, and surely she’d gotten the tune? Was it the mix of their cultures, had- oh dear, had she perceived Narcissa’s use of her own traditions a slight to her Muggle ones? That the woman thought them superior, didn’t believe the traditions Hermione grew up with were worthy to stand on their own? “What can I do? Hermione if I have transgressed, I must apologize I meant no harm, I promise. I- I meant only to celebrate you.”

“I- I- I can’t- I’m-” she sucked in a harsh breath, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes. “Oh God, I’m so sorry I- I just need a minute,” she said, moving to rise and Narcissa had only just risen with her when the girl pulled from her hold and she stepped aside, fleeing to the back garden, doors just barely clicking closed in her wake and Narcissa’s stomach dropped when the girl fell to her knees and then cast and...the garden obscured from view, windows reflecting the kitchen instead of allowing the sights of outdoors come through.

...her memories did not bear much improvement.

_“Mistress’s Hermione?” Jinsey’s voice softly squeaked. They’d just concluded their own poem recital, the House Elf sweetly singing the young lady’s praises in her mother tongue, and then they revealed their offering of candle-laden cake, and Narcissa had just wished her a “Happy Birthday” and…_

_Much the same result. Hermione quaked with tremors and sobs shaking her head when Narcissa pled for explanation._

_“I um- I j-just, I’m sorry I’m not feeling very well can I-” a squeaking sob escaped her, “can I pl-please return to the Tower?”_

_“Darling if...can we...if you explain or- or if you are poorly let us right this-”_

_“Please?” oh Merlin that...had sounded so pitiful, oh it practically tore her heart in two._

_“Of course darling. Mister Dobby!” Narcissa called and in an instant the House Elf appeared._

_“Oh no! Oh no no no! Hermione Granger is being sad!” the Elf lamented, pulling on his ears in his grief._

_“Mistress’s Hermione is being very sad!” Jinsey wailed, mirroring his body language, jumping down from the high stool she’d been seated on and hoping to go to the other Elf, “We was trying to make Mistress’s Hermione happy!”_

_“Shh, my dears Miss Granger wishes to return to the Tower, let us make it so,” Narcissa intoned._

_“Draco Malfoy is being waiting outside Mistresses classroom, with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley! They was being worried, waiting to walk Hermione Granger!” Dobby informed them, and in the next instance, they were returned to her classroom._

_“Thanks,” Miss Granger rasped quietly, gaze hollow as she stared into space._

_“Do...do you wish for potion? Stomach calming draught or…”_

_“Can...can I have some Dreamless Sleep? Please?”_

_“Absolutely darling,” Narcissa quietly assured, summoning the girl’s formulation from her stores, she kept a few on hand should the future’s Hermione run out and have urgent need. “Drink it in its entirety once you are prepared to sleep and go straight to bed. Do...do feel better darling, I apologize if...I apologize for your upset.”_

_“My fault. Thank you I’m- I’m sorry,” she said, taking hold of potion and then she tread the path to the door, opening it only to have Draco nearly falling into her, like he’d been leaning against it in wait, he only just caught himself,_

_“I tried to stop- I’m so sor- I didn’t know,” he swore, catching himself on the door handle, his weight against it as his other arm came around to pull the girl into a hug as swiftly as he could, likely more swiftly than he should, he could have toppled them both over. But he pulled her fast to his chest, “I didn’t know.”_

_“I don’t want t-”_

_“You don’t have to, I- I’ll shut up. Come on, we’ll- you don’t have to go on rounds, just- we’ll cover- I’m sorry,” he said, rather miserably, Mister Potter’s hand was on her son’s back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades._

...he tried to stop. Oh Merlin, damn it. Narcissa summoned her journal and it flew open in her hand.

 _Mother, you have to stop, right now! Don’t even bring up birthdays! Today is just a normal Thursday and when you wake up tomorrow she’ll be fine! I’m the jerk! She looked like she got punched in the stomach when owls brought cards from the Weasleys. I asked about it once she left dinner hall and-_ there was some furious scratching and then, _I thought Weasley and Potter had forgotten but they were remembering last year! Hermione hasn’t celebrated her birthday since she wiped her parents memory, she doesn’t want to, she’s miserable with herself! She ignored the day last year, shut down any effort to celebrate. When she didn’t voice a change of opinion on that this year, they figured it was best to just see if she brought up doing something and let her set the tone. I’m so sorry I didn’t know! If I messed things up- if she isn’t happy with yo- tell her it's all my fault!_

_It is no such thing Dragon. I will right this, thank you for looking out for Miss Granger. Do keep me appraised to how her Present self fares._

_Ginny says she’s asleep now, she walked her up and says Hermione knocked back potion the second she was in her dorm and went straight to bed._

_Thank you, Draco. I am sorry for the stress this has caused. I love you darling, do try to calm yourself and be well._

She closed her journal and stopped to think. She cast to set the candles to rights, putting them out and repairing them to their unburnt state, and then sent it back into the fridge. And then she summoned the container of ice cream, and the one birthday present...she would not term either as such now...that might be what the girl would wish for. Her Present self sought to lose herself to Dreamless Sleep. A desire to quiet her mind, numb the agony she felt on this day.

The garden doors opened at her touch. Hermione was seated in the midst of the garden, her back to the doors, tear streaked face raised to stare up at the stars overhead.

“Darling? I...brought apology in the form of a balance to the elements.”

“Hm?” the girl regarded her with some confusion as Narcissa knelt in the grass beside her.

“We’re seated in the earth, in the open air. And I have brought fire and ice,” the Witch informed, setting her offerings before the young lady.

“Fire Whiskey and ice cream?” Hermione sniffled, chin quivering as she tilted to the side and rested her head on Narcissa’s shoulder. “You’re a dork.”

“I thought I was a nerd?”

“Oh, I hate to break it to you, but you’re double majoring. A major nerd and a major dork,” Hermione assured. “Spoon?”

“Certainly darling, shall I be big spoon or little?”

“I meant for the ice cream.”

“Ahh. Big spoons for us both then, if you care to share?” Narcissa ventured, revealing the spoons she’d in hand, holding them to the girl.

“Well, that carton _is_ the size of our heads. I suppose we can share,” she said, taking a spoon and pulling the lid from the carton. Narcissa summoned glasses and cast for the bottle to empty of equal portions, shots for them both and Hermione stuck her spoon in the carton, abandoning it there to take up her glass of whiskey. “Blishins? Thanks…” she said, letting the liquid swirl a bit as she toyed with the glass momentarily, searching for her words. “This is...I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to- that was a lot of- you were being really sweet-”

“I...misperceived your upset to be with my ignoring your...this day. I understand why it is upsetting but-” Narcissa cleared her throat, “Darling...you don’t wish to celebrate at all? That you were born is a blessed thing.”

That got her a derisive snort. “Is it?” she wondered, before knocking back her shot, swallowing smoothly.

“Hermione?”

“Sorry,” she sighed, and looked to Narcissa, and to her utter relief the younger Witch’s mind, sans library, was an open book. Memories of past birthdays bouncing around her head, from brighter days waking to her parents wishing her well and whisking her off for celebration and delight, to her fifth year form of celebration by stealing away into a closet at Hogwarts and warding for privacy before she screamed and cried her anguish at the day, curling up in the dark to weep until it looked like she physically couldn’t produce further tearshed. There was no weight of her macabre offering, she...she didn’t lament being born, not...to an extent that could be considered concerning.

“Do you care to talk about it?”

“Gonna need more than a single shot to do that.”

Narcissa took the task of taking up the bottle, uncapping it to refresh the girl’s drink herself, a double shot she passed off. Gods above, she just quaffed it like her glass was full of apple juice. Narcissa took up her own glass and felt the blazing burn against the back of her throat that went straight to her magic and burned all the way down. She coughed a bit, it had been some time since she strayed from wine, she hoped her beverage of choice forgave her wandering. She much prefered the ice cream, Hermione drug closer, withdrawing her spoon with a great chunk of the treat attached, opening wide to take it in her mouth and Narcissa was alarmed to feel the warmth of her Fire Whiskey go straight to her loins at the wet sucking sound that smacked from the younger Witch’s mouth followed by her moan of pleasure.

 _“Fuck_ I missed Florean’s.”

“Hmm,” Narcissa softly agreed, taking up a spoonful for herself, hoping to cool herself, Merlin help her.

“What? No ‘detention, Miss Granger!’, no ‘fifty points from Gryffindor’?”

“We’ll, you’re off school grounds so I suppose I’ll let your filthy language slide.”

Hermione giggled at that, shaking her head, taking another spoonful of ice cream, and then another before sighing and leaving her spoon in the carton. “It’s kind of pointless, you know?”

“What is, darling?”

“My birthday as a concept. I mean it’s basically non existent in every way. It would take some serious math to truly figure out how old I actually am from time travel, I mightn’t actually be twenty for months, I might already be twenty one, who's to say? And according to my birth certificate?” she laughed, this low dry sound, “Oh, I don’t even _have_ a birthday, after everything I’ve done. I made it pointless with Time Travel, and then I erased it with Memory Magic. You weren’t to know. I...I don’t know _how_ you found out, but it definitely wasn't my school file.”

“...your birthdate vanished from your school file?”

More drink appeared in Miss Granger’s glass, summoned by the girl herself, she raised it to her lips, affirming, “Yup,” before taking yet another shot. Narcissa considered banishing the bottle to a kitchen cabinet, that was...a fourth shot in half of an hour, but the girl set her glass aside, and then laid back in the grass, knees still raised as she stared up at the sky with a sigh. “Sometimes magic is royally fucked.”

Narcissa lay back with her, crossing her ankles as she reclined, arms back behind her head to rest her head in her overlapped palms. “There are several things you’re neglecting to consider. Shall I enlighten you?”

“Can I stop you?”

“I’m afraid not darling, that isn’t in our vows.”

“Good,” Hermione said. Even when she mightn’t like what Narcissa would say, she’d never wish the ability to muzzle her, would she? Narcissa had seen utter anguish in the girl’s mind after their argument that resulted in Narcissa endeavoring to speak hate to hurt her, incapable of forming more than single sounds of harmful phrases. And she had been anguished by the fact that she _couldn’t_ speak freely, not at what she intended to say. ”Alright, light the way,” she invited with the carless wave of a hand.

“We would not be here together, doing this work, you wouldn’t have the knowledge you do or the abilities you have, without the time you’ve spent both with, and because, of a Time Turner. And without your memory magic securing your parents identities, they would surely have been taken by the Dark Lord. You lie here without them to celebrate this day with you now, my darling, but you have preserved your many birthdays to come with them. And aside from all of that, do you understand the single thing magic is entirely incapable of altering? That which not even Time Magic itself has altered, despite your machinations?”

“What?”

“Your original day of birth. Your birth _day_ my darling, is a fixed point in time. Your entry into this world, into this timeline is unaltered for time eternal. No matter what else, it is affixed to time itself unmoveable, and it will remain that way. Even if you cannot accurately with perfect precision mark it as measure for your age, it is still an anniversary of what is truly, a most blessed day.”

“Yeah, maybe. I hadn’t thought about it like that,” she supposed. And then she snorted, laughing a bit, “You said you cherished it!”

“I do.”

“You wrote a whole poem over it!” she reported with some glee.

“It is custom.”

“Really?” Hermione wondered.

“Really.’

“I’m crap at rhyming.”

“You needn’t a poem for your own birthday darling, we’ve established this.”

“Yeah but yours. That’s going to be just miserable sitting through my attempts at waxing poetic. ‘Hey Narcissa, if you weren’t born I would...miss ya?’” she had a bit of a giggle fit about it.

“Well, it's not for months yet, you’ve time to work on it.”

“Hmm yes...I see it now, your birthday is…” she pressed an index finger to her forehead as if to promote some mental power. “January 15th!”

“Jessie’s aptitude for Divination is catching?” Narcissa supposed, amused.

“Maybe,” she giggled. The girl turned her head to look at her, “I asked Draco a while back.”

“Did you?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You wish to celebrate my birthday?”

“...possibly. If you’ve been a good girl this year.”

“Christmas is dependent upon our moral conduct in the passing year. Birthdays are all about entitlement, darling.” Narcissa said, turning to meet the younger Witch’s gaze. “I will absolutely take what is duly mine, come my birthday Miss Granger.” Hermione burst into a fit of laughter at that, open and loud, echoing off her wards, a cacophony of her amusement. “Whatever is so amusing?”

“That sounded like you telling me to-” she giggled, gasping to catch her breath, “to come on your birthday.”

“Perhaps. Sara assures me even muggles have the tradition of birthday sex. Barring unforeseen circumstance…”

“Oh, I’d be the only person around for that? Sara’ll be bummed you’re not _even_ considering her.”

“I doubt _you’ve_ considered her for your own birthday rites. You wished to ignore its passing entirely. To think if you’d allowed for proper planning you could be devesting your newfound virginity to some lucky Witch.”

“You’re the only Witch around that I know of.”

“What luck indeed,” Narcissa drawled with a smile.

“Oh, what luck?! I like that!” Hermione complained, “You should be so lucky, Narcissa Black!”

“Have I said otherwise?”

“Oh you were just snarky and you know it!”

“I was being _dry_ , darling.”

“Oh, you’re _dry?_ ” the younger Witch wondered.

Her throat was suddenly very dry, made worse by the low gasp that stole its way into her lungs as Miss Granger was suddenly very, very close. Directly atop her, straddling the older Witch’s hips, Narcissa saw her arms in her periferal, hands on either side of Narcissa’s head as she stared up into clear amber eyes alight with mischief, cheeks rosy and warm from her Whiskey, the heat of it still on her breath as the younger Witch leaned in, giggly and light before lowly assuring, “I’ll bet...I could make you very... _very_ wet.” ...she could in fact, that was presently very correct, “By the time I was through with you, you would wish my birthday really was a holiday, a marked date on the calender that meant celebrating just like that, me, fucking you senseless.”

Narcissa stopped breathing altogether when Hermione Granger captured her lips with her own, her one cohesive thought that while the girl had lost her...loss of virginity, surely her memories must still be perfectly intact. She was shocked to the point she wasn’t certain she could move if she tried, and just as she took it into her head to attempt reciprociprocity, the younger Witch pulled back, smiling with some amused victory, giggling as she sat over Narcissa, staring down at her.

“Is there still cake?”

“...c-cake?” Narcissa only just found her voice.

“Yeah, cake. It looked really good. Ohh, do you think Florean’s would hold up in Fire Whiskey?!” she questioned, excited. “We can make floats!” she decided, moving to rise, unstradle Narcissa, and she did, but clumsily, tipping all the way over on her side to land in the grass with a startled squeak. 

“Darling, I wouldn’t recommend a Fire Whiskey ice cream float.”

“Try and stop me!”

It didn’t take much trying. What the Witch made was not so much a float as a splash. She rose up to sit on her knees, filling their short, squat glasses with a scoop of ice cream in each she poured Fire Whiskey over, and the tipsy Witch managed to summon the cake, it appeared wobbly and in midair, Narcissa had to swiftly catch it to keep it from tipping and spilling upside down, setting it safely on the ground and casting to summon dessert plates, serve up a slice for the younger Witch who apparently hungered in her drunkenness, perhaps making up for her lack of food during the day. But she feasted on cake and ice cream, and possibly a non-recommended amount of drink but Narcissa would have Sober-Up awaiting her when she woke. And she wrote the sleeping Miss Granger, the Present’s, while the Future’s took...a very orchestral bath. She was singing rather loudly, something with the swing of a sailors shanty, in...latin, or drunkenly mangled English...was it Welsh maybe? Did the girl know Welsh? Or did she at least believe she did when she’d too much to drink? It was of no matter. Narcissa lay in bed writing to the Present’s Miss Granger to instill the helpful observations she’d made with the Future’s, that her birthday wasn’t a mockery, or futile or useless, that the anniversary of her birth was unwavering and important.

The Future’s Hermione emerged from her bath clad in her favored sweater and fell into bed, snuggling right up to the older Witch, her head on Narcissa’s chest, leg twining between hers, falling fast asleep.

Narcissa woke to their wands’ alarms, alerting them it was time to rise and prepare for Whitakers...and a rather pathetic groan of misery reverberating directly into her breastbone, courtesy of one Hermione Granger.

"Good morning, darling."

"Oh fuck me," she swore quietly.

"Is _that_ what we've set our alarms for?" Narcissa wondered, amusedly, stroking a hand through the younger Witch's hair. The girl just groaned again. "I've a few more birthday presents that might cheer you. The first is Sober-Up."

"Oh my God, Narcissa yes please."

The woman chuckled, reaching to grab the small draught from the nightstand, and the hung-over Witch on her chest shifted and drug herself it an upright position, gratefully accepting unstoppered potion and knocking it back in an instant, relaxing against the headboard and waiting for her hang-over to clear.

"Did I do anything weird last night?"

"Whatever do you mean, darling? What would be considered weird?"

The girl blushed, "I can get kind of...messy. One or two drinks, maybe three I'm fine. Four drink Hermione is a horny, hungry bitch and I try not to get to know her too well."

Ahh. "Do...you not recall whether you had congress with her last night?"

"Everythings a little hazy? I...I remember most of what you said about the birthday thing, being a fixed point, but uh...did...did we talk about Sara?"

"We'd a riveting conversation in which Mrs. Winter was featured."

"What about? Everything...you said they were all okay at dinner? Was there something else?"

"Just some private amusement, between the lovely Miss Four-Drink Hermione and myself. I found her antics rather endearing. You really ought give her a chance darling, you might surprise yourself."

Hermione groaned at that, hiding her face in her hands. "Oh _God_ , how bad was it? I didn't, like, get weird with you or anything, did I?"

"Weird?"

She sighed as if frustrated, "I didn't like, say something, take our friend-flirting too far or- or try to kiss you or something? If I did I swear to God, Narcissa I'm so sorry, I'll never drink around you ever ag-"

"Do calm yourself, darling. I can promise you, in full honesty, I was not harmed or insulted. Save perhaps, in the realm of your table manners. You made quite a messy time of eating the cake I prepared."

"Oh yeah, kind of remember that, that it was good at least."

...well. At least the girl found her cake memorable. But perhaps it was for the best, frustration that it was. Hermione had been earnest in her fear she misstepped, mind wracked with the fear she'd done something to make Narcissa feel violated or unsafe. And Narcissa couldn't very well speak to the kiss, at least not to outright _say_ in genuineness that she welcomed such attention. Her inability to do so would only result in being forced to insist she detested such advances, hurt the girl by her vows making her decry her actions and laud her husband as the most satisfactory Wizard the Magical world has ever known, oh why would anyone ever think to claim what is his? Indeed.

Miss Granger was more amenable to Birthday ritual come the greying light heralding the new day. There were warm blueberry muffins to accompany their breakfast, and the girl blushed and smiled when Narcissa held out a muffin adorned with a single lit birthday candle. She met her gaze, closed her eyes, and...well it was Narcissa who felt a great deal of emotion, nearly brought to tears by birthday candle light as, with thoughts of Narcissa and her son, their smiles, their future joy in mind, Hermione Granger blew out her birthday candle and cast her wish to the heavens.

“There is one present more, my Present self has been working on, at my behest,” Narcissa informed as they sat alongside each other at the kitchen table.

“Oh,” she shied at that, “really? You didn’t have to get me anything, I mean...you did so much already and I was pretty terrible about it all.”

“For all my good intentions, it was understandably upsetting darling. I don’t regret doing for you. I’m just pleased you’ve been able to find some enjoyment from my efforts, I hope this pleases you further still,” Narcissa said, summoning the watch box and sliding it across the space between them, wavering excitement in her chest, oh. She hoped it was a joy, that it didn’t lead her to discomfort.

Her triumph felt rich in her blood, spilling into her magic which blazed and brightened with Hermione’s growing smile as she opened the box, and took in the sight of the delicate wristwatch inside, “Ohh...Narcissa I- this is beautiful. It’s- this had to be- I can’t-”

“You absolutely can, so long as you like it.”

“I love it!” she assured sincerely, “I just…I mean its silver and there’s gems-”

“It is _platinum_ darling and that is proper Wizarding crystal,” Narcissa haughtily assured. Rarer than diamonds! Gemstones _indeed._

“I- that-” oh, her mind was racing trying to think of what to get Narcissa for her own birthday, how to afford something of the caliber the older Witch might expect.

“Darling...all I have done here is witnessed a need and met it. This is something we do for each other already. Do not trouble yourself over exact reciprocity. Whatever you settle upon for my own birthday will be cherished, absolutely. My most treasured birthday gift is...well, my Dragon made it for me in his youth. Brilliant minds think alike. While I adore the light orb you’ve prepared for me, my Present self enjoys...this precious little clay stone Draco decorated and gave to me, charmed to light.” ...a bit of an advanced charm for his age, he couldn’t have been more than seven when he came to Narcissa _Mother! Mother look! It keeps the dark away!_ but then her child always had an advanced grasp of magic she supposed. “It is hardly a piece of fine jewelry and it is the most precious possession I own. It is not a matter of cost...but care. Now, would you care to see how well it fits? If there is need for adjustment that is easily done.”

It was her absolute delight to assist getting the clasp caught and secured on Hermione’s wrist, watching as she came to realize, “Oh! It doesn’t...I feel it’s there but...in my magic? I don’t feel it on…” her chin quivered, and to Narcissa’s relief she was moved to a happier sort of tearshed, a few tears slipping down her cheeks she hastily wiped away before leaning forward in her seat to kiss Narcissa on the cheek. “Thank you. This is amazing, Narcissa.”

“It will resonate well with your magic, it’s easily instructed to alert you to pertinent times. You’ll notice I took the liberty of setting one in particular.”

“Just in time for my lunch break, huh?” Hermione wondered, smiling her amusement. “What would I do without you?”

“Well, I suppose it would be prudent I stay close then shall I?” Narcissa returned to a bit of a giggle from the younger Witch as she shook her head and dug into her meal.

It was when they were up to their elbows in pastry dough when Hermione softly announced, “I’m awake.”

“I certainly hope so, driving in one's sleep is hardly recommended I should think.”

The younger Witch huffed a laugh, knocking her hip against Narcissa’s, “I mean present me…” she sniffled, “you wrote me last night?”

“While you serenaded me from the bath.”

“I _sang?”_ Hermione wondered as if it were a thing of remorse.

“Is it some cornerstone of muggle culture to lament the act of song? It was a joy to listen to, after the day you had.”

“Thanks, for writing me, my present self is feeling better...and your calming cream might just get me through going to apologize to you and Jinsey, explain everything.”

“I’ll prepare some for you, as well darling,” Narcissa offered.

“If you let me help you, sure, I’d appreciate it, thanks.” And then she startled a bit, brushing her hands together to get the dusting of flour off of them and stepping away from the counter to withdraw her order pad- oh, no, the flip notebook she used to communicate with Draco, she kept it so close at hand? Her Dragon was awake as well, apparently he rose and launched into writing some sort of lengthy message to the future Hermione. She leaned back on the counter along the wall behind them, one arm crossed over her chest as she watched the notepad in her other hand, bottom lip secured between her teeth, letting him go on a moment before she withdrew her pencil and softly scratched against the notepad, paused a moment before writing her own reply, smiling softly at whatever he answered. And then she wrote something further, feeling Narcissa’s watching, “He’s just checking to make sure I’m okay. I told him you’re thinking of him.”

“Thank you, my darling.”

September 19th mightn't be one of Narcissa's holy days. But _October_ 19th? Was.

Armilustrium. Oh Narcissa was particularly pleased to participate this year, there were many good, pertinent reasons to celebrate, even as with all things in Narcissa’s life as of late, there was a duality. While she was preparing for the experience of Armilustrium at her noble allies sides, her Present self prepared to participate once again, at her Husband’s side, among Death Eaters worshiping with the Dark Lord.

Tonight, the Present’s Narcissa, Pansy Parkinson in tow joined Voldemort’s ranks in the ruins of the Temple of Mars Ultor to cleanse their wands and take vows of purity in their casting, none in their ranks would cast in Darkness from the 19th until the eve of the 31st, to be re-vilified during Samhain. It was...well, something of relief for Narcissa across time, as the 19th through the 31st of October had always been a bit of reprieve for her each year, given limitations put on their casting, even Lucius daren’t break the temperoary vow of magical purity. Which was a great relief this year as...well, soon was at its peak now, their divorce would be finalized before the sun rose on November. But that was neither here nor there for tonight. While the Present’s Narcissa was handling the usual Armilustrium unpleasantness, in the company she would keep, the Futures? She would gather with Miss Granger, Mister Potter, her Dragon at Venus Fountain. She could not be more excited. She would see her son, get to guide him through his first participation in such a holy day and it would be for its purest purpose! Not to cleanse their wands for the pleasure of dirtying them later, but to cleanse them to set aside all that was Dark and move forward with the intention for a period of peace and light. They would also be imbued with blessings from the god of War, and those would be dear to them in the coming days.

Tonight? They cleansed their wands.

Tomorrow? They dirtied their hands.

After a great deal of rumination, they decided it was best to strike Bella’s vault sooner, rather than later, while Narcissa’s hold on the account was solid and secure. Lucius was fighting their prenuptial agreement tooth and nail, thus dragging out their divorce, and he was angling at Bella’s vault, that he should have some claim to it given “should your sister be sent to Azkaban for war crimes and you be given control over her financial affairs” hadn’t been specifically covered in a document drafted by lovestruck teenagers. It was a petty thing, they _had_ considered she might inherit her vault or estates in the event of Bella’s then considered tragic passing, just not the idea the woman might be alive and well and it was a matter of the Ministry of Magic passing possession of Bella’s belongings over to her non-incarcerated, non-disowned sister. She could not speak of her divorce but that didn’t stop her from reasoning with Miss Granger that handling the matter now, before unforeseen circumstances could thwart them, hadn’t been that great a feat. The younger Witch respected Narcissa’s opinion on the matter absolutely. 

So, she arranged to go on rounds of her sister’s vault, to check on her affairs, while Hermione arranged with Harry, for him to join them, Narcissa, in search of the piece of Voldemort’s soul locked away there. He’d secured permission to visit Gringotts on the Sunday of October 12th, to settle the affairs of Sirius Black, investigate the vault he inherited from his dearly departed Godfather, Draco and Hermione had received permissions to join him for moral support, to offer security detail for the boy who Lived to continue living even as he stepped out of the protections of Hogwarts. The Present Hermione, however, would not be joining them, she and the Present’s Narcissa would spend their Sunday hiding away in the Room of Requirement, so there was no risk of double sightings. The Future’s Hermione would join Draco awaiting Mister Potter in Gringotts, while Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy just so happened to view Black family vaults that were relatively close to one another, in fact they were interconnected if you went deep enough into them, the Goblins would escort them to their vaults and then they could join forces to search for the Horcrux.

_“Slughorn’s absence does cause some issue for a lack of Harry’s ability to learn of Horcruxes. He won’t much know what we are looking for,” Narcissa said as she and Hermione sat in an empty Whitakers, the place utterly dead before closing one evening. They sat at Narcissa’s usual table, the older Witch allowing the younger to be seated in the more comfortable arm chair at the end of a longer shift. Narcissa had fetched tea for them both, to serve the girl who had spent her day serving, only to return to the table and discover the wicked little Witch had taken both the arm chair and propped her feet up on the seat meant for Narcissa across the table, smiling her mischief, which turned to surprise as Narcissa set their tea down to take hold of the Witch’s ankles and raise her legs so the older Witch could be seated, and then she set Hermione’s feet in her lap, unshodding them to massage at tender soles and toes._

_“Harry’ll follow your lead because...well, you’re you? And I’ve told him to and he trusts us,” Hermione said, “Going into things blindly is kind of a trademark of our adventures. I’m still uncertain just how Time Travel affects everything? I’m scared losing Slughorn means no one naturally in the timeline will tell him about them._ We _could tell him, but…”_

 _“_ Our _knowledge is based on a timeline we’re working to alter to the point it no longer properly exists. It’s lack of existence might make information pulled from it...unstable, or hold unpredictable consequences. We can’t be certain that would hold solid to our work with the timeline. If we rid time of a more natural source giving him this information, that may result in a timeline where the information is lost entirely.”_

_“If the timeline doesn’t self-correct, if Harry doesn’t get context for Horcruxes from Slughorn or Dumbledore, we’ll give it a shot, take the risk and tell him ourselves, at that point it’ll be just doing the best we can with the situation and if it doesn’t work...well it was quite literally all we could do.”_

So, they would be patient. There was plenty of time between now and the next Fall season they would cast off on their misadventures hunting Horcruxes.

Now, they’d had more pressing business. A matter to attend before their holy rites.

The afternoon of October 19th, 1996 Hermione Granger and Narcissa Malfoy were called on a matter most important.

They sat, clothed in draping black Witches robes secured tightly at their waists, in the Winter family home, at their kitchen table. After enjoying dinner together, they were seated across from Mike and Sara while Mike’s dear parents made play with their grandchildren, Jessie playing in the autumn leaves in their front garden with his grandmother while his grandfather watched from the porch, rocking a slumbering Gabrielle, while the adults gathered in the kitchen had rather the important discussion.

Sara was ready to ask questions.

“Um...so, honey,” Sara said, signing to her husband. “There’s a reason I wanted Stacie and Narcissa to watch Jessie when I was in hospital with Gabbie. You know...he’s different? You have to have noticed too, right? The way Stacie is different...Narcissa too.”

Mike startled and then perked up instantly, an excited sound breaking from his lips as his hands flew into action, _Wait, wait wait, Jessie’s_ gay?! _No I didn’t see anything, I mean he’s two he’s not exactly asking me advice on how to pick up blokes, and I thought he had a crush on Narcissa...oh he could be bi. Why are we having some grave discussion about this?_ He looked to the Witches seated across from him, _I mean you know my parents, I’d never have a problem, Jessie being different like them, like you! You’re a beautiful couple!_

...Narcissa supposed there could be worse reactions given the circumstances but Hermione needn’t laugh so _loud._

“Oh God! Mike, no- no no, we aren’t- I mean-” Hermione caught herself, looking to Narcissa and taking her hand on the table top to squeeze it as if she realized perhaps her reaction might be rude. There was embarrassment-mixed amusement in her mind, she did not think it was a thing of hilarity, she thought it was amusing Mike had made such an endearing misstep. And there was a quiet place in the back of her amusement, something that propelled her to be so jovial to make up for it, where there was a bit of disappointment that...well, to Hermione’s mind, such a thing would never be. Even if the older Witch weren’t bound in unholy matrimony with Lucius Malfoy, the girl truly believed...a woman like Narcissa would never hold interest in her. Which was infuriating beyond belief, but to be righted. Soon. Soon. Soon. For now, what needed righting, “we’re not dating. I mean yeah, hi, I’m definitely not Straight,” she spoke for herself. “The way I’m different, the way Narcissa and I are different that applies to Jessie…” she looked to Sara. The woman hadn’t the words to apply to what her son was experiencing, but she nodded, for Hermione to speak them, “...Narcissa and I are Witches. Jessie is a Wizard.”

“Holy shit,” Sara whispered as Mike stared at them, squinting like maybe he’d misinterpreted. “Mug-gate.” Had the woman...meant to say Muggle? Did she know that word? Oh, no she signed Mug...and gate.

Mike nodded slowly, raising his hands to explain, _Dad collapsed while sweeping up in the shop after closing. We were upstairs waiting for him and Jessie started freaking out, bolted downstairs, we don’t even know how he opened the doors on his own, but we chased after him and found dad unconscious and Jessie’s screaming and crying and then all the mugs on the back wall burst into a million pieces._

“We chalked it up to confusion in the moment,” Sara said, “that dad had some accident, managed to knock all the mugs off the shelf before he collapsed. But uh...it was…”

“Wild magic,” Hermione said. “I used to be sort of the same? My magic likes to lash out at glass whenever I’m upset, it might be that magic resonates more powerfully in natural things or things that have a great deal of power themselves, like electrical systems? Magic has a powerful connection to our emotions, it happens less often the older you are, the more control you have, but children, especially those without an outlet for their magic can have pretty wild spurts of magic when they have a big enough upset. It isn’t malevolent, it’s...more a defense mechanism, magic trying to protect us from whatever’s happening,” she seemed to feel like she was bungling her explanation, putting fear into the muggle couple but,

 _That...is so cool!_ Mike signed.

“Our kid has magic! Can I put it on his school applications? Speaks fluent BSL, can break mugs with his mind?” Sara questioned.

“There are...rules,” Narcissa said, “ones of discretion. The Ministry of Magic-”

“Wizarding Government,” Hermione supplied.

“-frowns on underage use of magic, and the disclosure of magic to...non-magical...or as you are sometimes called ‘Muggle’, persons,” she finger spelled the unfamiliar word for Mike. “As you are parents to magical children, your knowing of our world is...allowed, so long as you adhere to rules of discretion. If Miss Greene had not made notice of your child’s status from her own experience, you would have eventually been informed come Jessie’s acceptance to an institute of magical study upon his turning eleven years of age.”

“Wait...child _ren?”_ Sara asked.

“We’ve reason to believe sweet Gabrielle may in fact also be a Witch,” Narcissa informed. “She displayed magical attributes at her birth, Jessie spoke as if in communion with her, like they’ve a connection through their magics, and too...you’ll notice now her hair is sandier blonde, darkened where it was-”

“Like I gave birth to a freaking headlight...Jessie’s hair was like that too, all...gold and shiny.”

“My own son was much the same, his hair glowed for weeks after his birth,” Narcissa shared.

“Awe,” Sara cooed.

 _You have a son?_ Mike asked.

“Yes,” Narcissa nodded, “Draco. He’s grown to be an incredible young man, perhaps someday you’ll meet.”

 _Is he...grown up? He doesn’t live with your...husband?_ Mike asked as if checking...as if he believed himself capable of storming Malfoy Manor and making rescue of her son if he were trapped in some horrible situation living in the sole care of his father.

“He is well, he lives safely, separately from his father,” Narcissa assured, the Muggle couple breathed joint sighs of relief, oh...they cared for her son, from care of her and she loved them dearly for it.

“So...you two just...got invited to magic school when you were eleven? That’s how you found out you were Witches?” Sara asked.

Narcissa looked to Hermione for confirmation on how to proceed. They...hadn’t been certain whether or not to get into matters of Blood-Status. Should they caution the Winter family that the magical world was at War? Should they know their son might someday face bigotry for his heritage? Oh...she could see in the younger Witch’s mind, what she thought was right, and she squeezed her hand as Hermione let Narcissa take initial lead to say,

“There is a range of diversity in magical heritage. I...am what is considered a Pureblood. I descend from a long line of powerful Witches and Wizards. I was born with my parents' knowledge of my magic, and I was raised in its practice, residing solely in the Wizarding world. Aside from the rare spot of theatre or fine dining I’ve never set foot in the non-magical world until coming to live with Miss Greene.”

“I’m like Jessie,” Hermione said, “I didn’t know about my magic until a Professor from Hogwarts-”

 _H-o-g-w-a-r-t-s?_ Mike repeated her signed spelling back to her, confused.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-”

Sara choked seemingly on air, “ _What?!”_ she cackled, like it was the most hilarious thing. “You- you two, you went to magic school named after pig disease?”

“Yeah it is a pretty weird name, we know,” Hermione assured. “Mum-...yeah. Anyway,” she waved as if to motion them back to the proper line of conversation. “I didn’t know. I come from a non-magical family. So...I’m considered a Muggle-born. The same as Jessie,” she worried her lip momentarily, collecting her thoughts. “...there...is prejudice, in the Wizarding World. Based on blood-status. There are Purebloods, which means you’re born to a family with no known non-magical ancestors in it, Half-bloods, my best friend Harry is one, his father was Pureblood, while his mother was a Muggle-born.”

“Their marriage rocked the boat?” Sara supposed.

“In more ways than one,” Hermione said. “I don’t...magic is amazing. And there are so many wonderful things that come from it. I don’t want to scare you, but you deserve to know what Jessie might be getting into, what you’ll be getting into. Magic will always be a part of his life but the magical world doesn’t have to be. Right now it’s...bad, there’s a conflict due to a man leading a group of Blood-Supremacists. Witches and Wizards that believe anyone who isn’t a Pureblood is...an aberration.”

“Conflict?”

“A war. One...Narcissa and myself are involved with.”

“You two are...fighting in a war between shifts at Whitakers?”

“Gotta pay the bills somehow. We can’t explain what it is we do, but yeah.”

“Your children...children like them, are exactly the reason it is important, our fight,” Narcissa spoke up. “We fight to free our people from the grip of a madman, so your children might grow up to meet a magical world that embraces them for their differences, where Blood-Supremacy is wholly abolished and any who practice, punished.”

“You...I mean that’s incredible and...brave,” Sara said, “but uh...Supremacy is...a pretty nasty thing. Hard to just knock out in one fell swoop. Jessie…”

“He might still have to deal with that, yeah,” Hermione said, remorseful. “It isn’t always the easiest thing. But...I...for all I’ve endured from it I don’t regret having magic, knowing the people I’ve met because of my involvement in the Magical world. I wouldn’t trade my friends, the people I love, the world I love, because there’s a group of people who think I deserve to die because I’m not their ideal kind of Witch. I would never want Jessie to go through any of the things I have, if he lives his whole life and never learns the word m-” she stopped. “Well, never learns certain slurs, I’d give anything for him to have that, Gabbie too.”

“Slurs?” Sara questioned worriedly. 

Merlin preserve her, the Witch at her side genuinely considered speaking her scar’s trigger word, considering perhaps she would be prepared for the onslaught of pain, maybe she could ‘keep her chill’ and not ‘freak out’ their Muggle friends, because of course _that_ was the primary issue. But she settled on the less physically painful option of, “...I can’t say it. I mean I _can_ , it just…” her jaw clenched momentarily as she paled a bit, looked so very grave that Mike leaned forward in his seat and placed a hand over Hermione’s available right hand resting on their kitchen table. “I...I was attacked, and um, another Witch hurt me in a way that left me with this...cursed scar, that burns, bad, when the slur is said. But you should know it, in case…” she sighed, restarting with, “I didn’t know*, the first time I heard it, what it meant when someone called me that, my parents couldn’t prepare me for it, for anything in the magical world but...maybe you guys can, with your kids. That’s the opportunity we’re trying to make for you, anyway,” she said, withdrawing her hand from Mike’s, the other from Narcissa who only just relinquished her hold, hesitating when she realized what the younger Witch intended to do.

It wasn’t...quite so alarming as it once was. Her scar no longer burned red in her skin, it had paled, to a pinkish-white but still, it was a horrific thing to see someone had held down your loved one and carved a word into their skin.

“Mud...p-people call-” Sara let out something like a whimper, raising a hand to her mouth while the other took hold of Hermione’s hand. The hand at her mouth raised to rub at her temple as she lamented, “ _God,_ Stace.”

Mike had risen up from the table the moment Hermione pulled her sleeve back, pushing away and walking the length of the kitchen like he’d the sudden urge to go and fight someone, and as that was not presently possible the energy had to go somewhere so he paced with speedy, heavy steps from one end of the kitchen to the other, only to return and go to his knees at Hermione’s side and wrap his arms around the Witch, hugging her tightly.

“I’m okay I- I didn’t-. I just...you’re Jessie’s parents. There are risks, dangers, and you deserve to know about them, to consider them and prepare your children. I don’t...this was bad. Is bad. But I don’t regret it, not for a moment, there’s good and bad to everything and in every instance of bigotry I’ve faced, the good has always outweighed the bad. Being called this in school just meant I made people raised in bigotry uncomfortable because I thrive in what they consider their space, jealousy over my successes, the friends and love I have.”

“God, Stacie, that’s a fucking hatecrime!” Sara informed her. Mike sat back, bottom resting on his heels as he nodded in agreement with his wife. “What the hell kind of silver lining is there to that?”

“Well I survived is one, that’ll show that bitch someday,” Hermione supposed wryly. Perhaps. Yes, if they returned to the timeline and...certain things had come to pass, Bella would be absolutely infuriated with Hermione’s perseverance. ...and certain things may well come to pass because Narcissa’s heart stopped, went still for a moment she was absolutely positive, it stuttered to recatch its beat when the girl continued, shrugging, “Narcissa is another.”

“Me?!” Narcissa questioned, incredulous.

“We wouldn’t be here, doing all of this, if _this_ hadn’t happened. I don’t regret being here, with Sara and Mike and the babies and the Whitakers. But more than that, I don’t regret being with _you._ Narcissa...we would _never_ know each other the way we do now if _this_ hadn’t happened,” she said, rubbing at her forearm, “I don’t regret it for a _second_ , if it means knowing _you.”_

...it had been rather an overwhelming sentiment, the night Hermione’s mind was full of thoughts that she would not trade her lost experiences of their timeline, her love of Miss Lovegood, in exchange for knowing and loving Draco...knowing and loving Narcissa. But to see her utter earnesty, the truth of her words reflected in her very mind, if someone said her mark would be gone tomorrow if she gave up knowledge and care of Narcissa today, she wouldn’t consider it for even a moment? She was _grateful, glad_ just to _know_ her, just to be her _friend._

Soon would never feel like soon enough. Not with this. 

Mike was staring at them with something caught between incredulity and...the earnesty of an excited puppy. Sara’s eyes were wide as she stared, both hands raised to her face, palms at her chin, fingers meeting at the bridge of her nose as she looked on with utter delight. Oh. The woman...the term was, ‘shipped’ them, as strange as that sounded. Her dear mind was a flurry of such thoughts, that she could strangle whoever Narcissa was married to, get him out of the picture to make way for ‘Stacie’ to ‘make her move’ because quite obviously the women were ‘absolutely meant to be together’. The sentiments were precious and shared.

Narcissa took a moment to collect herself, softly clearing her throat. “I can never be glad you were hurt in this way, darling. But nor do I regret that we’re together now…we’re rather the formidable force, aren’t we?”

Hermione smiled as she agreed, “Oh, absolutely.”

 _Thank you_ , Mike signed before he pushed up, using the table to help him get up off his knees, looking between the Witches, _thank you both for being here. I know this isn’t a field of roses, but if magic is a part of my Jessie, my Gabbie-girl? I want to understand what they need. I want to help them and make sure they’re ready when they enter the Magical world...if you two are fighting for their futures? It's going to be incredible._

“Mike!” Sara shouted as if in complaint, arm outstretched to the side to point toward the front door of their home. “No! That was unbearably sweet and I _cannot_ risk getting pregnant again right now. I won’t do it, I will not do it, get out, good bye, go!”

Mike grinned wide, signing an entirely insincere, _Sorry, love,_ before he walked around the table and dropped a kiss to his wife’s head as he passed, heading for the door, whisking his coat off the line of hooks by the door and stepping out into the October afternoon to join his son in the leaves.

“So...my kids are magic. I mean I figured, they come from _me,_ but…” Sara swallowed, nervous. “Can...can their grandparents know?”

...Narcissa looked to Hermione, she was more affiliated with handling such a situation. “Everyone’s situation is different,” Hermione said, “none of mine ever knew, but I think John and Violetta can handle it. If you think so too, if you trust them with this? Absolutely. The Ministry wont take issue with family knowing.”

“Even um…”

“The blood supremacy is a bear but the Wizarding World lacks most other prejudices,” Hermione assured. “Same sex marriage has never been an issue, I’ve gone to school with trans and non-binary students, and if they come up entirely in the Wizard World? They’re leading their best life. No one would call to question Mister and Mrs being your family.”

“That- wow. Cool,” Sara breathed a sigh of relief. “Am I...what can I do? What do they need from me, how can I um...help them? _Can_ I help them?”

“Oh darling, of course you can,” Narcissa assured, taking hold of the Muggle woman’s hand. “You are an incredible mother, Sara, don’t you ever doubt it. Jessie is an absolutely healthy, amazing young Wizard, you’ve brought him up so well thus far, and the fact that you wish to acclimate to his magic only speaks to that. You have your child outside making play in nature, I assure you I can sense from here, his magic at play. I wouldn’t doubt some of those flying leaves are unaided by wind. There are many activities that engage a child’s magic, being at play, creating. Speaking to him of his magic, telling him it is a part of him, encouraging it in him. The same applies to sweet Gabbie, even as she is a babe, I was instilling such lessons in my child since his birth. Their magic is as much a part of them as anything else, it requires nurturing as well, comfort and care.”

“Okay, okay yeah. Is the no meat thing a magic thing?”

“Apparently,” Narcissa drawled. “The Muggle-born among us claims she had a similar struggle. She ate not one, but two…” her lip curled in disgust, “bacon cheese burgers for her lunch.”

Hermione let out a frustrated sound, declaring, “It was a phase! It was a _phase!”_

Narcissa was riddled with excitement as they did display a bit of magic before the whole of the Winter-Whitaker clan, a bit of assurance that it was indeed real and too...well, they’d arrived this way, from a distance, appearing in a secluded stand of trees and walked a path to their home, abandoning their car at the Granger home. So, when time drew near for them to depart to take on moonlight on this holy day in a holy site, they gathered in the living room curtains drawn securely closed and Narcissa drew Hermione to her, holding her fast and secure for side-along, the younger Witch offering Jessie a little wave.

“There will be smoke in my wake but do not be alarmed, it is not detrimental and it will dissipate almost immediately,” Narcissa saw fit to caution.

“Oh my God, Witches are about to blast off in my living room,” Sara squeaked, leaning into her husband’s side.

“Do be careful,” Violetta cautioned worriedly.

“Yes, do travel safely. Where...you’re going home, yes?” John checked.

“Actually my dears it is a holy day we celebrate this evening. We’ve ritual to attend in Rome.”

“You...you’re going to _Italy?_...from my living room?” Sara questioned incredulously.

“Yup,” Hermione casually affirmed.

“Oh,” John said, “Well...do be safe, stay together and uh...well, do call us whenever you get home safe,” he intoned. Oh goodness, that was what he was concerned of?

“Certainly, but do not wait up for us, we will be out late,” Narcissa assured, and then, “Do hold on tightly, my darling, I will not abide you getting splinched,” she said, a hand indulging in stroking through the younger Witch’s hair before resting her hand on the crown of her head as Hermione’s arms tightened their hold around her.

In the next instant, under cover of darkness, they appeared before Venus Fountain.

“You’re sure no one else will come?” Hermione checked, somewhat ill at ease as she fussed with her robes.

“Yes darling, no Muggle would venture here while so much magic is at work and we’ll disillusion the area so as to not attract attention. None else who celebrate this day would think to use the tactic we do, appealing to Mars through his feminine counterpart.” It was not the obvious choice but these were waters blessed by Venus and Morgana herself, under the light of Mars and Moon? Their ritual would not fail and they would have privacy to work in.

“Okay,” the girl nodded, hugging herself a bit, still nervous. Ahh, their attire. She’d been reticent about dressing only in thin, silky robes, any and all other clothing absolutely forbidden, save their wandsheathes for proper blessing.

“Darling...our attire is for comfort and ritual,” Narcissa softly assured, reaching out to tuck a wild curl behind her ear, seeking to soothe. “It will allow all light from the heavens to pass through, in fact it's meant to absorb it, and imbue its power and blessings to our skin. You needn’t disrobe unless you’re truly compelled to, at ease to do so.” The girl blushed and nodded that she understood.

...there was one in their midst who felt perfectly at ease disrobing and it was entirely startling.

Her son and Mister Potter arrived shortly thereafter, their apparation sounding first and foremost before they appeared, Mister Potter pulling a cloak from around them...an item that made them invisible. Ahh, her son had assured her they’d a way to sneak off grounds undetected. They were dressed appropriately in the robes identical to their Witch counterparts, Mister Potter voicing question if his glasses were ‘against the rules or not’.

“They’re fine, Potter!” Draco snapped, cheeks blazing and mind full of...his apparent weakness for the Wizard’s gaze when he went without his spectacles acting as a buffer. Oh, her son was- he was here! And he was quite certainly in love, and his mind was open both to the possibility _and_ in a literal fashion! He’d not been shielding himself around her present self but she hadn’t been certain the same would apply to her. When her Present self made note of it...the boy’s mind had gone to the revelation that the Future’s Hermione left her mind unshielded, how moved his Present mother had been to hear that, and he’d considered the fact that he only shielded his mind around his mother at his father’s encouragement, Lucius’s attempt at pitting the boy against her, insisting _he_ would never lay his mind bare to his wife, she would only use what she learned to manipulate him. He’d little wish to imitate his father further still so...he took example from the Future’s Miss Granger. Now, Draco looked to Narcissa for a moment, regarding her carefully...wondering if he needed to adhere to the candor he had with her Present self, but that was one area they could certainly differ. “Good evening, mo-”

He was perhaps a bit winded, by how fiercely Narcissa threw her arms around her child to hold him as tightly as possible. Oh her blessed boy! How did he feel taller, when he was over a year younger than last she was able to hug him? He’d been rather miserable in those days, slouched and shrank into himself more often than not, perhaps it was merely that he stood taller now, in this life, where his precious skin went unMarked.

“Oh my darling, blessed evening to you,” Narcissa sniffled, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh Dragon, I have missed you.”

He swallowed, hugging her more tightly, “I’ve missed you too, mother,” he promised, and she found it in herself to pull away, they’d business to get to, and he mightn’t wish to be openly coddled before the young man he was interested in. “You look beautiful,” he complimented sweetly, oh. His mind was on his spotting them at the train station, how happy he’d been to see her looking so well, how pleased he was that she still showed such marked improvement from her Present self. And then his gaze went to the Witch receiving quite the body bind of a hug, Mister Potter had crouched to wrap his arms around Hermione’s middle, trapping her arms at her sides as he hoisted her against his chest, holding her with her feet off the ground as he hugged her.

“Harry!” she chastised.

“Hermione!” he returned in good cheer. “Huh, you don’t have an eyepatch,” he saw fit to note when he set her on her feet.

“...why would I have an eyepatch?”

The boy shrugged, “You’re the one who’s here from the future. I figured you’d have a streak of white hair or an eye patch, something.”

Draco stared at the young man, wholly uncertain in the moment how he landed himself totally enamored with such a Wizard.

He was helpfully reminded, when Narcissa began explaining their ritual.

“Tonight, as the light of the moon and Mars is strong in the heavens, we’ll beseech the god of War to cleanse our weapons of their year’s work, in preparation for a period of peace. We’ll be imbued with blessings to maintain that peace, and it will guard and shield us as we delve into our daring operation tomorrow. Now, blessing is brought by the absorption of light from the heavens into our skin as we worship, some may chose to do so in nudity but our robes-” Narcissa’s voice caught in her throat, and Draco let out a strangled sound, Hermione slapping a hand over her face as Mister Potter processed the invitation for nudity and was disrobed before the word had fully left Narcissa’s mouth, his robes pooling at his feet as he stood, fists on his hips, his rapt attention on the Witch’s instruction, looking to her expectantly when she ceased speaking. Well. She cleared her throat, averting her gaze, opting to share a bemused look with a blushing Miss Granger, “...our robes do absorb the light and transfer it to our skin, but of course direct contact can be known to suit best.”

“Potter,” Draco complained.

“What? Your mum said! Hey, is Mars related to that Saturn bloke I swore my hand to? I know they’re all planets but do they work together or what's their deal?”

“I can teach a course on the Roman pantheon some other time.”

“When?”

“Whenever you bloody well care to!”

“We can grab dinner on our way back from Gringotts tomorrow,” Mister Potter supposed with a shrug. “Talk then.”

“We-! Maybe,” her son said, belligerent.

Narcissa cleared her throat, “Well, if you’re prepared, lets begin, shall we?”

Draco was immediate to step up to the edge of the fountain, bowing deep to Lady Venus before offering a hand to his mother to assist her onto the fountain ledge, keeping his hold secure until she safely stepped down into the water, before turning to offer the same to Hermione, gaze sweeping over her as if trying to spot her curse mark, he very gingerly took her hand as if worried it was there...Narcissa had taken note, in her many classes, of the awful blood-quill scar on the back of Mister Potter’s hand _i must not tell lies_. Her son assisted Hermione into the fountain and then he looked straight up into the sky, blindly offering his hand lastly to Mister Potter who readily accepted it...and used the hold to pull the Slytherin boy up onto the ledge after him before dropping down into the water with a splash ahead of Draco, water splashing at her son’s legs before he was nearly sent reeling backward off the ledge in his shock, because Mister Potter seemed to take it into his head that he’d done something improper, not bowing to Venus as Draco had and he took that moment to right it, leaning forward and bowing deep.

At least the water was pleasant, refreshing, Narcissa thought cool, cooler still with the breeze, it contrasted nicely with the warmth of Miss Granger at her side, following close, looking about as if trying to assess and absorb everything going on around them. She wondered if this was what her first few months at Hogwarts had been like, so much doubt, the fear of her lack of knowledge, the need to catch up to speed with immediacy, so nervous she wasn’t prepared. She relaxed when Narcissa took hold of her hand, and they turned to face their Wizard counterparts. Oh, either Severus truly had done a poor job of teaching Mister Potter to Occlude, or he went about now with his mind open wide, he’d a similar rush in his mind to Hermione’s, eager to take in everything but it wasn’t perfectionist, studious streak in the boy, but...an eagerness to please, for approval, something double sided to the need, something bright and something that ached. A brilliant blazing need for warm acceptance, the desire to impress the mother Draco loved so much, and something aching and sore in him, where he always craved acceptance denied to him, if she pressed it it echoed with angry cries of ‘ _boy’_ and ‘ _freak’_ , and the sharp painful sound of a _slap_ , it came with a sense of hunger that could stretch on for days. She had to close her eyes to rend her gaze from Mister Potter’s, squeeze the Witch’s hand in hers to refocus but Merlin above, they were here to be imbued with peace but she was of a mind for war, with who, she wasn’t certain. Who were the boy’s caretakers? His file mentioned the Muggle Dursleys, the family Lily’s...sister married into. She’d never spoken much of her sister, in their schooling, save for the barest mention that she had one.

“Are you alright Mrs...Professor...Black, ma’am?” Mister Potter’s voice wondered with some concern.

“Mother?” Draco fretted.

Narcissa opened her eyes and smiled her assurance, “I’m merely focusing my darlings, I am about to lead us in ritual prayer. I’m uncertain my present self’s stance on the matter but when _we_ are alone, Mister Potter, you’re free to call me Narcissa.”

“You can just call me Harry,” he offered in kind with a shrug, the desire to be _just_ Harry clear in his mind.

“Of course, Harry,” she returned. And then she returned to the task at hand.

She reached out and took Mister Potter’s hand, and he too Draco’s who in turn took Hermione’s and she instructed that they bow their heads for reverent reflection, to fill their minds with thoughts of peace, form the promise in their hearts to adhere to that ideal in the time to come, and then they were to turn their faces up to the heavens, eyes still closed as they opened themselves to heavenly light. They would take in the light the water around them reflected, the pool absorbing further blessing through them, and then they were to take their wands and wash them clean, casting light as they cleansed to clear away anything left behind by Dark or violent casting. It was heartening, somewhat amusing to see how literally they all took it, they could cast any spell of a light nature, but her Dragon, Hermione, Harry, they all were immediate to cast _Lumos_ for the task, and that suited well enough, she followed likewise. Venus Fountain was full of brilliant white light as they cast, maintaining their spellwork until their wands began to glow with more than the light Lumos could produce at the tip of their wands, clean, translucent light from end to end.

And when they were through, they were instructed to cast their ‘first’ spell with a cleansed wand, one with the purest intent they possibly could. For Narcissa, it was a spell that crafted a finishing piece for their worship, materialized garlands of laurel-laced white roses-

For those she was gathered with? _Expecto Patronum_ was spoken by Hermione, Harry, and then her Dragon, one right after the other, and suddenly the fount was occupied by a large, ghostly Stag, an otter splashing through the water, and a falcon soaring overhead. A _falcon_ , her child had produced...he produced a _Patronus!_

“Dragon,” Narcissa breathed, the word full of pride, and her son turned to meet her gaze, practically preening from her praise. _“A Patronus,” Potter said as he circled her son, footsteps behind him as they gathered in the Room of Requirement, set up in a fashion she supposed the Room presented itself for combat training, “isn’t the urgency or fear that comes from being faced with a Dementor or Dark magic, it’s being able to take yourself out of the situation you’re in and put yourself in a perfect, happy moment inside yourself that whatever you’re facing can’t touch.”_

_“Growing up daddy’s little Death Eater in training doesn’t bear a lot of untouchable happiness,” Draco drawled, so full of doubt in himself, fear and embarrassment that he would fail in front of the other Wizard._

_“Yeah, I doubt your father’s a part of your happiest memory. But your mother? Close your eyes, and think about it. Your Patronus is somewhere in your mother’s smile. The sound of her laugh, her voice when she’s talking to you, about you. When you’ve come from something daunting and you get to hold her close, when she's just right there and you know she’s safe.”_

_His mind if flooded with the memory of he and Mother seated on his bedroom floor, a plate of corn kernels between them, the jumping popping puffs of corn make him smile and laugh but it’s Mother’s smile, her laughter, when he does, she does and it makes him smile and laugh more, the sound cresting higher, more joyous from him as her eyes sparkle with her mirth, and then she speaks words of praise, so warm and enthusiastic as he pretends to cast, and nothing can tear him from the warmth and security he feels in this moment._

_“Expecto Patronum,” and his eyes fly open as the magic unexpectedly rushes through him, and his falcon flies from his wand for the first time, and Potter stands before him smiling wide._

_“Draco!” Hermione’s voice, joyous and ringing with pride, that blossomed in Draco’s magic, “That was amazing!”_

_“Way to go mate!” Weasley commended._

_“He did alright,” Blaise supposed, rolling up his sleeves and drawing his own wand as he approached Draco, “but watch the master at work. Sit down Potter I don’t need coaching. My Patronus is in the wriggle of Weasel’s ass when he mounts his Cleansweep.”_

_“I don’t wriggle-!”_

_“You’re not watching yourself, are you?” Blaise truly enjoyed embarrassing the ginger Wizard, making him as red as his hair._

_Draco’s laughter filled the space, mingled with the laughter of his friends when Zabini produced a Stoat, which he insisted was not a mere ‘weasel’, it was a ‘Regal Mustela’!_

“Excellently done, darlings, very impressive. My own Light casting rather pales in comparison,” she said, holding out her armful of garlands.

“Narcissa!” Hermione spoke her name with joyous surprise, “That’s incredible! Those are so beautiful! You _made_ these!” and the praise made her feel as if yes, her own offer of Light casting was just as worthy as their Patronus. It _was_ an impressive bit of magic, Narcissa supposed, there was a great deal more involved in creating plantlife from magic than merely summoning some, and the younger Witch smiling so brilliantly, exuberant with her pride made the bit of magical exhaustion was well worth it.

“I did,” Narcissa said, looking to her son, “Dragon,” prompting the boy to come to her and she removed a garland from her arm, to loop over his shoulders as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Peace be.”

“Peace be,” he echoed back, and she handed off a garland to him, pointing her gaze to Mister Potter, and her son blushed furiously as he went to impart blessing on the other Wizard while Narcissa turned her attention to Miss Granger.

“Peace be,” she wished her, pressing a kiss to her forehead laying her offering over the younger Witch’s shoulders, aiding in untrapping her hair from beneath it, smiling as Hermione went ahead and took hold of the final garland on Narcissa’s arm.

“Peace be,” she returned, lips soft against Narcissa’s forehead as she adorned her with her garland and gathered her hair in hand to free it, making play with the ends, bunching them in hand as she left her hair spilling over her shoulder. Hmm, she was beautiful under moonlight, was she? Miss Granger certainly thought so.

Their ritual complete, Draco kindly assisted Hermione from the fountain while Mister Potter offered his hand to Narcissa and smiled saying, “Thank you for the flowers, they’re very pretty.” And he’d quite enjoyed the bit of affection that came with Draco gifting them, apparently.

Her son had apparently had quite enough of the other boy’s nudity, he stood in wait, head turned the opposite direction as he held out the Wizard’s abandoned robe for him to reattire himself in. But once he did, Draco cleared his throat, eyes clouded with some nervousness as he faced Mister Potter and then,

“Harry…”

Mister Potter’s brow shot up at that, “...yeah?”

There was a newfound resolve in her son. Now that he’d cleanased himself, made himself purer magically, rid himself of the Darkness from his final year of dedicating himself to it, now that he was moving forward wholly in light...he felt now he was a worthy thing to entertain the affections of the boy who heralded the side of good, like now he would not tarnish what was light in Mister Potter.

“I would be honored if you would join me for dinner tomorrow evening,” Draco formally invited him, “before we return to school.”

Mister Potter’s slanted smile was warm. The boy hadn’t seen anything wrong in Draco to begin with, he’d no idea as to what inspired the seemingly sudden change, but he was hardly about to risk its just as sudden departure, as he was swift to lay claim that, “It’s a date.”

Hermione’s arms wrapped around one of Narcissa’s as she leaned into her side, a quiet, restrained squealing sound in her throat as she squeezed with some excitement, bouncing a bit on her toes.

Narcissa cleared her throat, offering the boys a smile as they turned their attention on her, “Thank you for joining us. We’ll meet at Gringotts tomorrow afternoon at 2pm, once the Present’s Miss Granger is securely away in the Room of Requirement, Hermione will meet you in the courtyard, and depart Hogwarts with you to arrive...in a timely manner, but it wouldn’t be amiss to be a minute or two behind, so we don’t appear to be arriving together.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry nodded, determined to be exactly on time. He...was vaguely recalling some mention of the ‘amish’...people? Something to do with the States and the idea of a hearty work ethic, and for whatever reason it left him with the impression he was to be right on time, prompting a bit of confusion at her talk of not appearing to be arriving together but he wasn’t about to ask for clarification or correct her confused ideas.

She reached out and brushed aside the boy’s fringe before signing a-m-i-s-s, “A little tardiness wouldn’t be amiss,” she reiterated and after a bit of realization sparked in him he smiled and nodded that he understood. “I look forward to seeing you again, do have a most pleasant evening and be safe,” she wished them, opening her arms for one last hug from her son, even as they would see each other again tomorrow there mightn’t be opportunity for another such show of affection given she would be posing as her Present, almost wholly-disavowed of him, self. And when her son pulled away, it was to step to the side and hug Hermione farewell, whispering something that made the Witch laugh and hug him tighter before letting him go, return to Mister Potter’s side. “You feel up to another jaunt of international Apparation?” Narcissa made certain, offering, “I could see you safely to the Apparation boundary.”

“Draco got us here, I can get us back, no problem, we’ll be safe,” Mister Potter vowed, wrapping an arm around Draco’s waist to pull him against his chest, arm aligned with the other Wizard’s spine as his hand was firm between his shoulder blades, Draco blushing as his hand went to the small of Mister Potter’s back.

“Write me as soon as you get back safe to your rooms,” Hermione intoned before they nodded and disappeared from sight. Oh Merlin guard them, she prayed they arrived unsplinched. She looked to Narcissa, “I can get us home I think,” she offered.

Narcissa considered it a moment. Bella was at ritual tonight, not terribly far from where they were now, but there were no ill effects exhibited in Miss Granger, no signs of pain or illness, which was a great relief. She’d done what she could, in teaching the Present Hermione to Occlude, and working on the actual scar with the Future’s, gingerly casting and trying to clear away as much dark energy from the mark as possible. She was relieved to see it might just be enough to secure her when Bellatrix serviced the Dark Lord’s brand of worship. She was well enough to transport them, certainly but...well there was perhaps something immature in Narcissa, where she wished to impress the girl further, with magical feat. She was tired but she wouldn’t push to do as much if there was even a chance it might result in their harm. “Nonsense, darling, allow me,” she said, pulling her close once more. She did hope their disclosure to the Whitakers, their understanding of apparation might result in allowing them the ability to use this method of travel in order to arrive and depart from their shop. If that were the case, she’d certainly be happy to make sure Hermione arrived safely to and from work, herself, even as her services in their kitchen were no longer necessary with the elderly couple’s return to their apartment, Mrs. Whitaker insisted Narcissa was to join her any time she cared to, the couple was absolutely animate about repaying her work when Hermione assured them it was only with Narcissa’s help she’d been able to manage handling the morning baking. It resulted in an interesting bit of confusing negotiations for the muggle couple as Narcissa haggled them down to merely ceasing charging Hermione for the offerings she brought Narcissa during her days in their shop, which left the couple incredulous as they’d already been prepared to offer as much and a tidy sum but she’d hardly wish to stress their budget and too, she knew she’d have access to her own accounts shortly. 

They appeared in their darkened living room, light from the streetlamps filtering in through their curtains. Narcissa’s magic softly protested at the strain, and Hermione was swift to pull the older Witch against her. 

“Narcissa?”

“I’m fine, darling,” she _was_ , she’d merely swayed a bit, she felt secure in her footing, but neither was she about to complain about the girl’s arms around her, hands splayed on her back as she stared into her face.

“Come on, we should call it a night, I’ll draw you a bath,” and aid her all the way to the bedroom, charm her bathwater for soothing relaxation, check their journals to confirm the boys had made it back safely, called the Whitakers to assure them _they’d_ returned safely. Narcissa had only just emerged from the bath and found the girl still in her flowers and robes, seated on their bed fielding questions from Sara who had apparently taken captive the phone and their caller. “...yes, Italy. No! We- it wasn’t-!” she was blushing rather impressively, “We aren’t-! Her son was there and that isn’t- well...not this holiday, I don’t think. It was a ritual to purify our wands, we stood in a fountain and prayed. Yeah, wands.” She let out a giggle that hinted at flirtation, voice husking lower into the phone, “Well buy me dinner first and maybe you’ll get to see it,” her laughter sputtered from her as she informed the Muggle woman, “Yeah, Narcissa’s is bigger but she’s a more expensive dinner date.” Oh was she?

“Honestly darling, Sara’s charming enough, she may freely see my wand anytime,” Narcissa assured, loud enough to be heard as she sat alongside the younger Witch. She heard the _whoop_ from the other end of the phone. “Good evening, Sara.”

She heard the muffled _hi!_ “Sara says hello,” Hermione offered. “Yeah? No, we’re off tomorrow but um, we’ve still business elsewhere to attend. Mhm, super secret spy stuff. Yeah we’ll be safe. You too.” She heaved a tired sigh once she ‘hung up’ the mobile, and looked to Narcisa. “Feeling better?” Narcissa nodded, inspiring a smile, “Good.”

She wasn’t through fussing until she’d gotten the woman a cup of tea, brushed her hair for her, and made question to ensure there was truly nothing more she could do before going off to bathe herself. Narcissa herself was mostly asleep by the time the younger Witch returned from her shower, she only just sensed the dip in the bed that heralded warmth joining her, felt feather-light lips on her temple before the blankets shifted to be pulled over Hermione as well...a hand grazing her shoulder as the girl made certain Narcissa was still covered well and warmly before finally settling to sleep.

* * *

Narcissa was grateful for the girl’s generosity, especially when it meant she’d the lingering scent of lilacs, soothing tingle seeping through the skin of her pulse points and into her magic from Hermione’s offer of Calming Cream. The younger Witch had been applying some herself, little dabs to her temples, the insides of her wrists, and offered it to Narcissa, though she’d been much more generous with the older Witch’s application, Hermione massaging the potion laced lotion into Narcissa’s temples, her neck just below her jaw, thumbs rubbing it into the inside of her elbows and wrists, the bit left over on her hands she massaged into the backs of Narcissa’s hands, _“It helps me, sometimes, to be able to just casually be able to breathe the scent directly, brushing my hair back or scratching at my nose,”_ she offered like a helpful tip.

It was, Narcissa felt an extra boost of centering calm as she raised the back of her hand to her nose as she passed a Wizard she recognized as a known Half-blood...a man who had been Snatched...would be Snatched still, possibly, as if she was shielding herself from his stench, and rolling her eyes as if positively annoyed that they let just _anyone_ into Gringotts.

The Goblin she approached paid her a passible amount of attention, dragging his gaze from his great book and setting his quill in an inkwell. “Lady Malfoy.”

“I wish to see my vault.”

“Certainly, Lady Malfoy. Is there one in particular?”

“I’ve need to check my sister’s affairs. My vault by proxy, for Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Harry Potter,” another Goblin, down the row of high desks greeted the young man, Hermione and Draco at his sides...Severus lurking in the wings. She’d a rare message from his journal, written that morning to complain of _whatever they were plotting_ , that he had the task of acting as adult supervision of the group of minors leaving school grounds foisted upon him by the Headmaster. 

“I’m um…” he swallowed and Narcissa had to work to keep her expression one of neutrality hinting at disdain, her gaze trained on the Goblin she was interacting with, as she heard his genuine grief to request, “I’m here to settle my Godfather’s affairs. I...I need to see Sirius Black’s vault.”

The Goblin before Narcissa had taken a moment to collect what he needed before coming down to lead her to a mine cart. “Right this way, Lady Malfoy.”

She was being seated in her own cart as her allies approached the tracks to enter theirs, Draco taking secure hold of Hermione’s hand and keeping that hold even after they were seated in the cart it seemed. Severus let out a derisive, mocking scoff when Hermione let out a nervous squeak as the cart was closed. Oh Narcissa hated this as her own cart moved to take her to Bella’s vault, she wished it was unnecessary or...or that she could be of comfort to the girl. _Between being so high and the cramped spaces? The things scream ‘death trap’ to me,_ she’d said of Airplanes, this fit that description rather well, unfortunately, and it was rather the long, winding way through the cavernous expanse where Gringotts held its vaults, to get to where the Black family maintained theirs. It was deep, past several layers of security measures, including a waterfall that would have rendered any attempts at Glamor spells or Polyjuice futile. In this instance, all it did was irksomely drench them as they passed through it, before they were instantly made dry as there were no such tricks at hand.

“Lady Malfoy,” the Goblin said, escorting her from her cart to the vault door. Mister Potter’s cart stopped several yards back as her vault was unlocked, thankfully her Present self had been able to pass along the key to her through the sending sack without issue as Lucius had no problem with... _Narcissa_ having her key.

“Excellent,” was all the thanks she gave as she stepped into her vault, and waved the doors closed behind her. She did hope that if none of the younger people had the sense to maintain the privacy they were allowed in their own vaults, Severus at least would have the mind to keep their escort out of their business.

Ugh, Bella’s vault was dark and dank, but casting _Lumos_ to separate from her wand and stand on its own, creating several spheres of light as she walked the treasure-lined path put that to rights. If she kept to her left, eventually she would come to a passage where Bella’s vault could pass into Andromeda’s old vault, and beyond hers was Regulus’s she believed, and then Sirius’s. She paused at the entrance to Andromeda’s vault, she’d not been back since...well, in the wake of Andromeda’s disinheritance. Narcissa had woken in the night to Mother’s outrage, screaming and cursing Andromeda’s name. She’d been throwing a rampage in Andromeda’s quarters but Father got her distracted with the notion of tracking down that worthless Mudblood that was obviously corrupting and confusing their child, and she’d stopped burning her second eldest’s worldly possessions to a cinder...Narcissa had moved from her hiding place too soon, focused on getting into her sister’s quarters. Mother had caught sight of her and cast on her, sent her flying into a wall and crashing onto the floor with threats that if _she’d known_ , if she’d _helped_ her sister, or if she _ever_ considered disgracing their family in this way, leaving Lucius for a filthy _Mudblood_ , _this_ was just the beginning of the wrath that would be unleashed upon her. She’d been bleeding and bruised, perhaps mildly concussed as she dragged herself into Andromeda’s rooms and searched for anything her sister might hold dear that she’d had to abandon. It had been in this condition she’d stolen away to Gringotts, quite the sight, bleeding, bedraggled, and dressed for bed, she hadn’t even had on proper shoes, bare feet padding the path to the nearest Goblin and insisted she had her sister’s permission to deposit her things, of course she did, she had her sister’s key afterall! Andromeda had left it in her nightstand, thankfully. She’d been utterly panic-gripped and terrified, absolutely certain that when she made it home she would die at her Mother’s hand, but she secured Andromeda’s things from destruction, and snuck back into her home.

She’d spent the rest of the evening huddled in her chambers, hiding under her bed, a pillow secured over her head, her ears, as she cried and tried to block out Bella’s screams as she took punishment for herself, and Narcissa’s behalf. Mother caught her upon her return but Bella intervened with mockery that of _course_ Andromeda ran off, who _wouldn’t_ take such drastic measures to be rid of Druella’s hold. Mother punished her for her grievance, Narcissa’s, for letting her little sister slip out into the night, why hadn’t she been watching her? It...perhaps spoke to how swiftly Bella had been when Voldemort seized the Manor, to tattle on her when she’d stepped out of bounds.

This was foolishness, she shouldn’t dwell so on the past, she needed to pass through several vaults to meet her allies in Sirius Black's, it required familial ties, to access one another’s vaults in this way, Draco might still be her son in a legal manner but his rights to all property had been revoked and-

Narcissa startled when light appeared in the cracks of the doorway before her, between Bella and Andromeda’s vaults, and then they were pulled open to reveal Hermione flanked by _Lumos_ wielding Wizards in Harry and Draco, Severus lurking just behind.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the younger Witch greeted, delighted amusement. Oh, her darling.

The Defense Professor looked her up and down before rolling his eyes and drawling, “As you are a Professor at our fine institution, I’ll leave our _precious students_ in your _care_ ,” before turning on his heel to leave them to their work, “Do at least write when you’ve concluded your business.”

She did not appreciate the snide, underhanded comment about...the propriety of her potential conduct with Miss Granger. But it was likely wise that he not bear witness to their work, he could not be questioned on what he did not know, if Voldemort managed to break through his Occluding there would be nothing pertinent to find in this regard. 

“Come along then, let’s begin our search, shall we? Stay close to me and do not touch anything,” Narcissa intoned. “Bella is very protective of her possessions, we could very well trigger something deadly if we are not careful, so stay together, and keep to the center of the walking paths. If you believe you’ve spotted something pertinent, point it out to me first and foremost.”

Hermione nodded as Draco affirmed, “Of course, mother.”

“Yes, Narcissa,” Mister Potter said. Oh...the poor boy looked tired, worn from grief. Draco had written her of the topic of comforting friends who endured nightmares, mentioning ‘Potter’ suffered as much, but apparently...did not partake of Dreamless Sleep. Severus’s formulation made him ‘woozy’ and he found some joy in getting to see his deceased Godfather. Her son was holding the young Wizard’s hand, like he’d been offering comfort as they passed through his vault. _“I...I didn’t know him very well, but...mother might know more?” Draco said as Harry lingered, staring at an old flying broom that he supposed must have belonged to Sirius._ She saw in the Gryffindor’s mind. Narcissa looked to her son, pressing gently against his mind, and he released hold of Harry’s hand as Narcissa said,

“Harry, darling, won’t you walk with me please? You are the key to finding what we seek, the object of interest will speak in Parseltongue.”

The Wizard brightened at that, feeling some relief that it seemed like Narcissa liked him well enough. He stepped forward and she linked arms with him, walking closely as she led him, Hermione and Draco behind them, deeper into Bella’s vault.

“If you’ve ever questions for me darling, you need only ask. I knew your mother well, from our many years at school together, we were something of...friendly rivals,” if she’d not been betrothed to Lucius when she entered her schooling? ...she briefly wondered if Draco might not exist and Mister Potter would stand here looking every bit like Narcissa with Lily Evans eyes, or if a Lily-eyed _Draco_ would be the ‘Chosen One’. “And I grew up with your Godfather my darling, did you know? We were favored cousins of one another. I...if his affiliations with the light hadn’t been so well known to us, if my Husband had not absolutely forbade it, Draco would bear his name in one of his middle names. He expressed the sentiment, the wish to name a daughter after me should anyone trick him into such a situation, marriage to a Witch he had to sire an heir with or...he never thought himself one for marriage, but his ideal was a Wizard. He’d little true interest in children of his own.”

“Oh...Sirius…?”

“Yes, he’d openly a preference for Wizards,” he shagged his way through half the boys in his Year, and he Remus Lupin had been something of an item before his incarceration, but she wasn’t certain how open the Werewolf was with his bisexuality.

“He didn’t want kids of his own?” he wondered, worry in his mind that perhaps he’d been foisted on the man when his parents named him Godfather.

“Oh not of his _own_ , no,” _Oh Ciss, I’m rotten clear through, Black magic will follow me all my life, and I’m so fucked in the head, how the hell am I supposed to pass that off to a kid with any clean conscience? No no, Harry’s it for me, just wanna be the best damn Uncle I can be,_ he’d said. “My darling when _you_ were born? Oh he _adored_ you, the very moment he learned Lily was with child. He made occasion to run into me, just after your birth. He orchestrated some Order effort, to find the child of prophecy, _you_ were an obvious candidate but there were others,” Neville Longbottom had been the nearest second, but, “he convinced the Order Draco might be who they were looking for, his birthday was so very close, and he’s always…believed in me, that I am a good person, perhaps I’d been working against the Dark Lord, thrice defied him, and caught wind of the Prophecy, was being misleading about when my son was born. He broke into our home while Lucius was away in service to the Dark Lord. He of course used the opportunity to wish me blessing and congratulations on Draco’s birth, wished to see and hold him while he and Remus Lupin 'infiltrated’ our home…” she took a moment to consider before disclosing, “I am a natural born Legimist. And Sirius always kept his mind open to me. If you ever wished it darling, I would transfer my memories to a pensieve and allow you to view them. He wept with his joy and pride when Lily and James informed him you existed, he was fiercely protective of the woman but even more so while she was pregnant, he was always wanting update, wanting to know you were well, how big you were, how much you’d developed. He went to every Healer’s session she had, insisted on a great deal of them, secured them because your parents had to remain off the...the Muggles call it ‘radar’? In order to maintain their lives after their work against the Dark Lord, they were hunted for their efforts early in their marriage. They once demolished a Death Eater hold in Cambridge, liberated captive Muggle-borns, Muggles, and Squibs who were meant to be sacrifice for Samhain. They thwarted efforts to bomb the Ministry of Magic over Christmas,” ...and apparently celebrated very well because, “It was when your mother with the aid of your father posing as a Death Eater initiate infiltrated…there were Muggle women captured for Dark Lupercalian rites,” she carefully worded it, the boy had no context for the holiday, and he didn’t need to hear how the Dark Lord, in the height of his reign during the first war, called for ritual rape and murder of Muggles. “Your mother landed herself ‘captive’ with the women and broke them out, she and James working together made escape for them, saved and returned every last one of them to their homes. It was when her injuries were tended afterword, that they discovered she was nearly two months along with your most precious life. Sirius fought tooth and nail securing regular, secret and safe appointments with a proper healer. Did you know my sister Andromeda acted as her midwife?”

“R-really?” he asked, bewildered. He hadn’t realized the woman had been involved at all in his birth.

“Yes,” oh, she’d been achingly jealous, resentful that _she_ hadn’t been able to have Andromeda at her side as she carried Draco, but she was grateful her sister had done such great work securing Mister Potter’s life to this world. “Sirius was there when you were born...Andromeda called your father to her side just before you were fully released from your mother, and allowed him to handle the very last bit of aiding your mother bringing you into the world, taking you in his hands, so that he could feel you take your first breath of life. Your mother was so impatient to hold you, your father was drug across the room as if you were being pulled by her magic, and you were cast cleansed in her arms as James held you both. Your parents, Harry, they loved you so very much. You’ve still their love. Speaking as a mother, darling...I will love Draco all of my life and even unto my death, my love will be with him always. Your mother’s love shielding you from Voldemort even now is proof that is more than mere sentiment, it is a certainty. Death is a thief of life, not love— _that_ remains untouchable.”

Oh, perhaps she’d gotten a touch deep for their given circumstance, they’d a task at hand, she’d just...well she meant to comfort the boy after his upset, being faced with a task that came with his Godfather’s passing. She hadn’t meant to bring the dear boy to tears but that was to be expected. Now the task at hand was stopping to pull the boy in for a hug. He stiffened at first, like the act was foriegn to him, he was swift to offer comfort to those he loved she’d seen as much but...he was not used to being the recipient of positive physical contact, was he? She held him close, rubbing circles on his back while she rested a hand on the crown of his head and after a second he relaxed, tentatively wrapping his arms around her waist in return, sniffling softly in her ear. “U-um...I- n- no one’s ever told me so much about my parents before.”

Truly? She supposed there weren’t many who had come up with his parents directly still alive and well. Remus Lupin would have a great deal of knowledge of them but...well, their loss was more than painful for him, and he wasn’t often afforded the opportunity to be at Harry’s side, speaking on happier times lost to him through such tragedy...it had taken a great deal of strength, love of the son his friends left behind, for the man to have survived so much agony, his friends murdered in their own home, son orphaned, from the betrayal of the man he loved, believing he’d turned on them all and brutally murdered their dear friend Peter, a friend...he’d always been the weakest link in their group of friends, but that had only made James and Sirius and Remus fiercely protective of Peter Pettigrew, that Sirius had decimated him beyond there being even a body to bury? That he kept moving forward and worked to fight for the side of light, protect Harry, that was more than many could be expected to do, it was understandable he might be incapable of bringing himself to speak his grief, he endured so much. 

Narcissa pulled back, carding a hand through the boy’s hair as she rested a hand on his cheek, thumb slipping just under the rim of his glasses to swipe away a trail of tears. “Darling I would gladly speak of all I know, of your loved ones. Hermione and Draco share a method of communication for casual correspondence, perhaps you and I could share the same as well? I could write anything that comes to mind or you could send questions whenever you have them and I’ll give you what answers I have. If ever you’ve need of me, you’re to write.”

“I- I’d really...I’d really love that, thanks.”

“Of course. Do you need a moment my dear boy?”

He sniffled, raising a hand to hold his glasses up off his nose so he could wipe at his eyes with the back of his other hand and then he shook himself, offering a smile as he righted his spectacles. “I’m okay, thanks. Let’s look for um...it’ll speak parseltongue? Is that all you know about it, what we’re looking for?”

“I’ve...the impression it might be a cup, but my sister’s mind is a disorenting thing to know. You’ll know the object when we find it.”

He nodded, absolutely determined, his resolve to do the absolute _best_ job he could to succeed for her redoubling in his mind and he linked arms with her once more, free hand resting on her forearm, thumb occasionally rubbing affection. Who had shown this delightful child so much cruelty he could scarcely comprehend being hugged? How? Loving Harry Potter swept over Narcissa as easily as breathing.

She ceased breathing altogether when they rounded rather the mountainous pile of Galleons and jewels and the random bit of antique furniture, to discover...just why Bellatrix had believed the Golden Trio had infiltrated her vault to begin with, feared they’d absconded of a piece of her Dark Lord’s soul.

“Wait, is...is that…?” Mister Potter recognized it immediately.

The Sword of Gryffindor stood at a slant, piercing a pile of Bellatrix’s treasures.

“Hermione?” Narcissa’s hair raised, panic spiking in her magic at her son’s hushed panic, the waiver in his voice as he addressed the Witch he’d been walking alongside. She released hold of Mister Potter to turn and take in the sight of her son, stricken with concern as his hands ghosted over his friend’s side as if he wasn’t sure what to do but he needed to do _something_ he was certain. Hermione was pale, brown eyes blown wide and feverish, swallowing like she was endeavoring not to sick up, clutching at her left forearm as she trembled.

“Draco dearest give her space,” Narcissa’s words had the boy stepping back, Harry stilling at her side as he’d been just about to move forward to comfort his friend but he followed Draco’s lead and kept his distance as Narcissa moved to close the distance between herself and the younger Witch, “Darling, oh my lo-” the word was strangled to silence, airways constricting like a fist closing over her throat, “my darling please look at me-” she pled, hands on Hermione’s shoulders.

“It- sh- she has- we- we _didn’t_ Narcissa, I swear we didn’t- we found the sword or it...it just sort of came to us-” she hyperventilated.

There was one thing Narcissa was absolutely certain of, having laid eyes on the Sword found with the Golden Trio in the future, and seeing the one Bella believed to be the genuine article stored away safely in her bank vault. But, “I know darling. It is fake,” she assured.

Hermione sucked in a painful sounding breath of air. “...fake? The-” her gaze darted from Narcissa’s face to over her shoulder, looking to the false sword of Gryffindor. “She-” the girl seemed to need to catch her breath, like she’d just run a great distance and...well then a concerning bit of laughter wracked her, mind utterly erratic as she screamed with the sound, stepping from Narcissa’s hold and pacing a bit, hands at her temples as she processed. “I was _tortured_ because she thought we stole the sword and all along hers is _fake?!”_

There was a feeling like building, dark, wild magic rising to lash out, and Draco disappeared from view, she heard the shuffle of feet scuffing the floor as someone knocked into another, nearly knocking them off balance, and a quick glance over her shoulder to see where her child had gone revealed a horror-struck Harry Potter in the arms of Draco Malfoy holding him close and shushing into his ear, “ _We can stop it, we’re going to try,”_ he was whispering, into Harry’s ear, so quietly Narcissa couldn’t hear it, she could only perceive it in his reeling mind that found focus, magic calming at Draco’s touch, soothing spreading over his fear and anguish as the Slytherin boy rasped reassurances in his ear.

Narcissa approached Hermione as the younger Witch stilled, arms crossed over her stomach as she seemed to be trying to reign herself in. She flinched under Narcissa’s hands when the woman approached from behind, resting her hands on her shoulders but Hermione relaxed in the next instance, sniffling as she raised her left hand to cover Narcissa’s. “I’m sor-”

“Shh, darling, it is alright. If this is too much-”

“I’m okay I think I-” she swallowed, “I don’t feel great, but you might need my help, if something happened and I wasn’t here because- I’d never forgive myself. Oh God,” she turned, out of Narcissa’s hold to step forward and address the boys, “I didn’t mean to-” she cleared her throat. “I’m...sorry that was kind of nutters, wasn’t it? I’m fine, I- I wasn’t expecting...there are things that happen that aren’t great and I really didn’t mean to bring it up and- just...don’t worry about it, okay? I’m alright.”

“‘ _mione,”_ Harry rasped incredulously.

“I need you to trust me. Don’t try to get too involved, I don’t want anyone getting hurt trying to- and we don’t know what might happen if- just...everythings going to be alright, Harry, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Draco affirmed, “it is,” he said, eyes stony with determination. He knew now it was his dear Auntie Bella to look out for in future. He wasn’t brazen or foolish enough to try and thwart the woman head on beforehand but he would keep careful guard of his friend should they cross paths with his demented Aunt.

“Isn’t- isn’t that why you two…?” Harry wondered.

“Harry, we’re _here_ because we need serious help ending the war, I didn’t risk the rupture of time and space because- well I mean it _was_ a bit of a catalyst, it put Narcissa and myself in a position to be allies-”

Oh, it was a type of heartbreak to see Mister Potter’s utter adoration for Narcissa build and flourish further still, green eyes glittering as he looked on the older Witch with so much appreciation and awe, “You saved Hermione?” he smiled.

It killed her all the more to inform him hallowly, “No. No I did not.”

 _“Yes._ Yes you did,” Hermione insisted. “We only escaped because of you. If you hadn’t tried to help me after, if you hadn’t been honest, or said what you said, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Harry was mildly confused at their conflicting statements but he settled on believing the best in Narcissa, the word of his best friend who was unfailingly, almost frustratingly forgiving. Draco looked a bit sick at the implications, that Hermione had been tortured and Narcissa made to watch but...it wasn’t disgust at his mother, he merely felt wretched that she’d had to bear witness to such a thing. How awful it must be for her, because she loved the younger woman so. Oh, that soothed the way it had to reveal her love of Hermione to Jessie, eased an ache that somewhere her love was acknowledged and known, it was real and tangible even as she couldn’t express it the way she longed to.

“Is the fake sword what we’re looking for?” Harry wondered, looking back over his shoulder at the artifact. “I...I hear something? But it’s not coming from that, I don’t think, it sounds further away.”

“You hear something, darling?” Narcissa asked.

He nodded. “Whispering, kind of creepy,” he shuddered, “you don’t hear anything?”

“No,” Draco said, taking hold of Harry’s hand. “It’s alright, we’re right here with you. Lead the way,” though he looked to Hermione. “You’re...you’re alright to continue?”

“Yeah, I am,” she said, leaning into Narcissa’s side as the woman wrapped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing at her bicep to soothe and comfort. The Wizards stood in wait a moment as the Witches caught up to them, Draco’s free hand had been buried in a pocket from which he withdrew a small, slender foil wrapped bite of chocolate he offered to Hermione. A habit he picked up on from one Teddy Tonks, he apparently was always primed to offer a sweet and a word of comfort whenever someone in his proximity had an upset, and Draco, so enamored with his Uncle, so eager to learn the Wizard’s example of compassionate care, sought to do the same. “Thanks,” the Witch blushed, accepting the piece of chocolate no longer than her thumb, unwrapping it to break it in half and holding a piece in offering first to Draco who shook his head, Harry following likewise and then she looked up at Narcissa, smiling softly as she offered half of her sweet. If they were not presently in the company of Mister Potter and her son, she might have dipped her head to take the chocolate into her mouth directly from the younger Witch’s hand, but she settled for pinching the bite between fingers to accept it, popping it into her mouth as Hermione enjoyed her own half, offering Draco a soft, sweet kiss to the cheek before motioning that they would follow Harry’s lead.

It was only a bit further into the vault where up, high overhead, Harry pointed to a gleaming golden goblet and announced, “There! I think that’s it uh…” he looked around like he were considering how best to proceed reaching the thing.

“Don’t move darling, don’t even take a step further,” Narcissa cautioned. “My sister has rather thoroughly cursed her possessions,” she sighed, considering and then, “Darling...you wouldn’t happen to have-” oh honestly, brilliant little Witch, she couldn’t kiss her but if she _could?_ Hermione was already handing off a small, flat, silvery circle to rest in Narcissa’s waiting palm. A Tag. “Jinsey!”

The Elf appeared before them, she’d just been with their Present selves in Hogwarts, well out of sight of Lucius and she was in proper form today, a silky floor length deep purple gown, capped sleeves and high neck glittering with gold and what might be several hundred small diamonds, it matched Narcissa’s Present self’s attire almost perfectly save for the small, diamond shaped cut out on her Mistress’s dress meant to reveal a perfectly sensible amount of cleavage. And her sweet Elf counterpart was accessorizing a touch differently, a large gold colored bow atop her head and...well, what might be considered ridiculous, but utterly adorable white feathery boa around her shoulders. 

“Mistress!” the Elf greeted with enthusiasm, bouncing in her excitement. “Oh Jinsey is being so happy to see Mistress! And Mistress’s Hermione! Jinsey is so happy to see her again after she came to get Mistress to eat again!”

“My mother still refused to eat after securing her job?” Draco questioned, brow furrowed in frustration mixed confusion.

Jinsey startled, jumping to turn about in the air as she did, to face, “Young Master! Oh! Mistress was still being striking with her hunger, even after Master let her leave the house for school! She had other things she was being needing, but Mistress’s Hermione from the future came and helped Mistress plan and plot to get exactly what she wants without needing to be hungry!” Draco relaxed at that even as he looked a bit perplexed being faced with further reason to feel indebted to the Witch his mother loved.

“Damn it Granger,” he complained, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s your mother’s business, Draco, and it was handled. If she wasn’t going to start eating again I promise I would have told you,” Hermione assured.

“I’m not complaining ab- I-” he let out a frustrated sound. “I just love you, okay. Fu-” his near swearing turned into a spot of humming to restrain himself pressing a fist to his mouth.

“Well that’s just embarrassing,” Hermione giggled. “I love you too,” she assured. “Jinsey, do you think you could help us please?”

Jinsey whirled about to face the Witches again, “Yes yes yes! Jinsey can be being helping Mistress’s Hermione! Yes she can! Just be saying and Jinsey will be doing!”

Hermione took the Tag from Narcissa’s hand and crouched, sitting on her knees to be level with the Elf. “This is a Tag, it's used to allow us to summon things that usually don’t allow magic on them or to summon things discreetly. There’s something we don’t know the exact phrasing for summoning it, and it might be resistant to accio itself, magical movement of any kind. Do you see that cup?” she pointed overhead and the Elf dutifully followed her gesture.

“Yes! Jinsey is seeing it! Jinsey sees the cup!”

Hermione giggled at her exuberance, “I need you to be very, very careful Jinsey, don’t touch the cup or any of the objects surrounding it. I’m going to hand you this tag and activate the sticking charm the tag is imbued with, and then I need you to apparate up there and just drop this into the cup. Can you do that for me please?”

“Jinsey can do it! Jinsey would be doing anything for Mistress’s Hermione!”

“Jinsey, you don’t need to call me Mistress,” Hermione blushed.

“Jinsey is not!” the Elf informed her brightly with a shrug.

“But you...oh Mistress’ _s?”_ she realized the Elf was addressing her in a possessive sense. The Hermione belonging to Jinsey’s Mistress. The girl blushed even to her ears as she cleared her throat. “Um. A-anyway, here.”

The Witch placed the Tag in Jinsey’s outstretched hand, drawing her wand to cast over it before nodding that the Elf could go ahead. Jinsey blinked from view and reappeared high in the air over the cup, dropping the tag to land inside with a _clink_ as Jinsey disappeared mid-air, not even landing on the table the cup was on, she avoided contact with any and all things as she reappeared before the Witch’s once more. “Jinsey has done it! Is Mistress’s Hermione pleased?”

“I am, thank you so much, Jinsey, you were brilliant! You look beautiful today by the way, I love your dress.” Hmm, yes, she’d been rather floored by its appearance on Narcissa. It was a touch more ‘dressed up’ than the younger Witch had expected of her Professor’s lazy Sunday afternoon in hiding. Though the girl had made some effort to dress up, herself, arriving in a long sleeved, knee-length sweater dress in what Narcissa suspected was a magically influenced Slytherin green, curls gathered high at the back of her head in a ponytail. Though for all she might have been seeking to impress the older Witch, when the Present’s Narcissa paid compliment, bearing in mind how very snuggly the blessed dress hugged every sumptuous curve the young lady had to offer, Hermione Granger had smiled wide, eyes sparkling with her excitement, blushing from her praise as her hands disappeared into the inside of her dress at her hips and she replied, _“Thanks! It has_ pockets!”

“Mistress’s Hermione is always so much kindness! Jinsey is being honored to help her!”

“Thank you Jinsey,” Narcissa said, and as the memory formed in her mind, “our present selves are rather worried, do feel free to return to their call, we appreciate all you’ve done here.”

“Jinsey will return to Mistress!” the Elf informed, disappearing though she reappeared with her arms around Narcissa’s neck, hugging the Witch, Narcissa’s arms rising to catch her weight against her chest. “Jinsey is being loving Mistress! With all of her heart! Mistress is always to call on her if she is needing her!”

“Thank you darling, I love you likewise,” Narcissa assured, “do be well.”

It wasn’t until Jinsey fully disappeared and she looked to Hermione’s somewhat confused expression, mind working through the implications. Narcissa was free to say she loved her dear friend Jinsey...she couldn’t say it to Hermione though. What was different?

The difference? Was that Narcissa loved her the way she should her husband.

Her answer?...could have been worse, for a split second the younger Witch entertained the thought that perhaps Narcissa was disingenuous in her efforts to convey sentiment she loved her, that it was to placate her for her love of Narcissa. That Narcissa didn’t love her at all. But she brushed that off immediately for the...much more reasonable thought that it was because Jinsey was her House Elf, not a human, her vows weren’t something that crossed species she supposed.

 _Soon._ Samhain, Halloween, _eleven days_ _more_ and she would be _free._ If the world at large would just leave her to have the Brilliant Witch to herself, and they all stay alive and well just eleven more days, a meager week and a half that had the audacity to hold itself like an eternity stretched out before her to Narcissa’s mind. It would be here, it would happen, it _had to._

For now...the Tag had to work. Narcissa raised her wand and cast upon the cup, _wingardium leviosa_...to the very distressing realization her magic had not quite recovered from her casting last night. She’d maintained her regular casting to make herself presentable, return the dress she’d been wearing the day they arrived from the future to its former state...to find it fit a bit more snuggly, her corset had been rather mandatory, and even then the hem hit a bit higher, her hips occupying more of her skirt’s fabric than they used to. She’d noted it with a bit of disdain, staring into the full length mirror encased on the back of their bathroom door when the mirror disappeared from view as the door opened and her image was replaced by Hermione standing in the doorway, _“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here. What’s the matter?”_ she’d questioned, when she saw Narcissa’s disdain with her apparel, _“You look beautiful.”_ and she was, absolutely, in Hermione’s mind. So...she must be. That wasn’t the matter now though. She’d cast as usual, apparated Hermione to the boundary at Hogwarts and seen her off to meet Harry and Draco in the courtyard, and then to Diagon. Her lumos was still maintained around the vault, the orbs, but that was rather the limit of her ability today apparently as her, _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_ cast upon the tag was met with a rather pathetic wobbling rise of the cup as it did respond to her spellwork, but clattered uselessly back in its place, dropping from her magical hold.

She was prepared to be more than embarrassed, ashamed she’d failed so fantastically in front of those gathered with her but Hermione offered up a giggle and raised her own wand, “Narcissa, it’s _LeviOsa_ , not _Levio-_ sa,” she corrected as if it was a mere matter of mispronunciation and not utter magical weakness that might concern her child, in fact Draco had been looking to her with concern that melted into amusement as Harry laughed, a memory in the forefront of his mind of Hermione correcting he and Ronald Weasley in such a way. “Allow me,” she said, right hand against the small of Narcissa’s back as if to comfort and assure the woman as her left raised to cast, _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_

She gently guided the cup to float all the way to rest on the ground at their feet, Harry shuddering at its nearness, it was disconcerting to hear its rasping whispered Pastletongue in his mind and too...the thing was positively _drenched_ in evil, for all it was,

“Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup!” Hermione was excited to inform them once she could properly see the damned thing. “Neat! Um...you said everything in here is cursed?” ahh, she knew Narcissa had reason to be cautious with its handling, but not the specifics of _why._

“Yes darling, everything in this vault has been cursed with Geminio and Flagrante*,” at Harry’s outright lack of understanding of those spells, “if any other than my sister lays hands on her possessions, they will burn the trespasser and begin to duplicate at an alarming rate, such that her treasure trove would grow and build until the offender was crushed underneath it all.” Merlin, she pitied anyone who came to rob Bellatrix’s vault with some half-baked scheme in mind believing it to be as simple as waltzing into a Gringotts vault of all places and walking out with a possession of Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. 

“So...we’re just wingardiuming it all the way back to...where’s it supposed to go?” Harry wondered.

Perhaps that would be the plan now, piss-poor as that was. Oh! Not that the boy had come up with a poor plan, Narcissa was merely infuriated with herself. She couldn’t believe what a fool she’d been, how utterly childish to show off and risk exactly what was happening now, she was here without the strength they needed, how _useless_ was she? A _worthless waste of a Witch_ , her mother was absolutely correct-

“Harry, Draco,” Hermione’s voice pulled at her focus, the hand on the small of her back pressing more firmly, rubbing a bit, “would you please go wait with Professor Snape? If this goes sideways it would be better if there're three capable Wizards receiving my Silver Message than just one who...might not be quite so motivated to rescue us if he’s on his own and there’s four of us who’ve gotten ourselves into trouble. Go get him and head back our way but stay out of the vault unless we summon you, okay?”

“You’re sure?” Harry checked, and when she nodded. “Alright, anything happens, we’ll have your backs. Stay safe.”

“Be careful,” Draco intoned as he and Harry walked separate paths around the cup and Hermione and Narcissa, footsteps receding behind them.

“Narcissa, I need you to look at me and focus, okay?” Hermione intoned, her hands on Narcissa’s biceps pulling her to face the younger Witch, look down into her face,her expression fierce and her stance protective, “Horcruxes are dangerous, dark remember? I warned you, they take everything dark inside of you and amplify it. It took Ron’s insecurities and made them a thousand times worse until he was convinced of the nastiest things to the point he abandoned us...and the Horcrux too, thankfully. Being away from it helped. Harry and I had to switch off guarding it it- it really messed with our heads, bad and right now it’s messing with _you.”_

“What on earth makes you think I am being negatively influenced?” oh. It amplifies evil, doesn’t it? And Narcissa was vile, just as Sirius feared of himself, rotten clear through, wasn’t she?

Hermione took hold of Narcissa’s chin, and forced her to meet her gaze, “I might not be a legimist but I know you, Narcissa, you’re upset and doubting yourself, you’ve that look on your face like you’d like to hex yourself or something awful and I hate that, you know? You shouldn’t ever feel that way about yourself!” she insisted, and her mind was not merely open for Narcissa, it was pressing against her own, weakly, it wasn’t her expertise, she was excellent at occlusion but a legimist she was not-

But she wasn’t trying to see into Narcissa’s mind, she was merely pressing her own ideas to its forefront, an offering left at the foot of her faux-wall. That she was _beautiful and brilliant and brave, so very strong, so very incredible. That she could do anything, that she deserved everything she wanted. That she wasn’t evil incarnate, she was abused, others evil had put darkness in her mind that the Horcrux would relish in and now she needed correcting. She was amazing and lovely and deserving of love, was loved, Hermione loved her-_

She loved her with all of her precious heart.

Eleven days was eternity.

“Darling...I love that you just did that,” she cleared her throat as her mind felt more her own, what darkness had influenced was held at bay, “Thank you for your swift thinking, getting Harry and Draco away.” Making rescue of her mind, _protecting_ her _child_.

Hermione smiled warmly, hand raising to rest against Narcissa’s cheek, “Hey...there’s my Cissa, good, you scared me there for a minute.”

“Your _Cissa?_ ” Narcissa questioned.

“What? Jinsey calls me ‘Mistress’s Hermione’. If I’m yours, then you’re mine.”

...she’d meant the shortening of her name but she supposed that was rather the natural way people shortened her name, those she loved. Sirius’s ‘Ciss’ and Andromeda’s, Bella’s ‘Cissy’ which rang of ‘sissy’. Lily Evans has called her ‘Cissy’ in mockery…’Cissa’, in rare moments of affection, when she returned to school after Andromeda’s running away and the Muggle Born expressed her condolences that she’d lost her sister, when she’d fallen victim to an unfortunate bit of bullying, woken in the night because the girls in her dormitory had taken it into their foolish heads to rouse her by dousing her and her bed as a whole in a viscous oh-so-creative mixture of mud and pigs blood, waking to the unpleasant mess coating her head to toe and their screams and laughs that the Black line was muddy now, her blood meant for nothing but filth with Andromeda soiling it, probably off rutting with her Mudblood welch as they spoke. She’d fled, more so because her magic had lashed out and thrown the girls into the walls. She’d gone in search of Lucius on rounds, he was a Prefect...as was she but their fellow Slytherin Prefects feared her fiance such that there had been little argument against covering her rounds when Lucius took sight of her at dinner and saw her struggling to keep up appearances, being not quite so quick as she usually was with sharp comebacks to baiting. He’d escorted her to the entrance of the girls dorm, caressed her cheek, his hand on her had always spoken to the thought he was handling something most precious, in those days. He’d kissed her on the forehead and intoned she was to get some proper rest, promised that everything would be alright. 

It hadn’t been Lucius she found. The Evans girl had been in her Sixth Year* while Narcissa was in her Fifth, she too was a Prefect. She’d been on her own rounds when Narcissa had quite literally collided with her. _“Woah, hey!”_ she’d snapped before fully realizing what had happened, and then she’d taken Narcissa’s chin in hand, forcing her gaze upward. _“_ Who _did this to you?”_ oh she’d been fiercely outraged, _“I want names.”_ She _had_ names, her mind full of speculation, suspects, repercussions she was prepared to dole out on the Slytherin girl’s behalf. When Narcissa’s voice was robbed by the painful lump in her throat from her upset, the dryness that had occured in the moment Lily Evan’s fiercocity had made Narcissa absolutely certain she was indeed just as attracted to Witches as she was to Wizards. _“...alright Cissa, everything’s okay. Let's get you cleaned up.”_ she’d said, leading the younger girl off to the Prefect Baths...Narcissa ultimately bathed there with Lily Evans on more than one occasion. Just bathing, mind, but it hadn’t been _entirely_ without flirtation. Especially come Lily and Lucius’s seventh year, when James Potter finally wormed his way into Lily Evan’s heart, their Rounds became something of dates between friendly rivals, Lucius and James entertaining casual, biting, borderline-threatening flirtation when they joined in on Lily and Narcissa’s sharing the Prefects Bath.

_If I’m yours, then you’re mine._

“Alright _my darling_ , how shall we proceed?”

Oh. Rather agreeably. Narcissa let out a soft gasp as Hermione smirked, eyes alight with mischief as she pulled Narcissa against her, chest just beneath Narcissa’s, hips aligned with her own, though her thigh brushed against Narcissa in a way that sent her warm, cheeks blazing.

“You know what needs casting, you can undo your sister’s curses so...I’ll power, you cast. I’m decently certain I picked up on how that worked when you powered my apparation home, when we escaped Malfoy Manor.”

She had. She certainly had, oh dear Merlin this...was to be revisited in future because Hermione Granger’s magic sliding across her own, strong and sure and powerful was...potent and it was only Hermione’s stare going from confident to confused, concerned she hadn’t gotten it right.

“Most excellent, Miss Granger, you are as ever, a quick study,” Narcissa breathlessly assured, raising her wand and with Hermione’s magic coursing through her, pouring power into Narcissa’s intent, into her wand, she unwound every layer of Bella’s curses upon Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup before sealing the cup from top to bottom in powerful Black family magic, something that locked Dark Magic into...well it was meant to be used as a form of torture, to cast painful, dark curses into someone, plague them with physical torment that was then locked away with no chance for the curse to merely disappate with time or require recasting to maintain. Here, it would trap Voldemort’s Dark energy within the cup of Helga Hufflepuff so it could not leak out to inflict darkness on those near it, safe to be stored until it was time for Mister Potter to destroy it. They would keep it until then. Narcissa’s dress had pockets she’d not bragged of but they were spelled to be deep and hold anything she could fit into their opening, the cup slipped in snuggly but it made it, disappearing into the spelled space once Narcissa used Hermione’s magic to summon it safely into her hand.

Her magic made complaint when the confirmation their work was successful resulted in Hermione’s magic pulling away, though she’d no complaint as the younger Witch leaned against her afterward, catching her breath, somewhat exhausted from the effort. Summing aside, it was quite the complicated bit of casting.

“We’ve just about done it darling,” Narcissa whispered, brushing the girl’s hair back out of her face. “Are you alright?”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. That wasn’t bad, I can get us home. Wait for me in the antechamber.” It wouldn’t do for her to tag along on Harry and Draco’s date, the Present Hermione would ‘return’ to Hogwarts by donning her school robes over her attire and Dobby swiftly apparating her to the boundary to walk back to the school proper, and Narcissa’s Present Self would depart back to Malfoy Manor where Lucius demanded she be returned in time for a dinner with a Governor and his wife, Presently, Narcissa wasn’t keeping track of the specifics of whom, she’d little interest in being aware of exactly who they would be entertaining and doing her utmost to finesse the situation for her Husband’s designs. That was soon not to be her job anymore after all, it would be delicious to see Lucius struggle to remember names, details about their guests he would usually be armed with to get what he wanted, no, tonight he would squirm and she would enjoy it without recompense as her Husband couldn’t be quite so cruel as usual, given his dedication to not sullying his wand Darkly until Samhain.

“Of course I’ll wait for you darling but what I meant was...well, you’d quite the startling realisation earlier…”

Hermione gasped at that, “I am so sorry,” she sincerely offered, “I didn’t mean to bring that up in front of Draco, or Harry too but I get if you’re upset I-”

Gods preserve them. “My concern is of you.”

“Oh. Well...I’ll definitely be knocking back some Dreamless Sleep tonight, but I’m okay, got all the ‘crazy’ out of my system during my little er...breakdown.” Mostly...she’d still a bit of tumultuous wrath lingering in her system, but she’d some idea of how to rid herself of it, and if she was truly so inclined...Narcissa wasn’t opposed.

“Your thinking is sound,” the woman assured, kissing her on the cheek, “I’ll depart from this vault, you know your way back to the others?” Hermione nodded. “Then do be safe. And please make certain you close the passage to Andromeda’s vault securely behind you.”

Narcissa drew out her interaction with the Goblin awaiting her with the cart, informing him she was well pleased to find her sister’s vault well in order, everything was accounted for...delighting in the thunderous _crash!_ that rumbled continuously behind the vault door. 

“What-?”

“Oh dear, something must have gotten knocked over,” she calmly remarked. “Oh well, it's no bother to me, do return me to the front desk, my business is done here.”

Hermione met her in an alcove of the antechamber just inside the entrance to Gringotts, the girl disillusioning the area and bringing Harry and Draco with her so the Slytherin boy got a chance to bid his mother farewell, Severus stepped into their warding unwelcome but it served some purpose.

“We’d best depart and return you to your studies post...haste,” Severaus droned as if bored.

“Actually Severus, Potter and I have a reservation-”

“We do?”

“Darling, _I_ asked _you_ out, I’ve a reservation,” Draco assured without missing a beat, “We’ll be along before curfew.”

Severus was about to refute them, that he was to see to it they were all returned to school, but Narcissa cleared her throat, “My _dearest_ Severus,” she said. That got his attention, loathe that he was to give it, because it meant her next words were vital to how pleasantly his existence was to be in the coming moments. She had her arms crossed over her chest, left hand over her opposite elbow with index finger lined against the front of that bone which she tapped to punctuate her sentences. “Lovely evening isn’t it? Everything went according to plan. A success, truly. Very well done. Everyone made it out safe and sound. Things are settled. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Eventually it will sink in. Many thanks to you all for assisting us. Blessings to you all.” a final tap, before she reached out to take each boy’s face in hand, smiling fondly as she wished them, “Enjoy your dinner my darlings, perhaps your dear supervisor can entertain a drink while he awaits you,” with the final letter of what Severus rolled his eyes at as he understood it to mean _leave them be._

“I suppose...I could entertain myself, elsewhere,” Severus conceded, moving on drily, “Come along children. Wherever am I escorting you on your _splendourful_ date? Oh how young love does so warm the heart. I require anti-heartburn tonic just thinking about it,” he darkly assured as he ushered the boys away.

Hermione looked to her, “You ready?” she asked, excitement catching, oh she was practically vibrating with their near-success, they were nearly truly home free and Narcissa delighted in the memory at the forefront of Hermione’s mind, her kicking at a pile of treasure on her way out of Bella’s vault that sent it multiplying and flying to knock into further cursed objects which then multiplied and flew and repeated, flooding the Vault as she closed the doors to Andromeda’s leaving the other Black sister’s vault, and herself, safe from the building catastrophe she’d left for whomever next checked Bella’s vault. Hopefully it was the woman herself...or Lucius. He could have it in the divorce if he so dearly wished it now.

“Certainly darling, shall we?

Hermione Granger pulled her close once more, holding her tightly with her exuberance, like she had to put the energy somewhere as she Apparated them home, and they appeared in the kitchen.

No call of alarm...no Death Eaters on their trail, Bellatrix, the Dark Lord blissfully unaware a piece of his wretched soul was now their captive to keep and destroy as they dictated.

Hermione stepped back to look up into Narcissa’s face, hands on the older Witch’s forearms as she quaked with excitement, “...we did it,” she said as if she could scarcely believe it. “Narcissa! We broke into your sisters vault and stole a piece of Tom Riddle’s _soul!_ And we didn’t get caught or held up by the Goblins, no one should suspect a thing and- and no one got hurt!” the younger Witch bounced on her toes, hands on Narcissa’s arms squeezing as she exclaimed, “ _We did it!”_

And then there, in the middle of their kitchen, eleven days before Narcissa dreamed such a thing would happen, Hermione Granger launched up on her toes, swept up in the thrill and excitement of their victories, and pressed a warm, enthusiastic kiss to Narcissa’s waiting lips. 

And it was then Narcissa realized her inability to respond to Miss Granger’s drunken advances had been more than her own mere shock, a portion of her reaction lost to the pleasant buzz of Fire Whiskey that had been in her system at the time.

Punishing pain erupted across Narcissa’s magic, burning a path through her every vein as she flinched and a strangled cry tore from her throat as she blindly shoved against the younger Witch’s hold, rearing back to catch herself against a kitchen counter.

“Oh God, Narcissa?!” Hermione stared, eyes full of her shock and fear and utter regret as she stumbled back, horrified as she raised her hands to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, where she’d been shaking with excitement she now trembled with fear.

“I...I am alright,” Narcissa spoke as her voice returned to her, pain subsiding.

The younger Witch’s expression crumpled, hands moving to cover her heart, chin quivering as her mind went from blank, utter silence, to being flooded with burning shame, “I-I’m so sorry, oh God I’m so sorry! I- I didn’t mean to- that was so stu- I’m such an idiot and I’m sorry!” she wailed before she disapparated from sight.

“Hermione!” she called after her, the sound punctuated by footfalls landing overhead. The girl had apparated upstairs. She couldn’t apparate after her, but she'd use of her legs. But by the time she made it to their bedroom the girl was nowhere to be found. There was the sound of someone in the kitchen again as Narcissa discovered their bed was made with Narcissa’s portion pulled back for her, so she wouldn’t need to lift the covers herself when she was ready to lie down, the tub was full of...what she could only assume was _Aguamenti_ conjured water from how swiftly the girl had filled it, steaming with warmth and laced with several charms, for soothing and pain relief, every line of magic drawn in apology. She turned from the bathroom when she heard the soft clatter of teacup and saucer appearing on the nightstand behind her, a plate with a stasis-preserved sandwich cut up just the way Narcissa prefered.

What she would have prefered, is seeing the Witch who sent her such offerings. But she didn’t.

Oh, she saw signs of her everywhere in the coming days. There were her memories of the Future Miss Granger writing Narcissa’s Present self. Meals that appeared wherever Narcissa was at mealtimes, whether that was in the bedroom, the gardens, the living room, waiting for Miss Granger to make an appearance. She found messes she left behind from leaving books and blankets strewn in the living room to not cleaning up after herself in the cellar, abandoning the bed she slept in alone unmade, all righted shortly after. The younger Witch’s doing, her potions lab was always immaculate when she returned to it, supplies refreshed as swiftly as she’d used them, books returned to wherever she would most conveniently find them, blankets folded and laced with warming charms set to activate when next she used them, the bed was always made. Every act felt like a method of apology and it drove Narcissa to her very wits end. The few bare glimpses she caught of Hermione, just catching the girl in the kitchen as she finished preparing breakfast for her or crossing paths in the garden as Hermione checked the stability of her wards there, fine tuning them to ensure Narcissa’s flowers flourished in their environment.

“Hermione-”

“H-hi. Sorry just,” and she’d shrug, gesture to whatever task she’d at hand, or in the direction she was heading in, mind full of apology and shame and the absolute certainty Narcissa must despise her for violating her in such a way.

She wanted to take hold of the foolish Witch and shake her, inform her she had not even begun to touch on violating the woman who knew the word in its exact definition.

Narcissa found herself at an infuriating loss. She couldn’t explain she was unoffended, she couldn’t speak positively of what had transpired in their kitchen! And assurances that she was truly alright, that it had been a mere accident, it was not Hermione’s fault were met with further guilt from the Witch who felt badly she’d caused Narcissa even an ounce of pain, because she should not have lost herself in such a way, it was hardly a welcome advance and it had _hurt her_ , triggered her vows painfully and she should have known better!

Eleven days were truly going to be an eternity with her goal constantly evading her.

...after a week of such evasive maneuvers, Narcissa returned from work in the garden to discover Hermione in the kitchen, sitting in wait with dinner prepared and on the table, looking nervous to the point she might be ill of it, small and shrinking in on herself, wan and eyes darkened from lack of proper sleep, a sheet of printer paper with Hermione’s script on it.

“Hermione,” Narcissa greeted warmly, pleased the girl did not immediately flee. The table was set for two, that implied she meant to stay.

“I’m so, so sorry Narcissa. I swear, I’ll vow to you right now, something that will make sure that doesn’t- that I can’t- I ‘ve been working on it for a few days now and I think I got the wording right but you know more about magical contracting and I’d- God it would just kill me if I messed it up and made things worse so if you look at it and it does what it should, will make you feel safer with me I’ll swear this to you right now and you’ll never have to worry about-!” she let out a startled sound as she jumped, the paper before her going up in flames, _horrible, vile_ vows that promised injury to her own person that matched Narcissa’s own if she ever incidentally harmed her in such a way again. Vows that would punish Hermione if she so much as _thought of_ let alone _attempted_ to kiss Narcissa again.

Narcissa placed a hand on the table, the other on the back of Hermione’s chair to corral her there as she leaned in as close as she physically could, as near as her vows would let her with the intent to press her lips to the other Witch’s...and then she pressed a firm, lingering kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “Your apologies have been well accepted, the only person still upset about what transpired is _you,_ my darling. I do not despair of you, I do not wish to cease our candor, I am not betrayed by- just- please. Cease this. Stop apologizing, stop avoiding me. I am not angry for what happened but I am upset that you- darling I have _missed you._ Stop punishing us both for- just- stop.” Vow censorship was beyond infuriating to work with.

Her eyes were full of tears again, “I’m really so-”

Narcissa pulled the Witch to her chest, hugging her tightly, “I know my darling. I have missed you. I love that you have returned to me.”

Her heart broke, completely and utterly at the squeak in Hermione’s throat, the end of a whine as she whimpered out, “I love you t-too, so much.”

“I know, I’d never a doubt.”

The young lady had apparently been sleeping in her own bed...Narcissa hadn’t thought of invading the space in search of her in the evenings and she realized she must have used similar wards to what Narcissa had thrown up when she’d wished for privacy from Hermione, their second evening living in this house together. Too quick a study in the worst of ways sometimes. She continued to do as much, without leaving up wards to keep Narcissa’s focus from coming to the existence of the room, to her mind she’d allowed herself to be too familiar with the older Witch, blurred the lines of friendship and she was attempting to instil a sense of clear lines. She wouldn’t have thoughtlessly kissed Narcissa if she didn’t think, somewhere in herself, that that was okay. And until Narcissa could prove to her with absolutely no room for confusion, that it was more than okay, she wasn’t going to press the issue. There were four nights more left. She could tolerate it. And Hermione reintegrated herself back into Narcissa’s waking hours, she ceased sneaking down at abnormal hours to prepare the days meals, she’d apparently been rising as early as 2am to make food she spelled to make appearance for serving, before returning to bed. Now they resumed rising and cooking together, and Hermione was heartened to hear the potions mess she’d been cleaning up after as of late were Narcissa’s experiments. She’d had her Present self procure small leatherbound journals that the Future Narcissa spelled with Hermione’s variation of Protean to make a mode of communication for herself and Mister Potter, though she would upgrade them to larger journals in future, the dear boy wrote her daily just to check up on her, tell her sweet things about her son, assurances that he was well, amusing anecdotes from their day. Ahh, but her potions experiments, she was working on formulating what she hoped would live up to the name of Peaceful Sleep. Something that would aid both in bringing its taker to fall asleep and stay asleep for a full healthy number of sleep cycles, while allowing them to dream but allowing them to do so...without negative effect, where their mind would be influenced to produce dreams of a happier sort, in the hopes that in Mister Potter, if he put his mind on his Godfather before falling asleep, he would dream only his happy memories of the man, that either he himself had, or his own version of the happier tales Narcissa could feed him from her youth. He’d yet to try this potion of course, he’d no clue such a thing was in the works, their writing focused on her supplying him with happier times to dream of, things she hoped he would pull from as he slept once her potion was certain. She was experimenting on herself, to no ill consequence, but not quite the success she was looking for.

“My first few formulas acted as mere variations of Dreamless Sleep. Last night I did experience light dreaming, snippets of pleasant things coming through, so I am getting closer,” Narcissa supposed.

“You’re being safe, right? I mean it- it’s sweet you want to do this for Harry but if something happened in your sleep-”

“I’ve charms set that monitor me as I sleep. If something had happened I did set my wards to alert you to the issue, you know how to call on our Secret Keeper in an emergency.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed, “I didn’t realize you were experimenting on yourself-”

“I have done as much before my darling, I assure you it is not dangerous. Of course, if you wished to join me in the evenings to be close at hand in an emergency…” Narcissa smiled though she shook her head and passed the suggestion off as a jest when resolve built in the younger Witch’s mind that she could stand to stay awake, seated and monitoring Narcissa as she experimented with her sleep. The woman laughed, “no, it isn’t necessary, but I do appreciate your concern. I promise I am taking every precaution.”

“Okay. But you’re to tell me if you need me, my help or anything.”

“I know I can rely on you absolutely,” Narcissa assured.

She could. Absolutely.

October 30th, the eve before Halloween, Samhain, a splatter of ink appeared in the day planner Hermione shared with Narcissa’s present self, and it sent the younger Witch bursting into the woman’s bedroom after they’d parted ways to prepare for bed.

“Narcissa? Oh God, what’s wrong, what can I do? Do you need me at the Manor? What should I take, how badly are you hur-” the younger Witch was rattling off questions rapid fire.

Narcissa was in bed, seated atop the covers with her back against the headboard, curled in on herself, grateful to have her attention brought to the present moment that she herself was experiencing, here, safe in the Granger home. She realized she was crying as she reported, “I- I did not make that mark to summon you to the manor. I think...my Present self merely wished to ensure that I have comfort. You- you cannot interrupt what is happening. Lucius is there.”

“Are...are you hurt or...or being hurt? Will you need help later?”

“He will be asleep next to me, you cannot risk going to me, I promise you I know my present self is _not_ calling you to her side. She will merely be sore later. She has everything she needs to survive it, and...well, if she writes expressly that she wishes company, that is one thing but I doubt she wishes for you to go to her even once she is alone.”

“He’ll- you be sore-” Hermione’s expression went utterly lax, before horrific realization dawned in her face.

Lucius was laying claim to what was rightfully his, this the last evening it would ever be so. And he certainly bore no great care as if the woman were treasured glass. If anything he prayed she was, that she would _break._

Narcissa broke out in gooseflesh as the air felt charged with tumultuous power seeking restraint, the younger Witch endeavoring _not_ to shatter every last window and mirror in their house. She succeeded, but only barely, there was a feeling like the house shook, buckled at some pressure, the structure itself groaning and creaking momentarily before everything settled to rights.

And Hermione climbed into bed and held Narcissa close.

“It isn’t right,” she assured Narcissa.

“I cannot speak ill of my husband,” Narcissa let the words happen, as she rubbed the arm before her, looped over her collar bone as the girl’s head rested against her shoulder, soft hair against Narcissa’s cheek.

“You don’t deserve that. You deserve to be happy and cared for and loved.”

“I cannot speak ill of my husband.”

“I love you.”

To that she had the freedom to say, “I love that you are here.”

She was still there, the morning of what would be the most blessed Samhain.

Narcissa woke, head cradled to Hermione’s chest, head tucked under the younger Witch’s chin, lips against Narcissa’s hair. She was curled protectively around the older Witch, and she woke to the memory of having read a litany of _I love you’s_ written in her day planner, followed by every variation of assurance from the girl she could possibly think to give. _You are so beautiful and incredible and amazing. You’re so kind and loving and you deserve everything good in life. You deserve to be loved and cherished and treasured and safe. You deserve to be happy._ Page after page of encouragement and comfort, ended with intonement to call on her if she needed her, and informing her there was a bruising balm and a flask of charm-laced water to alleviate any pain she might be in. And the promise she’d spoken curses of her darling husband to the wind for a solid half hour on her behalf. All of this, both Narcissas dearly appreciated. Her Present self composed herself with more ease, stood taller as she made to face the day. Lucius had acted out of defeat, the last pathetic attempt at battle in a war she won.

_My darling there are things of which I cannot speak. But would you wish me luck today? Put positive intent into the universe for my endeavors?_

_Done and done. Good luck today. If you need anything, I’m there._

A surprisingly cheery start to what Narcissa hoped would be a wonderful day, after such a wretched night. Hermione sought to cheer and comfort her, from preparing her favored breakfast to informing her that today's Halloween festivities would be a delight. Whitakers would be decorated and Sara would be stopping by with the children to see their grandparents and enjoy treats, show off their...costumes? Witches and Wizards often dressed up, held masquerade balls and the like on Halloween.

She’d not opted to endeavor dressing up herself, she wasn’t certain just what would be culturally expected of her attire. But she found herself utterly delighted with the costuming of those who did participate in Muggle custom. She’d been wholly intrigued by the somewhat drastic change in Hermione’s choice of style, a solid thin black turtleneck sweater, a diamond-patterned black and red tartan skirt, sheer black hosiery, feet slipped into black kitten heels. What was most startling was she opted to wear quite the drastically different makeup, she rarely used the stuff but when she did, she plied blush to her cheeks or a bit of pinkish hue to her lips, her makeup choices light and quick and merely enhancing her natural features. Today she emerged from their bathroom with lips a deep, nearly-black scarlet color, blush on her cheeks, eyes lined in black with sharp peaks from the outer corners of her eyelids, lashes lengthened with mascara, dark eyeshadow lightly shading her eyelids.

And when she and Narcissa Apparated into Whitakers, leaving the bathroom there and the girl went to fetch her apron, she gathered her hair into a high ponytail and then adorned her head...with a miniaturized solid black Witches hat, pinned just off-center atop her head.

Miss Granger...was costumed...as a Witch. And it was utterly delightful.

Bested only by the most precious little Witch there was in existence Narcissa was certain.

Sara Winter entered Whitakers with Jessie attired in...some strange monstrous purple and green outfit that hooded him with a creature’s head, bore a spotted tail that trailed the ground behind him, Narcissa was informed it was a ‘Barney’. A type of Dinosaur. She’d never heard of such a subspecies of dinosaur but she trusted the costuming was authentic enough, the Muggle patrons about recognized his costume. And Narcissa delighted in the boy signing to her the words to what was apparently this dinosaur...a children’s character she realized...his theme song, that came with vows of love and fealty and ended with her receiving an enthusiastic hug and a great big kiss to the cheek from the child. And then she got to hold his sweet sister, clothed in a black velvety dress, orange and black striped socks on her feet, and a soft headband that bore a tiny Witch’s hat.

“Mike took about a thousand pictures of her this morning, we’re not sure when we’re going to break the,” Sara wriggled her fingers as if casting a wandless spell, seated across the table from Narcissa, “news to her, but when we do, she’ll be in on the joke then.”

Jessie tugged on his mother’s pantleg to get her attention to sign, _Always know. Big talk at five._

“...pm?” Sara questioned, confused.

“Years of age, I believe he means,” Narcissa said, mouth working as she considered how exactly to phrase it.

“Jessie can see the future,” Hermione offered as casually as she did the little plate of pumpkin shaped biscuits she set before the Muggle woman iced in orange, black mouths and eyes to denote that they represented jack-o-lanterns, oh, that was nice that Muggles and Wizards alike held such tradition.

“...he...can see the-” Sara fell silent.

“If it makes you feel any better, it threw me for a loop too. Divination is like, the _one_ magical practice I called bull on but Jessie’s got a pretty solid natural grasp on it.”

“...that’s why he’s always smarting me about the weather,” Sara said, looking to her son. “What number am I thinking of?”

 _None. Mummy hates numbers,_ he signed in reply.

Sara sucked in a gasp, “Oh my God, he’s right!”

Hermione snorted, “Sara, you’re ridiculous.”

“Um, just for that, when my kid starts predicting when to purchase lottery tickets I’m not sharing. You can go make your own magical future-telling baby,” Sara smarmily informed her.

“Everyone has something they're a little attune to, I think. My magic gravitates toward arithmancy and runes, Narcissa’s is more into mental magics. I figure it's best you know Jessie might be sensitive to things going on that he doesn’t otherwise have the ability to know about. Like ‘mug-gate’, he likely saw his grandpa needed help, and he knew you were pregnant before you did, knew when you weren’t feeling well and needed to go to hospital, and I’m pretty sure he knew the instant Gabbie was born,” Hermione listed. “It’s...it might be scary sometimes, the things that he sees. We have a professor of Divination at school and she’s...delicate. I think...where things went wrong with her, is that she’s been brought up to have a fear of the future, of the things she sees. She lives in a constant state of anxiety over what the future holds. If you raise Jessie to embrace the future, to state what he sees and accept that he isn’t responsible for things out of his control just because he can see them, he’ll be able to cope a lot better than she’s been able to.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up we...we’ll keep an eye on it, do our best to help him handle it,” Sara agreed, looking to the babe in Narcissa’s arms. “But if you tell me that one shoots lasers from her eyes or something I’ll lose my mind.”

“...no, no lasers,” Narcissa had some vague idea of what that was from the telly. “In fact just the opposite might be truth. She has magic that feels akin to that I’m familiar with. She might have a natural affinity for healing magic.”

“Shut up! Are you kidding me?”

“Are you discontent?” Narcissa worried.

“No! I made freaking superheros, Mike and I’s sex life is out here saving the damn world and you’re all welcome!”

Narcissa chuckled, bouncing the sweet child, Gabrielle was currently working her hands through the ends of her hair, pulling some into her mouth, no great feat of heroics but someday? “Your children are destined for remarkable things, of that I’m absolutely certain,” Narcissa assured.

“Awe,” Hermione cooed, crouching at Narcissa’s side to address Gabrielle, reaching out with an index finger to scratch softly against the babe’s stomach, eliciting gasping bit of laughter from her Godchild, “are you loving on your Auntie Narcissa? Are you? Her hair is just the prettiest isn’t it? Merlin, you’re just the cutest!”

What was almost heart-crushingly cute was the sweet Witch doting on the precious child in her arms, gods preserve her. Oh, there were many moments of absolute delight to be had this day.

 _Her Present self was seated across from Lucius at opposite ends of a long mahogany table in a meeting room stationed in the Ministry’s Rites and Rituals department, eagerly awaiting their Vow-Breaker to finish reviewing their marriage vows for a final time to ensure their counter casting would be meticulous and accurate. Lucius sat with his cane in hand, sturdy against the ground as he tapped an impatient finger against the silver serpent's head. Not so much a sign of impatience, but a form of broody pouting for the man. He was inconsolable over the fact that they’d such an iron-clad prenuptial agreement. And to think Narcissa had balked at its necessity. But Lucius had absolutely insisted, while the Ministry had an even kilter with the handling of divorce, Pureblood rituals left Witches open to punishment, to be left paupered and shamed should they fail in their marriages. Initially, a younger Narcissa had believed Lucius’s insistance was a lack of faith in their marriage but he explained it to be a lack of faith in himself. “_ If we’re getting divorced? I’ve done something, surely,” _he’d offered like a jest, but in all sincerity, “_ Narcissa...love of my heart. Divorce is a painful, messy thing. If it is something in our future? I want it handled by the me who loves you now, and not the man you have to leave, someone who mighn’t have your best intentions at heart. Please, consider it?” _Thank the gods themselves she had. It meant she walked away with everything she came into their marriage with, and half of all business ventures she’d aided Lucius in initiating. He’d fought her on every measure, especially on murkier topics such as Bella’s vault...which he was pleased but suspicious at her conceding now, she’d little care for its contents and if any did go in search of the Dark Lord’s Horcrux and made it through the destruction of Bella’s vault to discover it missing? It suited better if it was Lucius’s care, the blame could fall. Too, there was the splitting of inheritances, she benefited from a portion of things inherited by Lucius in the wake of his parents’ deaths, he was to likewise keep a portion of the inheritance left by Cygnus and Druella Black. He had tried desperately to divest her of the summer home on the coast of France, near St. Tropez. It held both her fondest memories and her father’s portrait, and Lucius had been certain his representatives could work things around so Narcissa was left with worthless Galleons and artefacts her father left, but no. She would be keeping the Black family estates, and Lucius would walk away with a tidy sum to add to his vaults._

_“Everything appears to be in order,” the elderly Vow-Breaker spoke up, pushing his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose as he spread a look between the soon-to-be divorcees. “I’ll undo the magic binding your vows, and then your final signing can be underway.”_

_“Lets be done with this already,” Lucius groused, glaring at Narcissa, the same glint in his eye he’d had every time he thought he’d come up with some clever threat to frighten the woman at the prospect of their Divorce. The entire morning had been dedicated to private threat, that the moment he was free of her, her dealings with the Dark Lord would be entirely her own, he would be distancing himself, ingratiating himself to their Lord and if she was left to the Wolves, unable to keep up in their circle, unable to satisfy him with her work? Lucius wouldn’t so much as flick his wand to aid her if she fell out of the Dark Lord’s good graces, faltered in her mission. “The sooner I’m free, the sooner I can begin restoring honor to the Malfoy name,” he sneered now. Oh yes, he’d plans to abscond of her and seek replacement post-haste, secure himself another heir. She pitied the next woman who took it into their heads to marry the likes of Lucius. More-fool her._

“Someone’s happy,” Sara’s voice drew her to her own present moment, Narcissa looked to her, and then to the child she still cradled in her arms.

“You’ve quite the beautifully-dispositioned babe,” she supposed.

“I mean you, babe,” Sara corrected, as she realized perhaps Narcissa’s excitement was born of, “Oh, Halloween...is it racist to assume that’s a special holiday for you guys”

Narcissa huffed a laugh, “...no, not at all. We do celebrate Halloween quite enthusiastically. A majority of the Wizarding world celebrates Halloween, certain circles participate in Samhain ritual as well.”

“Oh...so you two’ll be off doing more Witchy stuff in Italy? Or some other exotic location?”

“No no, we’ll not be participating in Samhain rites.” Samhain was the one ritual celebration she didn’t plan to uphold, there were more benign ways of celebrating the day but it held such dark associations for her...she’d prefer to move forward focusing more on the Halloween side of the day, fun costuming and whatever ‘Trick-or-Treating’ was, Hermione had offered some preparation for it, they’d collected a great deal of Muggle candy on their most recent Tesco trip. Children were escorted from home to home and encouraged to seek audience with household leaders to beseech them for treats at the threat of trickery. It sounded like dangerous practice both physically and socially, to encourage children to seek strangers, accept foodstuff from them, and furthermore instill such poor manners. But it was apparently all in some sort of good fun, and Narcissa...did feel warmth in her heart every instance a child came bounding into Whitakers today, children as young as Jessie all throughout the day and older children appearing as school was let out. Every one of them was excitedly greeted by Hermione, who paid sweet compliment to their every costume and doled out treats from a large plastic bowl that looked like the bottom half of a hollowed out pumpkin. There was an older boy who came wandering into the shop, he looked to be Draco’s age, though he was darker of complexion, more than Blaise Zabini. He’d an elderly mother awaiting in the doorway looking on a bit nervously as her son who seemed...of the same mindset as the children who came in that day, approached the counter attired in a bright blue costume, a fiery red cape, met with Hermione smiling to him and informing him he made a very dashing Superman, listening with warm enthusiasm as the young man began hap-hazardly expressing what must be his favorite...episode? It sounded like something from the television.

“That’s so cool!” she encouraged. “So, does Superman like his chocolate straight up, or is he more of a wafer fellow?” she wondered, tipping the bowl toward him and smiling brighter at his selection, “Great choice. Thanks so much for stopping by, I know London’s a good bit away from the States, I hope you have a safe flight home!” she wished him, the young man smiled bashfully, nodding as he fluttered his cape a bit and returned to his mother, who opened her mouth as he approached and he looked back over his shoulder to call a belated,

“Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome!” Hermione assured, offering a little wave.

The young man giggled as he took his mother’s arm, “I didn’t know Witches were nice!”

“There’s good Witches I suppose,” his mother replied as they took leave of the shop.

Sara looked likewise heart melted at the interaction as she turned her gaze back to Narcissa, “So...no special plans tonight?” she wondered, “Passing out candy is fun but Mister and Mrs host a pretty fantastic party at our place every year, everyone dresses up and there’s good food, good music. I’m still scrambling for that one brain cell to do its thing, but I finally remembered Stacie’s never been around for those, she’s always been away at school, you guys are more than welcome to come, it’s great.”

_“...Lord Malfoy?” asked the elderly Wizard who just finished unweaving every last magical tie between Lucius and Narcissa. It was the second time he’d sought the man’s attention, he’d been staring into space since Narcissa felt the last bit of restriction lifting from her magic._

_“Honestly Lucius!” Narcissa snapped, impatient. “You’ve said as much already, let us sign and be done with this!”_

_The Wizard startled, pale like he might be ill. What dramatics were he seeking to pull now? This was his idea to begin with! He swallowed before clearing his throat, “I...this is the final agreement?”_

_“Redrafted just this morning sir,” the Vow-Breaker assured._

_...just this morning? “I was unaware of any changes since we reached agreement yesterday.”_

_“My representative found a loophole, given I am both your husband, and your senior of a year, there is precedence…elder siblings even through circumstance of being in-laws, have seniority preference in the division of inheritance,” Lucius quietly explained, as he scanned the parchment before them, searching._

_Narcissa’s blood froze for all of a second before it boiled in her veins, “You’ve taken the house-!”_

_“I did have this redrafted to switch our portions of inheritance, yes,” his voice rasped from his throat, forehead creasing as he looked to the Vow-Breaker. “It’s this section here, yes?”_

_The elderly Wizard leaned to look over the section Lucius pointed to, nodding sagely, “Yes Lord Malfoy.”_

_Lucius nodded, before taking up the second set of parchment documents and searching through, tapping the page for the other Wizard to look and confirm he’d found it again in the second set. And then he took up his quill and dragged it across both sets of final documents, scratching out several lines before placing his signature at the bottom of the final pages and casting to send them across the table to Narcissa. As if she would sign a-_

_Article XVII: Division of Inheritance_

_1\. The property and wealth of Abraxas B. Malfoy shall be divided between the parties as follows:_

_a) Lucius A. Malfoy will maintain sole ownership of Malfoy Manor, as well as any and all homes and establishments bequeathed by the estate of Abraxas B. Malfoy. He will also maintain full control of the primary Malfoy Vault._

_b) Narcissa C. Malfoy nee Black will be given full control of all secondary vaults bequeathed by the estate of Abraxas B. Malfoy._

_2\. The property and wealth of Cygnus O. Black shall be divided between the parties as follows:_

_a) Narcissa C. Malfoy nee Black will maintain sole ownership by proxy of the Black Family Manor on behalf of Bellatrix S. Lestrange nee Black._

_b) Narcissa C. Malfoy nee Black will gain sole control of the primary and all secondary vaults bequeathed by the estate of Cygnus O. Black._

_c) ~~Lucius A. Malfoy~~_ _will gain sole ownership of the secondary estate, St. Tropez, France and all its contents._ Narcissa C. Malfoy nee Black

_d) Lucius A. Malfoy will gain sole control by proxy of the vault of Bellatrix S. Lestrange nee Black on behalf of Bellatrix S. Lestrange nee Black._

_...her name, written in Lucius’s hand. Securing her ownership… “...you relent hold of the summer home?”_

_Lucius was seated...rather improperly, elbows and forearms on the table, hands folded as he hunched over the tabletop, head bowed, voice subdued, “It is where your father’s portrait lives...it is where our son was born,” the last word fell heavy from his lips like it truly carried weight to him. Then, “It should be yours.”_

_And so it would be. Narcissa signed, and then the Vow-Breaker spelled witness to it, and cast it to the files._

“Sara...I do hope you can forgive us if we’re a bit late to your soiree but there is something very important we must celebrate today, my darling and I.”

Sara’s brow shot up at that even as she smiled, “Yeah?”

“Oh yes. We will try to make it but...well…”

“What? Narcissa?” Sara questioned, a laugh escaping her as Narcissa rose up from her seat, pressing a kiss to Gabrielle’s head before passing the babe back to her mother who was likewise the recipient of a kiss to the cheek. “What’s up?”

“Today, Sara Winter, I am _free,”_ she offered in quiet conspiracy, leaning in close to inform her darling Muggle friend, “I am officially divorced.”

* * *

Hermione checked her watch again, not...impatient, but she was worried. Patrick was supposed to have taken over at the top of the hour, and it was nearing the next, Merlin. He was never late, especially not by forty minutes.

“Darling?”

She startled a bit, looking up to meet Narcissa’s gaze oh- “Hi,” she offered, a bit distractedly, wow, the woman looked like she might be literally glowing she was so happy, and this was it, this was the level of happy she deserved to be at all times, even if it was going to make her just- God, she was so beautiful it broke Hermione’s heart in the sweetest way. 

The older Witch blushed, smiling brighter somehow as she leaned in, looking terribly tempted to do...something she denied herself as she looked...if Hermione trusted herself in this regard she would think the woman had been staring at her lips before raising her gaze to meet Hermione’s eyes. “Do forgive me for abandoning you, darling but I’ve a bit of preparation for this evening's festivities I really must attend.”

Oh! “Yeah, sure, go ahead. We’re pretty busy right now but that just means no one will particularly take note if you step into the bathroom, whether or not you’ve stepped back out again, just leave the door unlocked. I’m sorry I’m running behind, I promise I’ll be home once Patrick clocks in.”

“Oh,” Narcissa noted his absence with some concern, “Yes, I do hope the boy is alright. You’ll let me know if you’re caught here until closing?”

“Yeah, I’ll keep you updated. I’ll come straight home unless you want me to pick up dinner or something?”

“Dinner will be handled darling, just return to me safely,” the woman warmly intoned and then-

She kissed her on the cheek...kind of? Her lips half-overlapped Hermione’s own, a spark of excitement, stupid, dumb excitement zipping across her magic. But Narcissa wouldn’t be able to do something she wasn’t allowed to so, it was at least safe enough for the older Witch, that was a relief. Hermione still felt worse than dirt when she thought back on how badly the woman had flinched, the cry of pain that was pulled by Hermione’s kiss. Oh, she got another now, one to her forehead from Narcissa as she intoned, “There are to be no unpleasant thoughts tonight, my love. Be well and blessed until you return,” and then she was off, stepping away into the restroom and after a moment Hermione was certain she was gone. _My love?_ Huh. Different.

Sara took her children and her leave shortly after, blowing Hermione a kiss and winking.

It was five minutes before 4pm that Patrick came bursting into Whitakers looking frantic as he rushed around the counter, “Oh my God oh my God oh my God, Stace! I’m so sorry!”

Hermione sucked in a startled gasp, “Oh my God, Patrick! Is that blood?!” she panicked, grasping hold of his arm and pulling him closer to look at the spread of red around the collar of his white T-shirt.

“No! Yes! Sort of,” he craned his neck to reveal two dabs of dark red that looked like...puncture wounds from a bite mark and uh, yeah. It was Halloween. Her brain heard his panic and saw blood and went ‘your friend needs help and somebody has to die’, Merlin preserve her.

“...new vampire?” she supposed.

“Bingo! New, very late vampire, I’m so sorry! My dumbass roommate tried jumping rows in his lecture hall? Like standing on the little arm desk and jumping to land in the seat in the row in front of him? God knows why. The desk snapped and sent him face first and it was a bloody mess, he got knocked unconscious, bleeding all over the place from his idiot face, he got put in hospital and I’m listed as his emergency contact for again, God knows why...it’s kind of sweet? Or sad, if you think about it, his family’s like, ten minutes away,” Patrick shook his head as if to focus again, “Anyway. I had to go make sure he was still alive and everything, he’s fine, nothing some stitches, a few painkillers and maybe some assigned seating won’t cure. Ooh, you’re a witch! Cute!” this was the one day a year the majority of Muggledom would think so, so yeah, adorable.

“Thanks, wow, I’m glad your roomate’s alright? I’m glad you’re alright, call next time if you can, I was worried sick about you.”

“Awe, Stace! I didn’t mean to worry you, yeah, sorry, I heard he was concussed and getting stitches and in A&E and just blanked on everything else until everything was cool and then I made a mad dash to get here before the end of my shift. Sorry, I’ll take over now, thanks for covering for me.”

“No problem,” Hermione assured, almost going to untie her apron but- well, she should clear her pockets first, she set her ‘Draco’ notepad on the counter, Patrick paid it no mind as it was warded to not grab attention, and then she withdrew her latest lunch note from Narcissa, she’d missed those, the week she’d completely avoided the woman, she was glad to have them back. She hadn’t gotten a chance to much breathe let alone store the note away with the others, which she meant to do now but Patrick _did_ notice her trying to be subtle with the slip of parchment which sent the boy full-nosey. “Hey!” 

“Ooh, what’s this?” he asked once he snatched the note away, unfolding it, “we have a note from a secret admirer?” he questioned.

“It’s just Narcissa, she...she leaves notes whenever she packs my lunch,” Hermione informed him, blushing fiercely.

“Awe! That’s so sweet, she loves you!”

Yeah, blushing big time, “Yeah I guess you don’t pack lunch every day for someone because you barely tolerate them.”

“She says so in her note, dummy. It’s a cute little code!”

“...code?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah. All the capital letters spell out ‘I love you’, see?”

_I hope you have the most wonderful day. Let me be clear that your comfort was greatly appreciated last night. Of all people, it is most heartening that you were with me. Vulnerability does not come easily to me, but with you? Everything feels safe when entrusted to your care. You are exceptional. Overall, believe that. Until tonight, my darling, please be well._

...huh. They did. I love you.

...until tonight, my darling, please be well. That...was how most of her notes ended…

“Do you mind if I…” she gestured toward the back counter, there wasn’t anything taking up space before the line of machines along the wall, Patrick shrugged for her to go ahead and she reached into her cubby under the register, the man blinking a bit as she pulled a shoebox just a tad bit too big for the space it had just been occupying but he made no question as she set it on the counter...and he put up the _Be Right Back!_ sign on the front counter to watch over her shoulder as she worked.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

Note after note. Every single day. With a single variation.

_I have a crush on you too._

Oh Merlin.

_I am restrained…_

_...things I can’t say...can’t do…_

_Wish me luck today…_

...Narcissa could call her ‘my love’.

“...Stace? What is it?”

“...she loves me…” Hermione whispered, storing all her notes together again, closing shut the box. “I have to go home.”

“Oh! Wait, was that it? Narcissa loves you? Hon, _I_ could have told you that. The woman’s kind of crazy about you? For the first five seconds before I opened my mouth when we first met, she looked at me like she thought she could melt me from existence with her mind, which she _can,_ she’s a goddess, but that’s beside the point. She was mad possessive, like worried this,” he gestured vaguely to her, “was going to rock my world and I was going to steal you from her or something. She’s always looking at you like you hang the moon and your ass looks good doing it. I’ve only ever heard her call you ‘darling’. That’s gay babe.”

...it was, wasn’t it?

Hermione quickly stashed the box back in her work cubby, and only just remembering to snatch up her Draco notebook- Draco! Oh God!

She threw open the notepad and frantically tapped a few times, they were getting ready to head for the Halloween feast. _Draco? So this might sound absolutely insane but I think your mother might- I think- things are happening and I would never ever dream of hurting you, if you aren’t-_

_Don’t bloody talk to me about it! Just do whatever! Merlin, I thought I was being obvious with the flowers! If you hurt my mother they’ll never find your body!_

...that was fair and a great deal better than she expected that to go. _Noted. Love you, have fun tonight._ Merlin, she hoped he was safe. Hogwarts was relatively secure and they’d all plans to meet up in the Room of Requirement after the Feast, sort of a Halloween party of their own/staying gathered around each other making sure no one tried to snatch up the Death Eater defect _just_ in time for Samhain. Hopefully, tonight would be full of fun.

Oh Merlin, all sorts of fun.

Nervous with her excitement Hermione dashed off into the bathroom the moment Patrick's attention was with a customer, and Apparated straight home.

Which...looked a bit different.

Not a single light was on, not that that was much noticeable. Between the white, melting candles floating in groups of three and four all around the living room, their glow visible coming from the kitchen, lining the stairs, and the ceiling glittering with what had to be hundreds if not venturing into the thousands of meticulously placed, delicately cast _tiny_ marbles of _lumos_ emulating starlight throughout their home, there was plenty of light to be had, the house awash in soft pale light. The air was perfumed in the scent of blossoms, in full bloom and spread about, lining the back of the couch, lining the shelves of the curio cabinet, crowning the grandfather clock, lining the stairs, dusting the floor leading into the kitchen. Alstroemeria, blue iris, chrysanthemum, roses, gardenia. And their meanings resounded in Hermione’s mind as she followed the path laid for her.

_Our love is pure. I love you tenderly. My love is devoted. My love is passionate. My love is secret._

She entered the kitchen to find more candle studded starlight, flowers in such quantity she wondered if the garden laid bare. There was a bouquet of flowers in a vase on their table, laden with a meal in wait, candle light, and the vase held gardenias surrounding a single yellow daffodil. A narcissus.

... _unrequited love._ Surrounded by secret. And in the magical sense?

Daffodils provided _luck._

And in the middle of it all stood Narcissa Black looking every letter of her name. 

Her hair was loose and falling around her in soft waves of pale gleaming gold, a crown of white roses circling her head, clothed in long black robes that bunched at silver clasps on her shoulders, velvety fabric tapering at a V all the way to dip low enough between her breasts to reveal the solid line of Slytherin green that was the very top of her corset, the rest lying beneath black robes that cinched at her waist and flowed all the way to the floor, silvery embroideries of vines and leaves decorating her from knee to hem, long bell sleeves edged in silver thread. So, she decided to dress up for Halloween just a bit, huh?

“Good evening my darling,” Narcissa greeted smoothly, eyes gleaming with open warmth as she looked the younger Witch over, up and down and back again, a soft smirk at her lips as her eyes coasted over Hermione’s hips before raising to meet her gaze, “there’s been a great deal of misunderstanding when it comes to my regard. Allow me to make myself perfectly clear-”

Yeah she’d uh, pretty well done that. Hermione was already crossing the kitchen, closing the distance in a few swift strides before her hands were on Narcissa’s forearms, the woman’s raising to brace her by her elbows as she rose up on her toes, and cut the older Witch off by capturing her lips in a kiss. Soft testing giving way to warm enthusiasm as the only thing her advance invoked in the woman was the last bit of excited tension melting in her frame and a smile tugging at lips that hungrily returned Hermione’s efforts, and for all she’d taken the initiative, she found herself swiftly overpowered as her hands lost the arms they’d held to fall to Narcissa’s hips and the woman took hold of her, one hand snaking up to take a fistful of her hair at the crown of her head, the other slipping down to grasp firm hold of her backside, pulling her against the older Witch as the woman worked to kiss her breathless. Narcissa only stopped to smile with some victory as she let Hermione catch her breath.

“I love you, Hermione Granger, freely and true,” Narcissa assured her, “Have we reached an understanding?”

Hermione nodded. “I love you too.”

Narcissa smiled, brilliant and bright, just radiating her joy as she loosed a peal of laughter, “I love you,” she relished in the words as she pressed another kiss to her lips, “I love you, I can say that now! I can say and do anything in the world I care to, the only permission at all I require being yours, my darling, my love. You, who would never see me restrained,” oh Merlin, she looked teary at that, happy, but Hermione was swift to take the woman’s face in her hands, catching a tear between her lips and Narcissa’s cheek as her thumb swiped at the trail beneath her other eye, the younger Witch pulling away with what was perhaps just a bit of a mischievous smile.

“Well...I don’t know about never, so long as you were into it,” she gently teased.

Narcissa’s hands caressed her hips for all of a second before they gripped tight and possessive, her own mischievous lips a breath away from Hermione’s as she lowly intoned, “Now Miss Granger, talk such as that is hardly conducive to meeting my plans of dinner.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hermione wondered, taking to kissing the woman again, once, twice before the hands on her hips held firmer and pushed to guide her to stand with feet flat on the floor. Well that wasn’t very nice, using their height difference to put her lips out of reach like that.

But her lips weren’t entirely out of reach, they pressed a kiss to Hermione’s forehead as the woman assured her, “Oh my darling, believe you me, for what I’ve planned?” she leaned in close, breath hot against Hermione’s ear as she whispered, “You’ll need the energy.” Oh. Merlin help her, she blushed, averting her gaze, biting at her lip as she shifted a bit restlessly on her feet, thighs rubbing together beneath her skirt in an offer of pressure to counter the warmth building high between them, Narcissa chuckling warmly as she softly intoned, “I believe it is the Muggles who say that patience is a virtue.”

“Oh, I see your game. This is it, this is how you turn me against Muggle-kind, huh?”

“Perhaps,” Narcissa teasingly supposed, eyes alight as she informed, “it is a Witch who says that patience is to be rewarded.”

Oh, she was mean! “Is it?” she wondered innocently, slipping away from Narcissa’s hold, to turn her back and go to the kitchen table. Salad, spaghetti in marinara colorful bell peppers sprinklined through clearly cut by the precise potions mistress determinedly following after her, hands ghosting at her hips just as Hermione side-stepped to pull out a chair, grinning with mischief as she gestured for the woman to take a seat. She looked a bit incensed, the way she did whenever Hermione took it into her head to earn her detentions with filthy language in her classroom.

“It is also a Witch who says patience can be dangerous when tested,” Narcissa offered, just the barest heat of threat as she was seated, going for haughty, but,

Hermione, still gripping the back of the chair, leaned in and softly reminded her, “I’m never one to shy away from danger, Narcissa,” giggling as the woman shivered, silent as Hermione went to seat herself across the table from her, a serving of salad appearing in the little bowl resting atop her dinner plate, wine appearing in the glass before her. “Everything looks amazing.”

“I have grown rather proficient in the kitchen, haven’t I?” Narcissa preened.

“I don’t just mean dinner, everything, the house...you. Decided to get in the spirit, did we?”

“It seemed appropriate given you’re costumed as a wicked waitress,” Narcissa winked, popping a bite into her mouth. A wicked- oh. Her face blazed as she realized she’d left her waist apron on. Her fork clattered against her bowl as she reached but her hands stilled at, “Oh, don’t remove it on my account darling, I must say I look forward to removing it later.”

She took up her fork again, worrying at her lip before, “I...might have forgotten myself a bit. I sort of figured out your little code.”

“Did you?”

“Well...Patrick saw it first, but then I went through reading um, the others. You have a crush on me too, huh?”

“Obviously.” ...to everyone but Hermione, apparently. That was grand, that. “I’ll have to thank Mister Duncan, his bit of cleverness really did save me a great deal of trouble. I was worried it might take more effort to convince you to risk kissing me again...darling. I assure you, vow malcontent aside, I was absolutely thrilled to have your exuberance expressed in such a way. I’ve been more than a little concerned that just as happiness comes within reach, it is to be swept away again, that I would lose you to another because of a matter of time, not being free of my vows to lay claim to you in time. That you could love me, desire me so, it was a relief. I only wish I could have expressed as much then, I was not offended or violated, I merely adored it, wished I were in a position to reciprocate.”

Oh God, “Well...thanks for stopping me from my little ‘I have to magically vow to never kiss you ever again’ freak out.”

“I do appreciate the sentiment behind it, I cannot abide that you wished to put yourself in a position where you would be stricken with pain but...that you were willing to entertain as much to never harm me…” she shook her head as if to clear it. “So, my darling, I trust you’ve had a pleasant day?”

Hermione nodded, “It's your day I’m more interested in. You...your vows are broken?”

“I’ve been incapable of saying as much, by orders from my ex-husband, but I’m pleased to be able to inform you now that Lucius demanded our divorce.”

“Really? Oh! I just- God, I’m relieved, not just because, you know, this,” she said, fork wielding hand gesturing between them, “I’m relieved you’re out of such a horrible situation. Just, I can’t imagine actually wanting to divorce you, he’s such a bastard and you’re well...you know. Amazing.”

“Amazing as I am...Lucius made rather the alarming discovery I’m incapable of providing him a suitable heir to replace Draco. He’d freedom to stray in our marriage but he would need his heir to be born within it, for them to truly be capable of taking on all the magical blessings and responsibilities, powers that are granted from being the head of the Malfoy line. As that could not be done with me, he’d need to rid himself of our bonds and now he’s free to pursue another, to wed and sire a son.”

“Oh they absolutely have to be a son?” Hermione supposed drily.

“A Witch soiling the Malfoy’s perfectly patrilineal line? Perish the thought,” Narcissa mused, “They’ve not more than a single son born of a single son dating back to the days of Merlin himself.”

“Everything I learn about the Malfoy line makes me sick honestly.”

“Well, let's speak no more of it then, I need you in perfect health.”

Hermione nodded. “You’re okay? Both of you? I...I’d hate to interrupt this but if you need help after last night or need help moving your things or settling...oh God are you lonely or sad-”

“Oh my darling. I do love you,” Narcissa assured, shaking her head, “My love, I am perfectly well, both versions of myself. My things were moved from the Manor this morning and I’ve settled nicely in my quarters at Hogwarts. I’m presently dining with Jinsey, celebrating my successful divorce. I cannot be disturbed tonight, I’ll be expected at the Dark Lord’s Samhain celebrations.”

“Oh...I’m sorry, I know those are hard on you.”

“My position at Hogwarts, my current mission means it is best I do not bear witness to the more intimate dealings of darker rituals, lest I encounter an Order member with a knack for legilimency.” She rolled her eyes as she reported, “I’ll be spending my evening in the riveting company of Severus Snape, keeping guard and making certain the Dark Lord’s celebrations go uninterrupted.” They sounded just horrible, she couldn’t imagine what sort of awful things- “put it from your precious mind my darling, tonight you will certainly help me celebrate my divorce.”

Hermione nodded, taking hold of her wineglass and raising it, “To a Happy Halloween.”

Narcissa smiled, raising her wineglass in kind, “To a Happy Halloween.”

Dinner was delicious, but dessert? Well...double dessert, she supposed, but chocolate-pumpkin cake rather paled when compared with what waited for after.

Narcissa took one last delicate sip of wine before rising from her seat and coming to Hermione’s side, holding out her hand and pulling the younger Witch up and to her, hand in hers, the other resting on the small of her back, it almost seemed like she’d dancing in mind.

“Oh no darling, mere dancing is not in mind at present but...I must assure you...I do long to have you in any way you would let me, but I would understand if perhaps this was all a bit sudden, too soon for you. I would not act to your discomfort, I have waited...and I would wait further still to have you, once you’re ready.” Well Merlin, if she hadn’t been, she certainly would be now. Oh-

Perks of legilimency. Narcissa saw everything she needed to, and suddenly the world whipped around them, and in the next instance? Hermione was falling onto her back into bed, Narcissa over her, a knee between Hermione’s legs as the woman smirked at her- stealing Hermione’s move! Sneaky Slytherin thief! Narcissa’s laughter was rich at Hermione’s indignant thought as the woman captured her lips in her own, wine and chocolate and spice on her tongue as it slipped its own sneaky way past Hermione’s lips, the older Witch’s hands on the strings of her apron, deftly untying it, a hand at her hips guiding her up to pull the thing free and sending it flying, Hermione returning the favor with the crown falling from the woman’s hair, she cast it aside to take fistfuls of golden locks, Narcissa humming appreciatively into her kiss as she used her hold on her hair to tug her closer. The woman’s knee slid higher, pressing against rather ruined panties, sending Hermione gasping, Narcissa taking advantage of the loss of contact with the younger Witch’s mouth to kiss at Hermione’s jaw, nipping skin between her teeth.

“Narcissa,” Hermione breathed, the woman smiling against her skin before venturing lower, to nip and bite at the base of her neck, hands slipping under her shirt, one high on her back pulling her closer while the other rested on her ribs, a thumb tracing along the underside of her bra, oh Merlin! Hermione moved her hands to reach for the hem of her shirt but the woman’s hands were swift to stop her, blindly grasping hold of her wrists, dropping her left immediately when Hermione flinched at the bit of contact there, lowering her hold to take her arm nearer her elbow to guide it up, lips pressing to kiss apology against the scarring there, peppering a line of kisses to cover every letter of _mudblood,_ as she maintained hold of her right wrist to bring it up to pin alongside Hermione’s head before she released hold of her left and sat up to peer down at her.

“Forgive me darling but please, allow me,” she softly pled, and when Hermione nodded, the Witch’s wand appeared in hand, making contact with the dip in Hermione’s collarbone at the base of her throat, as the woman drug its tip down, her sweater vanishing and leaving the cool tip to trail between her breasts, over the band of her bra, dragging it slow, past her ribs, along her stomach to stop at her skirt for all of a second before casting that away as well, tracing her wand down Hermione’s panty-clad mound, and she gasped when its tip dipped low to be drug up, along her folds, her clit before it continued its path down her thighs to Witch-away her stockings, Narcissa speaking a spell into her neck that banished her shoes. She wasn’t sure exactly where her clothing was going but she didn’t much care, her closet, the void, that wasn’t much of a problem.

“This?” Hermione said, left hand tracing the back of an index finger along the edge of Narcissa’s robes, nail just tracing against the woman’s skin, “is gorgeous, and if it isn’t off of you in the next five seconds you’ll have a mutiny on your hands.”

“Now, your rebellion sounds enticing, Miss Granger.”

“Oh, does it, Mistress Black?”

That had the velvety robes vanishing and leaving the woman bare breasted, in her corset and garter belt, and the older Witch let out a surprised sound as Hermione pivoted, rolling them onto her side of the bed with Narcissa beneath her, Hermione’s hair falling from place to to veil them as she leaned down to kiss the woman, but Narcissa's arms had fallen back against the mattress, forearms by her head, and the woman's stare went to her Dark Mark in the same moment it caught Hermione's attention. Narcissa's gaze lowered averting her Mark, Hermione's eyes, and the younger Witch took her chin in hand. The woman stared up at her, wary and worried, waiting with the fear something in the stark reminder of the choice she made when she pledged herself to the Dark Lord's service. Her gaze followed Hermione's arm when she raised her left hand to brush a few stray strands of blonde hair back out of the older Witch's face, _mudblood_ in her vision for the briefest moment before Hermione intoned,

"You're not your Mark anymore than I am mine," met with the release of breath Narcissa had been holding as the younger Witch kissed her soundly before leaving her with a nip to her bottom lip. 

Narcissa gasped softly she trailed lower, kissing along her jaw, her neck, until she’d kissed a path to her corset and then she went higher to capture the erect peak of the woman’s left breast, first with a test of teeth that elicited a breathless sound from Narcissa before she took it in her mouth, kissing and sucking as her hand grasped hold of her right breast, teasing and tugging, left hand slipping lower to feel at Narcissa through lacey black panties, wetness soaking through to be felt against her fingers, Narcissa’s hips jerking at the act. There was something familiar about the scent in the air but she couldn’t quite place it. It would come to her though.

“That- oh that isn’t fair, Hermione, bargaining with the promise my compliance would free me from rebellion and yet, here you are not waiting your turn.” She’d only just lifted her mouth from its work to rebut but the woman rose up and pushed her back, flipping their positioning again, “You will be _patient,_ Miss Granger...and you will _like it.”_

Her bra and panties were cast away, Narcissa’s hands gripping her hips tight to hold her in place as she peppered kisses down Hermione’s chest before returning the favor, tongue lathing against her breast, and then her left hand slipped from hip to the apex of Hermione’s thighs, palming her mound as a middle finger slipped between slick folds to graze her opening, glide upward to tease at her clit, her smirk against Hermione’s breast as the younger Witch whimpered, “Oh God, Narcissa.”

“I might just be, perhaps we’ll find out,” the woman supposed before rising to take Hermione’s lips again as her hand stayed low, stroking and teasing, building pressure and pleasure, breathing in Hermione’s gasps, drinking in her cries as her other hand tweaked and tugged the sensitive peak of her breast.

“Narcissa, please-” her plea broke off with a cry as the woman pressed further, thumb teasing at her clit as her index finger entered her, the sensation of the combination of silken smooth and wand calloused skin sliding in, testing tight flesh was enough to drive her mad, oh Merlin, “I- oh God, I th-think-”

Narcissa’s mouth went to her throat again, her shushing, “Shhhh,” tickling sensitive skin there, as her finger continued stroking, venturing deeper before sliding her middle finger in after, Hermione’s hips bucking at the subtle burning stretch, the thumb on her clit plying pressure before going feather light to tease and taunt until-

The woman bit more harshly as Hermione’s throat arched into her mouth, back arching off the bed as she cried out, legs trembling as she spasmed around Narcissa’s fingers, slick spilling harder into her hand. Oh Merlin help her, the woman wasn’t even done, she just kept stroking through Hermione’s orgasm, fingers stretching, pressing deeper to strike the most delicious spot, sparks blazing low, the sensation spreading even into her magic to send it coursing all through her as Narcissa set a harsh, breath thieving pace, Hermione’s voice verging on shrill to her own ears as she screamed,

“Narcissa! Oh God, I’m-” she _screamed_ as tremors of her first orgasm hadn’t even ended as a second slammed her senseless, and then magic swept over her own, tugging, and slinking seductive as power coursed through her, sparks singing along every vein in her body and her magic felt wild and wobbly like _that's_ where she experienced a third orgasm in- it was just- how?!

She...might die like this. It might actually kill her and that...that was alright by her. Slap it on her tombstone, _Hermione Jean Granger. Fucked senseless by Narcissa Black, died doing what she loved._

Narcissa chuckled against her neck as she shifted to settle on her side, lying alongside Hermione, dragging slick fingers along the younger Witch’s stomach as she caught her breath, trying to recover but it didn’t much help that the woman raised her Hermione-slicked hand to her own lips and sucked at her fingers, a moan escaping Narcissa’s throat as she tasted the mess she’d made. “Are you quite alright my darling?” she asked almost teasingly, voice ringing with amusement. Too pleased with herself! She’d nearly killed her! Her heart still hadn’t quite caught its rhythm. Narcissa's hand went to rest there, over Hermione’s breastbone, rubbing gently as if to soothe the organ hammering away beneath her hand. “Deep breaths, my love. Rest.”

“The second I can move, Narcissa Black, you’re fucked.”

Narcissa laughed, sighing contently, arm looping over her waist as she rested her head next to Hermione’s bending to press a kiss to the top of the younger Witch’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that,” she assured. 

Fun thing about legilimency? It left Narcissa certain she knew exactly what was happening next, and it required eye contact. Hermione closed her eyes, considering her course of action carefully, making a bit of a show of needing to catch her breath a moment longer while the woman traced lazy patterns along her ribs, her stomach.

Narcissa let out a surprised, “Oh!” as Hermione swiftly rose and straddled her, keeping her gaze averted as she dove straight to work, kissing the woman’s neck, feeling the vibration of her chuckling through her skin, Hermione’s hands settling on her corseted waist, as she kissed her way down her throat, lower still and then she whisked her intent back behind her library, putting only her question in the forefront of her mind, as she asked,

“May I?”

Narcissa swallowed, something uncertain in her gaze as she considered it a moment, before nodding. Hermione didn’t move for her own wand she...was almost about to voice that it was fine, move on, she wasn’t about to do something the woman wasn’t a hundred percent certain on, if she wasn’t comfortable being totally naked, Hermione wasn’t going to make her. But the woman cast herself, corset and underthings vanishing in the blink of an eye leaving-

 _I could show you things you could use to just_ devastate _her,_ Narcissa had offered, threatened of her Present Self, when she feared the woman had said something to make Hermione feel insecure about her curse scar.

Narcissa’s skin was porcelain smooth save for shrunken short pale lines along her lower stomach, stretchmarks, and a single pale pink scar drawn with surgical precision horizontal, low under her navel.

She raised her gaze to meet Narcissa’s as the woman watched and waited. _This_ was devastation? Maybe it's cause, surgery she’d endured to rid her of something she’d wanted for herself, to protect her son from her husband, ex-husband’s deadly ideals. Stretchmarks? Just a sign of the life she’d carried, her scar the life she secured. She’d made a _person!_ An _amazing_ person! One of Hermione’s _favorite_ people!

Narcissa had started blinking as if trying to banish tears, before Hermione lowered her head to pepper kisses along scarred skin, breathing, “My _God,_ you’re so beautiful,” against her stomach, the woman gasping in to release a relieved sounding sob that tore at her heart. “You’re perfect, and brave, and brilliant, Narcissa, and I swear to God if it's the last thing I do, I’ll make it that you never think otherwise ever again.”

Hermione pressed a kiss to the woman’s scar once more before venturing lower, and lower still, pressing a kiss to the smooth pale skin of Narcissa’s mound, the woman’s hips twitching as she gasped, a bit startled. And Hermione’s mind finally placed the scent she’d been smelling, familiar but only just. She’d smelled it only once before, and a smile tugged at her lips as she looked up at the woman, accusing,

“Narcissa Black!” she’d called her _name!_ “Did you leave work, make _me_ leave work because you skived off to go touch yourself while thinking of me?” and then played sick when she got caught!

The woman was blushing rather furiously even as she assured, “My summoning you from such activity will be much more intentional and inclusive in future.”

Hermione grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”

That, and her hips, she had to to keep from getting a bloodied nose from the woman’s staggering hips when she set about her business, hands gripping Narcissa’s hips as her mouth took claim of her sex. “Wh-what- Hermione-”

Her own, “Shhhh,” against her folds sent the questioning woman keening, sucking in air to catch her breath when Hermione giggled there too. Had...oh Merlin. Had she never been eaten out before?

…technically, neither had Hermione, but she’d an excellent memory.

It seemed like the woman must have come a time or two just dealing with Hermione, warm and open, soaking wet as the younger Witch lapped at her sex, loosing an appreciative moan against her that drew a cry from Narcissa, Merlin. She’d thought Hermione tasted good? Who had just left this woman untasted for- twenty years they’d been married! Lucius Malfoy was an idiot and a bastard and he didn’t deserve a day, let alone double decades with Narcissa Black.

She’d only gotten started really, tongue teasing at the woman’s clit, circling and swiping, pressing further to gently graze the sensitive bundle of nerves with her teeth. Narcissa cried out, and then her hands were in Hermione’s hair, blindly pulling pleasant pain as she apparently decided very quickly she very much enjoyed exactly what the younger Witch was on about and she wasn’t to stop anytime soon. She pulled and tugged, pressing Hermione’s face further against her as she licked and sucked, relishing in the woman’s trembling as her tongue darted deeper, entering her and lapped languid and certain, setting something of a torturous pace, slow and thorough.

“Hermione! Oh my darling, please!”

Well, she’d said please. Good manners were always to be rewarded.

Hermione sped her strokes, venturing deeper, plying more and more pressure until the woman screamed her name, spasming around a tongue that worked diligently to lick up every bit of moisture the older Witch produced. The hands in her hair were lax hold slipping as Hermione rose up, crawling forward and taking breathless lips in her own so the woman could taste herself, Narcissa’s hand rising to caress her face as the woman smiled into their kiss, humming appreciatively as she caught her breath. Hermione sighed as she rested against the woman, settling against her with her head resting on her chest, Narcissa’s hand idly stroking through her hair.

“You, my darling, are absolutely deadly. Gods above,” she breathed, humming a bit when Hermione giggled. “I wonder if Sara will be terribly displeased with us if we...what was that delightful word of yours? ‘Skive off’? From the Whitaker’s splendid party this evening. Our appearance could be brief.”

Oh yeah. She’d forgotten, honestly. “I don’t think she’d be cross with us, considering. We could always just say someone wasn’t feeling w-” wasn’t feeling _well_ , she’d been about to say. A suggestion of a lie that was steadily becoming truth.

She’d cut off, flinching forward so hard she sat up, a strangled sound in her throat as she nearly screamed at hot, searing pain, low on her stomach, pulsing pain in her left forearm.

Narcissa sat up immediately, hand resting on her shoulder, voice urgent in her ear, “Darling?” and from her memories she could _hear_ Draco’s alarmed,

_“Hermione?!”_

“What is it? Have I hurt you?” 

“No, no I- I don’t know what that-” another pain, slashing deeper, more painfully, high on her chest, into her right shoulder making her flinch curling in on herself as she screamed.

“Hermione?!”

_“Shit! Shit! Shh shh, Hermione? Granger, look at me, focus, you need to Occlude, you need to Occlude now!”_

_Struggling to think past blinding pain Hermione pulled away into her library, and further into her blinding light. If the next wave came, she didn’t feel it, but God, Merlin, it hurt! Her stomach, her chest, what pain had broken through stayed and oh God it hurt!_

Her Present self mightn’t feel the next wave, she was grateful for that, but even as Hermione put herself in brilliant light, her curse-scar pulsed with agony as she felt the drag of firey torture from her right shoulder, down her breast and across her stomach.

Bellatrix was getting in the spirit of Samhain.

* * *

It was her own fault truly. Bella was Bella. She’d been the fool tempting fate, accepting happiness just in reach, choosing to believe what she wished, what she most desperately wanted to be true. She thought she’d done it, between her diligent casting and teaching her to Occlude, she’d done enough to secure Hermione from further agony from her scar, thought Armilustrium’s passing without pain meant as much. Foolish, disastrously foolish. Bella screaming about Mudbloods mightn’t be able to harm Hermione anymore.

Scarring them, was another matter.

It was Samhain, and Bella was most certainly using her favored knife. And when she did? Any poor soul that dared survive her blade, lived on with its mark on their body? Felt every ounce of torment the woman inflicted when she turned her knife on others.

The bathroom door was nearly blown off its hinges, slamming into the wall only to bounce back and slam closed behind them as Narcissa gathered Hermione in her arms and came crashing into the room as the girl screamed, doubled over and sent to her knees, sobbing and heaving sick, Narcissa casting haphazardly, to send water surging into the tub and banish bile pouring up from the younger Witch’s stomach, Narcissa kneeling at her side, rubbing circles on her back, fearful it was more painful than comforting, oh gods. She cast her Black family pain relieving charm into the water and Hermione squeezed her hand when she took it,

“Come darling, we- we’ll get you into the bath. Everything is going to be alright-” she would tackle the girl’s pain and then its source, she aided her rise and helped her into the water.

“It- it isn’t- I need ou-” Hermione sobbed, lurching forward over the edge of the tub almost immediately, fighting to catch her breath, trembling arms reaching for Narcissa’s shoulders, “It isn’t- it’s making it w-worse-” feverish eyes met her own and she saw the horrible issue. The water did soothe aches, coax muscle lax, but that only made a startling contradiction in her body, blissfully relaxed muscles countered by sharp blazing agony tearing into her skin.

She pulled the girl up, clumsily aiding her slippery ascent from the bath, the woman settling for seating herself with her back against the bathroom wall alongside the tub, pulling her into her arms, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Breathe darling, just breathe! _Accio_ Narcissa’s day planner!” Narcissa called. Her Present Self kept the thing on her person at all times, tucked away in her robes, she had to st-

“Stop!” Hermione cried out, horrified, taking hold of the book the instant it flew into the woman’s hand.

“I am trying-”

“Don’t! Y-you ca- you have or- orders! If Bella doesn't k- kill you T-T-Tom-” she flinched again, a scream tearing from her throat as she curled around the planner as if to bodily shield it from the woman, it slipped from her hands which went to rest against the Witch in her lap’s back. “You aren’t allowed to get yourself _killed!”_

“They would not kill me-” Narcissa argued.

“You don’t know that! And they’ll definitely p-punish you,” a sob cracked off the back of her throat, tremors wracking her frame. Hermione’s skin was blazing with fever, sweating profusely as pain pulled anguish from her.

Oh Merlin, she wanted Bella to stop, she wanted Hermione well! She wanted Andromeda, Narcissa had been useless against this, but _she_ would know, she always knew! No matter what happened, her sister always knew exactly what to do.

She couldn’t have her sister’s guidance, but Healer Marigold, certainly, the woman was wise and experienced, she could- oh gods she had to at least be capable of keeping Hermione _alive,_ would have the ability and access to greater healing than Narcissa was capable of providing.

“I’m summoning our Secret Keeper, she will come and- and everything is going to be alright my darling just hold on,” Narcissa pled, heart wrenching when the girl nodded weakly, shifting to lay so she could look up into her face, only to have her eyes blow wide in her head, back arching off Narcissa’s lap, hands grasping at the sides of her head, taking fistfuls of her own hair as she _screamed_. Sob’s worked through Narcissa’s chest as she summoned the sigil stone, the smooth ebony stone sailing into her hand and as she sent magic into it, it glowed brilliant white that began blinking, shining and dying to show her signal had been sent. She felt a tug on her magic as she summoned her robes, she made to offer as much for Hermione but the mere thought of- even the contact she had with the floor, Narcissa, was painful, but feeling the woman’s presence was comfort, she would suffer no matter where she lay. Still, the last thing she wanted was more contact with her skin, it was no matter, she needn’t be ill at ease with the Healer. Oh but the tugging, Dragon, oh Merlin he was contacting her now, what-

_What’s happening? Are you under attack? Hermione started screaming, something’s attacking her magic._

_We are not under attack. Your aunt's knife is in use, we are awaiting medical assistance now, you should likewise take Hermione-_

_Occluding stopped it from spreading or whatever but she’s in so much pain from what came through, we got her to the Hospital Wing and Pomfrey put her out. We’re staying with her until she wakes up._

Gods, oh Morgana herself, guard and preserve this girl’s life.

“Is- is he- is he okay?” rasped from Hermione’s throat, “I can’t- I don’t remember what’s happening, where I am, we were in the Room of Re-Requirement…”

“Shhh, darling don’t- do not be concerned, Draco and your friends are well. They’ve gotten your Present self to the Hospital Wing, you’re asleep,” perhaps she should be likewise, oh Merlin she was petrified she would do the wrong thing, make things worse. The Sigil stone lit solid white, unblinking, their signal received, oh thank Juno above. “Healer Marigold is coming darling,” she promised, smoothing sweat soaked hair back from the younger Witch’s face.

“N-Narcissa, the time-turner is in-” she sucked in a harsh breath, pain making theft of her voice momentarily before, “there’s a jewelry box in my room. I-it’ll o-open for you. A-and I left inst- instructions w-with our documentation of l-last year-”

“Instructions?”

“If som- if something h-happens. They’ll help m-move things forward, make sure everything can still w-work-”

“Hermione do not- cease speaking, our healer will be here soon-”

“Sara and J-Jessie, M-Mike, the Whitakers, they love you, don’t- don’t be alone okay, you- you’re not alone, you’re so loved and you d-deserve-”

Narcissa wept, bending forward and resting her forehead against Hermione’s, grasping her hand as tightly as she dared, there was no- it was unthinkable- she needed her to stop, “I know.” She didn’t, she didn’t know how she would move forward except through either unadulterated rage born of pain, she would not be the sort of person anyone she loved should dare be around, without Hermione, with Draco so far from her side? 

Oh Merlin she hated this, she wanted help and healing! She wanted her sister! She wanted Andromeda!

The bathroom door was truly blown off its hinges, crashing to the floor with a deafening sound as boot falls thunked against tile and then the wood of the door, spiraling, knotted wand poised in one hand, sharp brown eyes assessing the situation…

Mahogany hair that had once been long enough to braid cropped short to curl atop her head...a swath of it just off-center at the front of her bangs, dyed a ridiculous shade of purple. It had been white when she saw her at the train station. She must have wished to match her daughter. 

“Narcissa _Celeste_ , what in Merlin’s _name_ have you gotten yourself into?!”

In the midst of a bathroom, in a home tucked away in a suburb of Muggle London, Narcissa Black stared with utter relief, into the face of Andromeda Cassiopeia Tonks.

* * *

_Everything hurts, magic is just blazing trails of pain, fresh agony dragging its way through her with malicious abandon._

_“Delimit the area while I get her to bed.”_

_“I’m more than capable of carrying-”_

_“Oh do calm yourself Narcissa, I’m hardly going to touch the girl. Mobilcorpus.”_

_Pain pulled, stretching from her magic, through muscle and tissue until its snaps into her skin._

_“Andromeda! She is_ bleeding!”

_“You will be made to leave if you do not let me work in peace. That is why I conjured Blood Replenisher from my stores, Narcissa. These injuries are in her magic and I cannot heal them there, if I bring them out to the surface they can be healed and cease paining her.”_

_“Should I retrieve more dittany?”_

_“There is only so much, and too if we are not careful it will lose its effectiveness, her magic will cease reacting to fresh dosing. Can you trust my decades of medical expertise or shall I parade the girl around St. Mungos announcing for all to hear the world is blessed with double Miss Grangers?”_

_“I was merely offering!”_

_“You are merely disturbing. Do shut up.”_

_“I will do no such thing! Her Present self is injured minorly but in this way. Draco says Madam Pomfrey has rendered her unconscious, the woman has no context for how Hermione is hurt.”_

_There’s a tired sigh. “Once I have this Hermione stable, I will write Madam Pomfrey as if Draco has written me for my aid, and offer my experience dealing with dark injury. I do appreciate you bringing this to my attention, I’d not realized her present self might be affected but darling I truly need to concentrate. Her pulse is thready, breathing erratic, she keeps stopping and volleying in and out of consciousness. It will do her brilliant mind no favors if it suffers from lack of oxygen. If you wish to be of help, Narcissa, be another set of hands. Her symptoms will persist as her injury does, if you could dose her while I cast…”_

_“Yes, of course.”_

_“Blood Replenisher at the top of every hour while I pull her injuries up. I will be treating the worst now, and we will see where we stand. For now I need potion of Oxidation in her system every fifteen minutes for the next two hours, I will establish from there, do keep me apprised of the time.”_

_“Certainly.”_

_Its been hours. Pull stretch snap. Blood gushing before being quelled with something that stung and then soothed. Hands in her hair supporting her head, potion pouring past her lips. Repeat._

_“...do you need a moment?” asked gently, an act of patience. “I understand this can be hard to watch. I promise I’m nearly done for tonight.”_

_“For tonight?!”_

_Snapping again, her patience lost. “If you prefer her either bleeding out or growing immune to vital, life saving potion? By all means we’ll continue!”_

_“It isn’t that I do not trust you, your expertise. It- I never dreamed it was you Severus secured. It is you I wished for in all the world.”_

_“How you can seek to insult and cajole me all at once is astounding, you were much more charming in our youth-”_

_“I’m not seeking to insult!” she insisted, “And it is not a lie to placate, that I wished for you! It is not doubt of you I question from it’s- I- oh gods, ‘dromeda, I am- I am scared.”_

_“...you care for Miss Granger a great deal?”_

_“I cannot- she has to- I cannot lose her, Andromeda. I can’t.” Quiet crying fills the silence that follows._

_“...I am here now, and I am doing everything in my power. She will survive this, Narcissa.”_

The first time she opens her eyes, the world is a fuzzy blur, colors and light seem too bright. She’s awake because there’s frantic tugging in her magic and she can’t open her eyes for more than a second, but there’s pressure on her shoulders, someone gently pushing her to lie back, but she wants up Narcissa needs her- “Shh, darling rest. My Present self is foolishly writing to check on you, she will be corrected to leave you be. I have already written Draco to not disturb you, darling...of course now he writes me several times an hour,” she mused. “He sends his love,” her voice wavered and then there’s lips against her temple. “I do need you darling. You are absolutely to be well soon or I will be most displeased with you.”

_“I am sorry, I realize it is early but-” there’s a sound like a sob caught to be quieted before it can leave her throat. “There has been- Hermione has been gravely i-injured. She cannot make it into work and I apologize that leaves you short staffed but I will not leave her. No she...she cannot be taken to hospital for her injuries, we’ve a healer at hand. She is resting, I do not know when she will wake.” Silence, and then a startled sputtering sound, “Oh. St-Stacie I meant. Forgive me, it has been a trying night. Morning now, I suppose. Oh, my dear lady, you needn’t trouble yourself on my account. I will let her know you are thinking of her, and I do promise to keep you apprised. Truly? Thank you.”_

_Quiet humming from a squeaky voice, a small hand carding through her hair, the other resting against her chin, cool glass at her lips as the hand in her hair moves to support her head, “Jinsey is here. Jinsey will take care of Future Mistress and her Hermione as long as they is needing her! Mistress’s Hermione will be being better soon. Mistress sends nutritive potion just for her Hermione!”_

The second time she opens her eyes...she’s pretty sure she’s confused. Someone’s lying directly beside her, elbow propped and supporting their head as they stare at her, she opens her eyes into theirs, and they’re not Narcissa’s. Sara? Sara’s never been over before, not in her house anyway, but Hermione wakes and there she is, lying and staring.

“Hey, you’re awake! How’re you feeling? ‘m right pissed at you, worrying me like this, who gave you the right? The second you’re better I’ve got questions for you, _whatever your name is,_ not just all the dirty details about you and Narcissa and all that crazy starlight throughout your house nonsense.” Then, “Narcissa! She’s awake- oi! Eyes open, don’t go making a liar of me!” There’s a rush of magic, and then Sara pleading, “Please remember I have two small children you adore who need me, mostly for my ability to feed them. I swear to God her eyes were just open.”

It’s not like she’s doing it on purpose, she wants to open her eyes when a warm hand feels at her forehead before brushing her hair back. “It’s alright darling. Thank you for staying with her, I’ve nearly finished my brewing.”

_Heels clicking a pacing pattern across hardwood floors. “Why isn’t she waking?”_

_A page turning. “To be spared your irksome presence?”_

_“It has been days, Andromeda!”_

_“Has it been? I have always wondered, the machinations of the heavens, dark, light, dark again, that is the passage of days? How exciting.” Then, “She is healing nicely, Narcissa, that takes energy. She’ll wake when she wakes…” the soft sturdy sound of a book snapping closed. “Come. I believe a sound trouncing in Wizards Chess will distract you nicely.”_

_“I could do with a victory.”_

_“I mean to trounce you, and you best believe I will.”_

_“It is so sad to see you growing senile in your old age.”_

_“Time travel considered? We’re very nearly the same age,” she gasped with delight, “Gods above, Cissy, when you’re returned to time…you might just be the elder sister!”_

_“Perish the thought!”_

_“Shan’t. It’s science darling, you can’t hide from facts.” Giggling overlaps a frustrated growl._

It’s dark when she opens her eyes a third time. The best time. A blonde Witch seated in a chair at her bedside. Hermione squeezed the hand in hers, Narcissa had been distractedly staring into space, but she startles and smiles her relief.

“Darling?”

“Hey...you’re really pretty, you know?”

That gets her an arched brow. Really pretty and bemused, “Entertaining a touch of delirium, are we? I look a sight.”

“Mhm, beautiful one. It’s all your everything,” she gestured clumsily with a waving hand she can only just feel at the woman, “and the moonlight.” Something in her magic feels loopy, she’s pretty sure it’s making her a poet. Oh! She should work on her birthday poem!

Narcissa chuckled warmly, “Oh my darling, I do love you,” she said, an index finger brushing a curl from her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“I definitely love you. Fuzzy on the details, confused.”

“I mean physically, Hermione.”

“A little sore, everythings kind of hazy.” Somehow she feels weightless and leadend, too heavy to move, but like she’s floating just apart from her body.

“Well, you’ve quite a bit of potion in your system,” Narcissa supposed, brow furrowing as if something’s occurred to her. Awe.

“What’s wrong?” she wasn’t sure how she could help but she should do something, right? Narcissa’s hand squeezed hers.

“...I’m not certain, exactly what is happening but...well I’m in a meeting with the Headmaster just now.”

Huh? “The Headmaster’s here?”

A smile tugged at Narcissa’s lips. “No darling, my present self is with him at Hogwarts.”

“Oh. Is something the matter?”

“He’d a meeting with Lucius, apparently, the evening after Samhain.” She sat further forward, concerned when Hermione groaned at that, "Darling?"

“What’s he done now?”

Narcissa cleared her throat, looking entirely uncertain, avoiding Hermione’s gaze, mouth working momentarily and then,

“Well darling, Lucius has apparently informed the Order of the Dark Lord’s plans to take over the school, and he seeks audience with Harry Potter,” she looked to Hermione then. “He apparently wishes to warn him of the existence of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *while not touched on in the books I don't think, definitely not in the movies, JKR has tweeted that Hermione's birthday is September 19th. Narcissa's birthday is a matter of my personal headcanon and needing Hermione's Virgo ass to have her Capricorn soulmate. 
> 
> *Early Greek/Roman accounts of birthdays bear the tradition of poetry written either about the birthday person or about their birthday celebration. The single candle being lit to burn through the night likewise comes from early Roman tradition.
> 
> *In the movies, Hermione is aware before Harry is, what "Mudblood" means. In the books, she didn't know until after Draco calls her as much.
> 
> *another movie difference. In the movies they show Bella's vault contents responding to being cursed with Geminio, in the books they're also cursed with Flagrante, so! Everything pops off multiplying like mad and burn anyone touching them. Big firey pile up!
> 
> *JKR has the Black Sisters born in the 50s. But Harry and Draco being the same age, being the direct next generation, I personally prefer the idea of Narcissa coming up with Lily and James, choosing a different path from their school mates, showing the stark contrast of opposite ends of the war, it seems like a better fit both story wise and character-wise. So many people are lost in the First War on the Order's side, it would be more effective if they're genuinely Narcissa's peers. And we know Narcissa "Perfect Pureblood" Black began trying for a family immediately upon marriage, married the minute she was of Age and while yes, there could be the matter of struggling to get pregnant explaining why Narcissa doesn't have Draco for a solid 8 years of Marriage, with magic it seems like all other medical issues--Harry loses all the bones in his arm and takes potion and boom! it takes a minute (hours) but his bones grow back, meanwhile on the opposite end of the spectrum you have Madeye Moody with like one OG limb still attached and functioning. Fertility is likely the same, either "slap a spell or potion on the issue fixes it right up" or "magic can't help you here outside the realm of surrogacy, or you can always adopt". All these things in mind Narcissa and her sisters, Lucius, being similar aged to Lily and James fits better than their canon birth years. I hope this doesn't bug anyone too bad? Tonks can be early 20s within reason with the ambiguity of the age gap between the Black Sisters applied to 1955-1960 instead of canon's 1950-1955.


	9. Sisters and Saviors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Samhain ritual, wounds both physical and emotional are healed, sisters are reunited, and their local Tesco might never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 3rd Update in a month! Pride Month has been good to me!
> 
> Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos and reading and being amazing. Probably amazing, I don't wanna assume. You could also be incredible, sublime, or wonderful, depending on whatever best describes you.
> 
> Thanks as always to inkheart9459 for the best friend beta-work!
> 
> Enjoy!

_If something happens…_

“Delimit the area while I get her to bed,” Andromeda had regained her no-nonsense Healer’s mindset in an instant once she’d assessed the problem at hand, looked on the fevered, pain-ridden Witch in Narcissa’s hold, the horrible scar on her forearm very visible, red and inflamed. Her heart clenched, panic surging as the girl’s eyes rolled back in her head.

She clutched her love tighter, everything was so painful, but she had at least found some relief at Narcissa holding her, “I’m more than capable of carrying-”

“Oh do calm yourself Narcissa, I’m hardly going to touch the girl. Mobilcorpus.” Ahh. Yes, that might be more bearable.

_If something happens..._

She had to sit helplessly and watch as injury after injury was pulled up, Hermione’s body littered with cuts, slashes, patches where Bella had decided to skin some poor person’s and ultimately Hermione’s flesh, pulled up to lay claim to her skin under Andromeda’s casting. Narcissa had born witness to torture, things considerably worse and yet this felt like what might break her, selfish as that must be. The girl whimpered and wailed, gasping in harsh ragged breaths. The only thing that kept her grounded was the task at hand, administering potion while her sisters joined forces in paining Hermione Granger, to hurt and heal. Hermione’s mind was a fevered pain-clouded murky mess, the few instances she slipped back into tentative consciousness and opened her eyes to stare up into Narcissa’s face the space became threaded with the idea of _her_ the assurance that Narcissa was with her and everything would be okay. She wasn’t certain if the girl felt as much for herself, or if she was trying to convey the sentiment to the older Witch.

“This is the worst of her injuries thus far,” Andromeda softly announced as she cast diagnostics once more, voice cracking dry in her throat. Oh, she looked worn from her spellwork. Her sister raised her gaze to meet Narcissa’s, the blonde Witch seated directly by Hermione’s head, though her eyes darted downward, where Narcissa was delicately brushing a hand through Hermione’s hair, before looking back up to meet her eye. “...do you need a moment?” she questioned gently. “I understand this can be hard to watch. I promise I am nearly done for tonight.”

“For _tonight?!”_ she- she wasn’t _through_ after this?! Why would she not heal Hermione to completion that was-

“If you prefer her either bleeding out or growing immune to vital, life saving potion? By all means we’ll continue!”

...entirely sound, apparently. Oh Merlin. She hadn’t meant to insult her sister’s intelligence or make question of her abilities. “It isn’t that I do not trust you, your expertise. It- I never dreamed it was _you_ Severus secured. It is you I wished for in all the world,” she sought to assure but it was perceived as,

“How you can seek to insult and cajole me all at once is astounding, you were much more charming in our youth-”

“I’m not seeking to insult!” she insisted, “And it is not a lie to placate, that I wished for you! It is not doubt of you I question from it’s- I- oh gods, ‘dromeda, I am- I am _scared.”_

“...you care for Miss Granger a great deal?”

_If something happens…_

Something _had_ happened.

“I cannot- she has to- I cannot lose her, Andromeda. I _can’t.”_

Something in the woman deflated at that. “...I am here now, and I am doing everything in my power. She will survive this, Narcissa.”

_She’d messed up rather spectacularly, faltered before her tutor and her Mother, having failed to cast...some arbitrary spell, something that shouldn’t be expected of her until her Third Year when she was not even in her First. But Mother demanded as much. She was a Black. Narcissa ended her lesson without success, saw her tutor taking note with a series of tsks and a shake of his head as he left the sitting room she and Druella Black and she’d- she hadn’t understood at the time, what was happening, but the breath had stolen from her lungs and her magic built up in her fear and she’d left shattered mother’s favored vase. Repairable but Mother’s expectations were not. She expected better of her child, being met with her failure and an outburst of Wild Magic? At her age? She’d been ten, surely she should be broken of such tendencies._

_Bella. They were all of them home for Winter Holiday, Bella and Andromeda from Hogwarts, Narcissa from Première Académie of Unseen Arts in Verneuil-sur-Seine. Bella had stormed the room, looked their Mother in the eye, cast_ reparo _to set the vase to rights. And then gaze unflinching, pushed it off the table to send it crashing to shatter on the floor. Mother’s ire was properly transferred and Narcissa was cast from the room as the woman decided to teach her eldest a lesson. She’d fled in search of Andromeda, pulling her sister along until they were seated in wait down the hall from where Mother shouted and Bella...shouted back, at least at first, until she just took on punishment in silence. Andromeda sat with Narcissa in her lap, stroking her hair as she wept._

_“I d-d-didn’t mean to- she’s going to kill Bella, isn’t she?”_

_“No, Cissy...it’s okay, Bella’s strong.” Andromeda’s forehead rested against hers, brushing the hair out of her face. “So are we. Black sisters three, there is nothing we cannot face so long as we do so together. Bella has protected you, you came and got me, and I will heal her. So long as we’re together, everything is going to be okay.”_

It did not feel as much as the brand of _Blood-Traitor_ was drawn up through Hermione’s flesh to send her bleeding an angle from hip to just under the opposing breast. Smaller abrasions had been drawn up, cleansed, and bandaged, left to heal naturally as to not waste vital potion or risk its loss of effectiveness on something not quite so serious. Andromeda cast to trace Bella’s writing in reverse, a meticulous task that drew dittany along the letters until flesh mended to erase the scrawl entirely.

Andromeda staggered forward, hand grasping to catch herself against the foot of the bed and Narcissa summoned a chair that clattered its way up the stairs from the kitchen, to rest behind the woman who gratefully collapsed into it to rest a moment, assessing her patient. She asserted herself further, casting to cleanse bloodied sheets and body, a stranger’s magic sweeping over her form caused the seemingly comatose girl to cringe, plea for,

“Narcissa?!”

She went lax when Narcissa carded a hand through her hair, “I am right here my darling,” she promised.

“We should stop for now, Bella...has, it would seem,” Andromeda spoke with some surprise, checking her pulling a golden pocketwatch from her vest's hip pocket.

“Is that…?”

Andromeda looked up, meeting Narcissa’s questioning stare.

_Panic swept her from head to toe, left her frozen at her bedroom window. She’d nothing more than the clothes on her back, a dress Teddy purchased her in case her parents rendered every worldly possession she might take. She thought everyone had been asleep when she unwound the wards at her window but the door to her room swung open and, “D-Daddy I- I was just-”_

_Cygnus Black crossed the large room in seven swift strides, and pulled his daughter into his arms, holding her against his chest one last time._

_“If he is worth this, if this is truly what will make you happy my darling, I...I just wish there was more I could do for you. I...do not understand. But if you are giving all else up to pursue it, it must be what is in your heart to do, there must be reason beyond my understanding and…” he sighed, pulling away to look down into her face. “I have studied Arithmancy all of my life, and I will never live to understand its every facet. I still pursue the task. I don’t understand what appeal...this way of life holds for you,” he raised a hand to rest against her cheek, “My love of you persists.”_

_“They aren’t...Teddy he- I know it is believed Purebloods are the perfect ultimate magical form, but...his magic is no less than any of his peers, and he himself, daddy he’s-” her chin quivered, “I want to spend the rest of our lives in pursuit of understanding of him, his sweetness, and grace, his love and unwavering bravery.”_

_“Perhaps I understand more than I thought…” her father offered in conspiring jest, wicked smirk on his lips, a sparkle in his winking eye, “that’s precisely what I feel for Arithmancy.” Smirk to smile, at his daughter’s laugh. He raised his wand then...and unwound the last of the wards, ones she had missed that thankfully...her father had answered the call to. “Go my love. If...if we may never see eachother again on what can be considered good terms, if your mother can never forgive you, know that I am...proud you can stand by your own convictions. Of the woman you’ve become. That I am sorry I cannot do more,” he withdrew his pocketwatch, glittering gold in the low light of her quarters as he held it out to her, clicking it open to reveal its ticking clockface and...and their portraits, three ovals in the back of the encasements front that his daughters faces, almost eerily like a muggle photograph, seated stock still and smiling perfection but- oh. Mistakes. Mishots all of them, ones Mother hadn't wished to pay the photographer for, instructed them to banish because of their unwanted movement. Father had made a face behind Mother's back while their portraits were being taken, that prompted Andromeda to smile brighter, more genuinely so much that her eyes were squinted with her mirth, Narcissa had giggled into her hand. Bella had raised a hand likewise, to drag down a lower eyelid and stick out her tongue, making a face of her own. Father had kept them, had them placed in his watch and now he closed it to press it in offering into his daughter's hand._

_Andromeda's vision flooded with tears. "Will they ever forgive me? Leaving them?" Bella would never...neither would Narcissa, not that she much cared at the moment. Much._

_"Oh my love, can sisters ever truly part? When your sisters need you most, I know, as well should they, that you will always be there for them."_

"He…"

"Distracted mother while I left. He visited once, when Nypmhadora was born. He never risked it again but…" the one instance he could had meant everything.

"Your daughter is a blessing, gods above she is just _beautiful_ , Andromeda. I'm glad he got to bear witness to that."

Andromeda gave her a pointed, doubtful look at that, "You think my daughter is beautiful?"

"A perfect combination of yourself and your sweet husband-"

She scoffed. "You do not think my hus-"

"Do not presume to know what I think, your magic lies in matters of the body, not the mind," Narcissa snapped. "I would die for your family. So, do shut up."

"You said-"

 _"Your precious boyfriend’s as_ filthy _as they come! A Mudblood letch!" a teenaged Narcissa had screamed in Andromeda's face. "He's disgusting and beneath you, you would sink into the mud under your boots, let it_ fuck _you, bear its disgusting spawn? I hope his seed rots your womb, that no filthy soiled sprawg lives to see the light of day from your union! Abortion was the only mercy a_ thing _like that could know. Poor bastard, meant to be Pureblood but their mother can't keep her twat out of the muck. You're disgusting, Andromeda, undeserving of the name Black!” she didn’t, she deserved better. Maybe Tonks would be that for her. “If you stay with him? I hope you rot together!" an underhanded wish for their long life leading to being buried together in death but it landed as it sounded and that was good._

"If you believe a word of what I said when last we spoke...I am glad. You were meant to. I could not risk you trying to contact me afterward."

"Afterward-?" Her face went blank and then realization. "...you knew I was leaving that night."

"I saw your mind. You were leaving with the hope we could maintain our relationship. If I had relented even a moment, extended anything forgiving or forgivable? We either are or we aren't, there has never been a middle ground with us, inseparable or separate. It was love of you, that I said such unforgivable things...but I will still apologize for them now, that I hurt you. But trying with me in the aftermath, that would have only gotten you and darling Ted killed. The only love I could give was an effort to see you decry me, and " Her chin quivered, "I- I was mortified when I learned you fell pregnant with Nymphadora, horrified my words might somehow...there is a power to what we speak even when it isn't a spell. I was so afraid I spoke ill into your child. I prayed for her every night from the moment rumor spread, for her health, for yours."

"Pregnancy with an ever-shifting babe was...as tumultuous as raising one. But I survived it well enough, even as I would never be able to risk as much again. I did not... I thought of such accusations, the things people said about mixing blood when I struggled, but your words...I did not think of them," Andromeda assured. "Of course I did my best not to think of you full stop."

"I...tried likewise," tears pricked her eyes as she informed, "to little success."

Andromeda’s expresion waived and then she looked into her hands resting in her lap, tired as she asked, "What are you doing here, Narcissa? Severus gave precious little explanation."

"He has precious little information," Narcissa assured. "Miss Granger and myself have transported ourselves through time, from the spring of 1998. Miss Granger had been given the ability to travel through time in an emergency and...the way the War was going at the time? Emergency was understatement. We were in a position to be allied, and she sent us back and we made escape here to do what we can to right things, starting with Draco’s defecting, now my present self’s involvement in the Dark Lord’s plans, hopefully I can thwart what he has succeded in in our time."

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to know.” She couldn’t. Narcissa would not risk Teddy Tonks’ life. They could not know if her directly telling Andromeda to prevent his death, if that would rob her of the ability to forewarn her and leave him dead. Until they saw more of how time played out, tried as much in benign ways? They could not risk it. “I can’t speak of it without too great a risk. The things we do now are already fraught with uncertainty. Believe you me, as in the dark you feel about our machinations? I feel much the same.”

“Like you’ve no clue what you’re doing even as you’re doing it…” Andromeda nodded. “I understand the feeling well,” she mused, wrenching a hand at the back of her neck to massage at tensing muscle.

“What can I do? You have concluded treating Hermione for now?” the woman nodded. “Is she…”

“I concluded my casting with an anesthetic spell. She’s in a medically induced coma and I’ll monitor her for further injury but thus far nothing new has appeared. She’s still...it will take a few sessions more, but I will right this. We just...we both must rest. Even if I’d the strength to do as much, she would not survive it.”

...oh, it was talk that Bella had stopped that prompted Andromeda to check their father’s watch. Narcissa cast tempus to...it was barely gone one. Not that hours of torment wasn’t plenty but for Bella? She could go on and on from when they started ritual at dusk to when it ended at dawn. That would not be for hours yet. She realized she’d not been paying attention, and thought back on the evening, had something happened at the Dark Lord’s ritual? There was the hope with Severus and Narcissa being tasked to keep guard that the Order might successfully intervene, though they were not quite as brazen as they were in the days of Lily and James Potter, a second war bearing more caution than the first.

_Narcissa was making rounds along the forest path walking the direction opposite of Severus, to meet on the other side, what joyus fun that was. Samhain ritual was in full swing further in, in the heart of the wood, Bella’s cackling, the Dark Lord’s voice rhapsodising, calls from Death Eaters all punctuated with screams and cries. She hated this. She wished...she wished she’d no need to be here. She wished to hear back from Hermione. The girl had promised to write her before she retired tonight, but perhaps the younger Witch was celebrating. Still, she often checked on her in times such as these, when she knew Narcissa would be involved in unpleasantness. Something...something did not feel right, in her magic, she felt almost sick because of it, this sense of dread at her day planner's silence. Hermione knew she could not write in the midst of such things but still...she also seemed to know the pull in Narcissa’s magic was blissful assurance she wasn’t as alone as she felt in such times. It...was not like her, to leave her without that, even if she was...otherwise occupied by Narcissa’s future-self, a future self she longed to be, Hermione...while always mindful they were the same person, was likewise mindful their experiences were different, she would not leave her in silence for so long, something might be-_

_She whirled around, wand in hand, curse at her lips when the sound of a twig snapping underfoot drew her attention, it’s cause raising his hands...in submission where he might usually have drawn his wand and hexed her for raising her wand at him with all the casualness he could swat a fly._

_“Lucius,” her voice was hard, “you are expected at Ritual.”_

_“I...I was seeking air, and Severus. I saw wand light and...” he raised his gaze then, assessing, “he is not with you?”_

_“I can take care of myself.”_

_“He is to be standing guard with you, if you were attac-” he stopped, acknowledging, “you can handle yourself yes, I suppose so.”_

_If she was attacked indeed. Was that what he was here for? “You should return, the Dark Lord will notice your absence soon,” she reminded him, met with,_

_“Doubtful, Bellatrix is taking enough for the rest of us,” he...shuddered. Usually her antics annoyed or delighted him. “She hasn’t so much as touched her wand yet.”_

_“Truly? It doesn’t sound like it.”_

_“She’s making play with your mother’s knife,” steely silver eyes softened in concern, “Narcissa?”_

_The realization slammed her all at once. Had her future self cast to heal Hermione’s scar? Would she even be capable of doing as much? She’d tried, countless times to aid Bella in the past—not in wielding her knife but in recovering from it when it was used on her. Andromeda was the only one between them who bore success in the past!_

_Gods above Hermione might be-_

_“She has to st-” she caught herself, “I believe I’ll join my sister, if she is making a fool of herself, we’re here to redarken our wands not family artefacts, the Dark Lord will be none too pleased-” her words dried up, heart hammering fear and panic wand dropping from her hold when Lucius’s hands took hold of her shoulders to stop her from moving past him to enter the forest further._

_“With you, if you are found out of bounds,” and then he flinched, hands leaving her as if she’d burned him. Had she? She didn’t feel her magic at play, he just...ceased his contact, taking a step back, and then another, though his arms were at his sides, elbows bent, hands splayed at his sides like he might block her from interfering. “You are...correct. He won’t be pleased if our wands aren’t...I will go, offer correction. She’s in something of a pique right now, I doubt she’s thinking clearly, but if you worry of her, I...I’ll confiscate her knife if I have to,” though he did offer, “...your involvement or no, He will still expect…” he cleared his throat. “My wand has registered things I cast tonight...trees are sentient,” he left it at that, a guarded offer of...advice? That she might dirty her wand without...casting harm on another person....Lucius_ relished _in Samhain ritual. Met it with as much joy as Bella, the feverish enthusiasm Abraxas before him once had. Was he seriously endeavoring to have her believe he’d done nothing more but cast at trees this evening? He belived her to be stupid, obviously, to fall prey to some cockamamy idea, be caught endeavoring to shirk her responsibilities in such a way._

_“Go then if you’re to do it.”_

_Lucius nodded. “I...would appreciate if you would tell Severus I wish a word with him? Before Ritual is out.”_

_“I’m not your wife!” she snapped._

_“Nor I your husband. I ask...I merely ask. If you don’t, there’s hardly any consequence to be had, is there? Save that I must fend for myself which...I suppose I should rather get used to. Forget I said anything, your involvement is likely unwise I’m…” he shook his head as if to clear it._

_“Fine!” she agreed, this was foolish, she should have done as much sooner, Hermione might be in peril and if he wasn’t going to let her- ugh! “Go! Stop her befo-”_

_“Of course,” he said, and...then he turned heel, tossing his cane up to grasp it by its center so he may run without it beating the path before him and slowing him he- he was running to return and stop Bella on her behalf. He could not move magically within the wards they’d placed to secure their victims here until sunrise so she supposed it was the fastest alternative means but..._

_...she heard Bellatrix’s voice in anger, shouting something unintelligible and then a shout of pain in Lucius’s voice and then utter silence before the Dark Lord’s voice, quiet but just echoing off the forest around them. Narcissa strayed from her place, drawing nearer and casting to draw sound to her, so she could keep out of sight but-_

_“Her embarrassment is punishment enough, my Lord,” Lucius was insisting...snidely but...a petition for mercy on her sister for something, whatever she’d done when he made to correct her worship. “This is hardly a scratch, not worth the bandaging it would take to cover it. She’ll do well to remember her place. I wouldn’t soil my wand with another Black sister, that is more punishment for me than for her, for all I am the wounded party.” Scratch...had Bella struck him with her blade? Slapped him with sharp fingernails, more likely._

_“I suppose that much is true, my dear Lucius,” the Dark Lord agreed. “Hmm...you have secured your divorce this day have you not? I’d heard rumor. I have not heard from you. Your wife has so thoroughly displeased you?” Narcissa tensed, bracing herself to be brought before the Dark Lord._

"The very _moment_ I am disassociated with you, they will know," Lucius had sneered while they were alone in the elevator on their ascent to the Ministry's Rites and Rituals department just hours ago. "I will tell the Dark Lord _precisely_ what you have done to your body. Once he's aware your most egregious sin, willingly maiming yourself to _give up_ the ability to produce precious Pureblood life? We'll see how well you endure his wrath without my protection."

_At least the knife, Hermione, was secured and she'd left Draco with the request he be a treasure for her this evening. Jinsey would inform him of her arrival back to Hogwarts and bring him if she needed assistance maintaining survival._

_"Irreconcilable differences, my Lord," Lucius said now. "Our union was not as blessed as we’d hoped, it does not serve you as we can better do separately. Her work at Hogwarts can better go unhindered if she’s the liberty to act within your will alone, without my say so. We...both failed you, in the boy’s defection. We will make up for his lack now, with our service.”_

_“And you live to serve me,” the Dark Lord crooned._

_“I do, my Lord.”_

“Narcissa?”

She startled, looking to her sister who was seated forward in her chair, looking to her expectantly, concerned. “I...I apologize. I’ve not been paying attention to my developing memories. I’m presently at ritual with the Dark Lord...Bella. She...she has stopped. I believe she will be abandoning her knife for the rest of the evening.”

Andromeda relaxed at that, though there was a bit of excitement in, “...you develop memories as your present self goes about her day.”

“Yes, thus far we’ve maintained our personal memories of the timeline we come from, but our developing memories take the foreground.”

“Fascinating. Have you been experiencing any side effects? Headaches or disorientation?”

“Oh we’ve plenty of headaches,” she assured, “but those are born more so of stress, I’ve not noticed anything out of the ordinary.” 

“If that changes you’re to contact me,” her sister intoned.

Narcissa nodded, looking to the slumbering Witch. She looked...eerily at peace but her pulse and breathing was steady and certain now. “She isn’t in pain? All contact was torment for her earlier, but if she can be clothed, made comfortable…”

“She isn’t in pain, not that she can feel. I will be alerted if that changes or if suffers some complication...I’ll stay to observe and be immediately at hand, at least for the remainder of Samhain.”

“Thank you, ‘dromeda, I am grateful,” Narcissa said, summoning a sweatshirt from her chest of drawers, casting to clothe the younger Witch in her father’s sweatshirt, “Is there anything I should avoid giving her? For fear of interaction?”

“I wouldn’t risk anything that can be found in Blood Replenisher, we will resume treatment once she’s had at least twenty four hours without it in her system.”

Narcissa pulled open the drawer at her side, to withdraw a jar of Calming Cream, “Would it be safe to ply this? It won’t interact with your spelling to keep her at rest?”

She looked a bit bemused at Narcissa’s fretting, nodding, “It is safe,” she promised.

Narcissa nodded, uncapping the jar to ply delicate dabs of Calming Cream at Hermione’s temples, just under her jaw, tugging her collar down to rub some into her breastbone before rubbing the excess into the backs of the younger Witch’s fingers before bringing her hand to her lips before lying her hand to rest at her side again. Andromeda was staring as Narcissa rose, “Have you eaten?”

A startled look overcame her sister as she gasped, “Oh gods spare me, I left Nyphadora with the roast! Ted!” she sighed, “I don’t suppose you’ve a landline here?”

“Accio-”

“Oh Narcissa you can’t-”

“Tag seven,” Narcissa finished. The bedroom door flew open as the mobile sailed in from downstairs, into Narcissa’s hand and she offered it to her sister. “It’s still mostly charged.”

More staring, before Andromeda accepted the mobile, “H-how did you…”

“Something of Hermione’s invention. It allows us to interact with something our magic can safely touch, while it is attached to something that mightn’t like being cast upon directly,” she tapped the silvery circle on the back of the mobile. “I summoned this, and it brings the mobile along with it.”

“...brightest Witch of her age,” Andromeda supposed was befitting. Yes, being able to summon Muggle technology outshone feats of time travel most assuredly. “I’ll try not to be too long, but Nymphadora will likely give me an earful.” 

“We disturbed your dinner?”

Andromeda grimace. “She’s...having her gentleman caller over, to be properly introduced.”

“Oh...I apologize we disturbed your evening, I understand she might feel offended, it isn’t your fault at all, it truly was an emergency, not excuse to depart dinner with Remus Lupin.”

She startled a bit, at Narcissa’s knowledge of who her daughter was pursuing, gaze assessing as if measuring if Narcissa held any judgement, her niece being involved with a known Werewolf. “Yes, well. I best make certain my child and Husband haven’t allowed my house to burn to the ground.”

Narcissa nodded. “You’re hungry I suppose? I’ll just be in the kitchen. You’re free to roam the house as you please, the bathroom...you well know where it is. The kitchen is downstairs,” she said, and Andromeda nodded appreciatively as she began typing numbers into the mobile while Narcissa left her to her phone call.

“What in heavens name are you doing?” Narcissa asked...in unison with Andromeda as the woman entered the kitchen. She’d informed the woman of its location to assure her she would be just downstairs! Her invitation to roam the house had been politeness, implied for when Samhain ritual was through! Someone should be with Hermione! It didn’t help her ire that they overlapped one another with, “ _That_ is what I’m asking _you!”_

“I am cooking, obviously!” Narcissa snapped, “You should be observing Hermione!”

“Ohh no, no I believe it would be more prudent to observe you, actually,” her sister insisted, casting to summon the kitchen stool to take a seat at the counter alongside the stove, elbow resting on the counter top as she rested her chin in hand, watching with interest as Narcissa stirred the mixture of chopped chicken and vegetables in the pan, very tempted to bat her sister away with the hot end of the wooden spoon she had in hand. “Merlin, you look like you might actually know what you’re doing.”

“Of course I know what I am doing!” Narcissa groused. “Andromeda, I intended to bring you your meal, it...it can’t be wise to leave her alone.”

“It can’t?” Andromeda wondered. “Well then I suppose I’ll bear that in mind with future patients, I say, I honestly hadn’t a single clue. It isn’t as if I can be upstairs in an instant should my wards be triggered or my Patronus could send warning I’m needed.”

“...your Patronus…”

“Sits guard over your...ally, yes,” Andromeda stared hard as she spoke her choice of word, brow arching as Narcissa’s face warmed. The Witch’s gaze cast about, to the starlight still in place overhead to light their kitchen, and she’d followed the flower-lined path through the house Narcissa supposed. Her face flamed further at her sister’s observation, “...your Halloween celebrations were very gay indeed, before Bella’s interruption, I suppose.”

“It is no business of yours-”

“It mightn’t be, but honestly Narcissa. What sense is this, getting so invol- I understand you’re rather an island unto yourselves here, in hiding, but it is unwise and unkind to string the young lady along-”

“I am doing no such thing!”

“Oh, so you’ll leave your scumbag _perfect Pureblood_ husband for a _Muggleborn?”_

“I already have,” Narcissa steadily assured, voice wavering as she pressed on, “My marriage was far from perfect and scumbag, is understatement. I don’t begrudge you your leaving, Andromeda but you _left,_ you do not get to pretend you know what has happened in your absence.”

Andromeda’s mouth worked momentarily, blanching ever so slightly at her words. “You...Lucius adores you he- he’s led your family in service of a madman but he...he worshiped the ground you walked on in school, I- I thought…”

Narcissa huffed a mirthless laugh, “As did I,” she drily assured. “Thought we would only grow to love each other more, in marriage,” she cleared her throat, swallowing past a rising lump threatening to blockade her words. “I can assure you that was not at _all_ the case.”

There a soft _whoosh_ of sound followed by a _click_ as a hand shot out to twist the knob to put out the flame under her pan before that hand was on her wrist and she released hold of her cooking implements as her sister pulled her nearer, taking hold of her hands and peering into her face, “Cissy?” In her sister’s mind, Narcissa was five years old, weeping as her elder sister worked to heal her scrapes after she’d made contact with a book Mother had been poring over that morning, left abandoned on the end table alongside her armchair to investigate some calamity Bella was about, the din of which had shaken their manor. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, she’d reached to examine the book and warding magic stung and slapped against her magic, startling her and sent her crashing to scrape her knees on the rug underfoot. She’d reached for something not knowing the danger and was left bleeding and bruised and seeking comfort from her sister. She supposed it was not entirely unfair, in fact it was entirely accurate to how Narcissa felt. Small and scarred after delving into a frightening situation where she’d been in over her head, and needed her sister to console her. Narcissa felt her chin quiver as tears spilled from her eyes and Andromeda’s expression melted as she pulled her into her arms, hand resting on the crown of Narcissa’s head before she began stroking her hair, a near-coo of, “Oh, my Cissy!” as the blonde Witch began weeping into her shoulder.

It felt akin to sicking up, words pouring up from her throat unbidden, an inherent need to release them after years of being physically incapable of speaking them. The horrific change in her relationship with the man she once loved, once trusted more than any else in all the world. He grew cold, lost the warmth of his sweetness the moment they were married. Subtle, at first, she thought perhaps stress of their wedding had taken its toll, put him in such a sour mood. But his ‘mood’ did not pass, and sour became dour, utter severity the longer their marriage persisted, the more deeply bound they became, entangling themselves as husband and wife, parents, business partners. Building from coldness to heated wrath, punishing her for her slightest missteps more and more severely as Draco began his schooling at Hogwarts, her every action under scrutiny, cruelty reaching its peak in the wake of his father’s death. Abraxas Malfoy had been poorly for years, suffering some Wizarding weakness he kept wrath-laced silence about, but ultimately? It left him so weak that even the very curable, preventable even, Dragon Pox had taken his life, in the early summer of 1996. His father passing before his son could be sworn to the Dark Lord, not living to see the fruition of Voldemort’s rise...something in that must have grieved and sent her husband utterly deranged. It was at that point...she’d rarely refused her husband sexual congress, in their marriage, there had been a period of time...she wondered if he despaired of her body once Draco’s life was formed. He’d avoided her, it felt like, in that respect, but when he didn’t and she was not inclined? She could not say ‘no’, but _her_ versions of vow-allowed refusal, sidestepping with claims of headache or physical mallady putting her off the act, her ‘nos’ had _always_ been accepted as _no._ Not without some eye rolling or pithy insult, but he- he’d never forced himself upon her. And then the evening they returned from his father’s mourning rites, laid his body and spirit to rest...it had been a hard day for them all, Abraxas’s loved ones were not exactly lovely company to host, and Draco was still in the tender days of treating his ulcer when news of his grandfather’s passing came, and Lucius had been speaking non-stop on the subject of their son honoring his grandfather’s name with his service to the Dark Lord, she’d been exhausted physically, emotionally, mentally, worry after worry leaving her wishing for bed, for sleep alone when Lucius voiced his desires for something more stimulating. 

_“It has been a trying day, Lucius. I am tired.”_

_“...and_ I _am your husband. My father has died,” he said almost mockingly, “I’m in mourning. And it is your_ duty _to comfort me.”_

“I will obliterate Lucius Malfoy from existence, I swear to Merlin himself,” Andromeda seethed. “I cannot believe- father let you take vows that-”

“I felt safe in taking them, with Lucius. I thought...I never dreamed he would abuse them. It was...father did what he thought was best. He secured our betrothal be held to Black standards, in exchange for Malfoy vows.”

Andromeda shuddered. “Ugh, I remember hearing...father and Abraxas were in argument for hours over it all. He’d tried for both, Abraxas demanded you adhere to Malfoy betrothal rites, Father was going to deny your betrothal full stop until he relented and settled for our way, of secured courtship lasting until you were of Age, instead of…” oh Merlin. Truly? She and Lucius had not been a part of their father’s negotiations, they’d merely been sat down to be told how things _would_ be, without explaining what could have been but...Andromeda was considering the things she and Bella overheard...apparently their eldest sister had been eavesdropping on the men’s conversation and when Andromeda caught her...

_“What are you doing?” Andromeda asked as she discovered Bella seated on the floor several halls over from their father’s library._

_“Baking a cake. What does it look like? I’m listening, Drommy-dear. Shut up or leave.”_

_She’d chosen ‘shut up’ she’d sat on the floor at her sister’s side, scooting near to listen in likewise pressing her ear to the cup in Bella’s hands, charmed to catch the sound an identical cup caught that she’d left resting on a side table in her father’s library. Nothing of interest at first, in fact there was nothing but silence. “Your stupid spell doesn’t work.”_

_“Oh yeah?” Bella wondered, and then she offered breathy moans, “_ Oh Ted! Oh Ted! Oh! Oh!” _mocking a strangled screaming sound that had Andromeda’s face flaming. “Gods sake you lay it on thick for that mudblood.”_

_“It isn’t-! You- that doesn’t- you’ve never heard any such thing Bellatrix Black!” they hadn’t- Teddy was handsome and...and she wanted to but they hadn’t! Yet!_

_“Good. No one wants a mud-covered cherry,” and when Andromeda opened her mouth to yell at her sister, “Shhh! Somethings happening!”_

_There was a sound of the door opening and closing, the thunk of a single set of footfalls on the floor…_

_A low chuckle, the sound of air and then, a quiet, warmly amused, “...is my darling Bella up to naughtiness today?” was spoken directly into her ‘spyglass’. “Don’t tease your sister terribly, these will be boring discussions,” their father assured._

He’d been very wrong. They’d been more than interesting. Horrifying, really. Abraxas had arrived and demanded his way. Malfoy Betrothal Rituals, Malfoy Marriage Vows. Malfoy Betrothals were short, as they ended once their chosen bride was old enough to produce an heir, and they allowed her future father-in-law to...test his son’s bride, ensure she was suitable for him, and there was nothing in this world Abraxas could have offered Cygnus to make him willing to debate such a disgusting thing, he’d animatedly refused, their meeting had ended at wandpoint, her father quite literally casting the other man from their home. She’d wondered what had caused the rather abrupt pause in their betrothal proceedings. Where Narcissa expected to be betrothed officially by the end of the day when father said they were meeting to discuss it, it had been months before father brought it up again, checked with her once more to make certain she still wished to be Lucius’s wife someday, before she was committed to taking Lucius’s hand.

“That...is entirely disconcerting.”

“Most Pureblood tradition is,” Andromeda said. “Things like that made…”

“...leaving, with the man you loved, easy yes. I...I am glad of the life you’ve made for yourself,” Narcissa said, “that your daughter was raised outside of such standards.”

Andromeda sniffled, offering Narcissa a handkerchief from her breast pocket before raising her hands to wipe at her own eyes, “Ugh. Well. I apologize, I’m rather put off the idea of food...surprisingly lovely as your meal appears.”

Narcissa’s brow furrowed at that, brushing aside her sister’s bangs, “I understand that,” she couldn’t abide stomaching anything just now herself, “but you’ve been casting for hours. Dromeda, you must make certain to take care of yourself. We’ve stomach calming draught if that would help?”

Andromeda considered it a moment before sighing, “I would dearly appreciate it I...Narcissa I…” _When your sisters need you most, I know, as well should they, that you will always be there for them,_ their father’s words rang in her mind. “If I had known- if I thought for a moment you were in such danger-”

“There was no way for you to know…” she said, summoning draught she passed to her sister, “and I do appreciate what you did for me, reminding me of Cassieopea’s charm.”

“Healer Marigold consulted with me, a professional courtesy,” Andromeda shrugged, uncorking potion and neatly knocking it back. 

Though she nearly choked on it, startling in the same moment Narcissa did.

 _She made it to the furthest most point of her guarding route away from their gathering before withdrawing her day planner._ Utter foolishness!

Andromeda’s wards were triggered, the empty bottle of potion crashing to the floor as she apparated straight away, Narcissa following after by less than a second as Hermione sensed the pull of the Present Narcissa writing her, struggling to sit up, eyes blinking open as she groaned, “N-Narcissa?” her mind bore sole thought, a single focus, that Narcissa needed her and she must absolutely go to her aid. Oh her foolishly brave, stubborn darling.

“She’s resisting- this is dangerous!” Andromeda warned, “If she continues she could suffer magical, cerebral damage, I could remove my casting but doing so suddenly will throw her back into pain and will likely send her into shock-”

So they needed her to stop, Narcissa was swift to the younger Witch’s side, hands on her shoulders pressing her back to lie down again, “Shh, darling rest. My Present self is foolishly writing to check on you, she will be corrected to leave you be. I have already written Draco to not disturb you, darling,” she’d thought to when Andromeda first started her work, taking a break between rounds of dosing Hermione to send word for Draco to contact Narcissa alone for the time being, to instruct Mister Potter to do the same, “...of course now he writes me several times an hour,” she mused as the Witch relaxed, eyes blinking sluggishly, as she began to submit to Andromeda’s casted coma, oh thank Merlin. “He sends his love,” her voice wavered, and she pressed a kiss to her temple. “I do need you darling. You are absolutely to be well soon or I will be most displeased with you.” Her eyes were closed, breathing relaxed.

“What the hell just happened?” Andromeda asked.

“My present self is writing Hermione, we’ve journals that we use to communicate with allies in the timeline. As it is dangerous to interact with ourselves, we communicate with one another, my present self is trying to ascertain if Hermione has been hurt, her messages will pull on Hermione’s magic, that is what woke her, we should do as I’ve said. Accio Narcissa’s day planner.” Ahh. Still in the bathroom, so it wasn’t that far to fly into Narcissa’s hand.

“It is dangerous to contact yourself?” her sister wondered. Narcissa nodded. “I could pen your message,” Andromeda offered.

...it would hearten her, to see her sister’s hand. And while Narcissa had a great deal of confidence in her ability to safely communicate with herself in writing at this juncture...Hermione would freely see it, when next she checked her journal and while she would never call to question missing parchment from their stores, a visibly missing page from her day planner would raise suspicion. “I would appreciate that, yes. Please advise her not to respond, and to cease writing Hermione until she is capable of writing her herself...if she wishes for update, Draco can provide as much. Perhaps...it will only worry her, but…” Narcissa knew well her wrath would be worse than her worry, if she discovered such information had been withheld. “Do inform her the Present’s Hermione is in the Hospital Wing.”

Andromeda looked like she could kick herself. “I’d- I’d not _forgotten_ but Salzars bullocks I should have written Madam Pomfrey already.”

“When? Between casting to secure a young woman’s life or consoling me over my garbage sham of a marriage in the kitchen? Draco assures me Hermione still sleeps,” his latest update came just a moment before Andromeda joined her in the kitchen, he and Mister Potter making use of his invisibility cloak again to stay past the Medi-Witch shooing them and their friends from her Wing. She thanked him and intoned that her son should seek his bed. He’d still class in the morning and Minerva was not forgiving of tardiness or slacking, would expect them to press on and do their best even in the face of unpleasantness...if he did not listen to her perhaps she would write dear Harry, the sweet boy was immediate to take instruction from her where her son was being...perhaps not unsurprisingly stubborn. That he could persist against her orders meant he was truly worried, feared losing his friend more than disrespecting his mother’s wishes. Oh, she wished she could be of more comfort to him. “Madam Pomfrey mightn’t know the issue at hand but she has abated her symptoms the time being.” She said as she held open the planner for Andromeda to set about writing, though she noted the page with some confusion. “You mighn’t be able to read the previous entries as they’re truly written but if you begin writing on the next available line it will work I promise.”

Andromeda nodded, saying, “I will write Madam Pomfrey so she has word before start of day, I may be called on to render treatment if she is incapable, it is complicated...dark, in nature, but that is my speciality, why I can maintain private practice that services a great many aurors,” she mused ruefully, lifting her gaze from the page, “I can think of few on our side who could be called to aid her…” Andromeda grimmanced, “Her magic will become scarred if they are allowed to stay for too long, they will set, I must absolutely continue my work with the Future’s Hermione, but neither can I ignore the Present’s for the entirety of a weekend.”

“What do you need? Andromeda, I will lend all of my power to this task, I should have offered as much sooner-”

“Your magic may be required regardless, it is good your magic has been mostly at rest, I recommend it stays that way to conserve your energy,” she sighed as she stepped back, “have...you seen?”

_Breath whooshed from her lungs, she nearly dropped the book as Andromeda’s handwriting breezed into existence across the pages of her planner, hands trembling as she took in the news that...oh Merlin she was their Secret Keeper! She was called to her Future Self’s side as Hermione...damn Bella! Damn her sister straight to Hell, may she and Mother torture each other for eternity! Thank the gods Lu-...thank the gods she had been stopped-_

_The Present’s Hermione was in the Hospital Wing from this. And she was powerless to go to her just now._

“Narcissa?” Andromeda fretted.

Narcissa raised her hands to wipe at her eyes. “I am fine, I have seen. Gods above I wished I could go to her,” she breathed, crossing her arms under her chest, not entirely unlike hugging herself she supposed. For once she was not jealous of her Present Self’s part in her relationship with Hermione. It was agony to steel herself and return to the task at hand, wait until sunrise when she could return to Hogwarts, in fact it was her Present Self now who was unbearably jealous, that the Future’s Narcissa was currently reunited with her sister...but likewise relieved, that it might mean reconciliation waited for her someday.

“...you…” Andromeda started...before she burst into laughter. Long, and loud, to the point she cast just on the off chance the din might rouse her comatose patient while her Healer was...having some fit of utter lunacy. The woman could scarcely breathe, eyes squeezed shut as tears slipped from them from her mirth. “Merlin help us, you are utterly besotted w- with a Muggleborn!” she screamed a laugh, working to catch her breath.

Narcissa wasn’t certain what was so very funny about it. “And that is amusing?”

“Oh- oh Cissy I’m not- I am…” she breathed a cheery sigh as she regained her composure. “I’m not laughing at you. I am happy you…” there were some reservations in her mind. Fear Narcissa was moving into something she was not truly ready for, that she’d come from such abuse and been shown kindness she now clung to desperately, that she might not be fully cognizant of the disparities between her former relationship and what lay in the new, the prejudice and resentment their pair would meet, that it was easy to fall in love in this manner when there was so little opposition to meet secluded unto themselves. But her sister was a grown woman. And Hermione...Andromeda had seen her love of Narcissa, that was obvious enough from...what the girl had termed a ‘personal potions project’, and she knew the young woman’s kindness, if she loved her sister...it was not Narcissa moving from one bad situation to another because of false compassion. No, Hermione Granger was certain and sound, loved her sister in earnest if she said as much. If Narcissa woke up one day and realized this wasn’t what she wanted, it was Hermone who would be left in devastation. “Miss Granger...if she loves you as you deserve, I’m happy you can seemingly...move on to better things.”

“There is no _‘seemingly’_ about it! I’m not some bored Pureblood Witch pursuing a muggleborn on a flight of rebellion or need to scandalize, as _some of us started_ their now _perfectly lovely_ relationships with their significant other.” Andromeda had only begun flirting with Ted Tonks because she could earn her mother’s ire from the safe distance of school. It was when she returned home and suffered unrelenting punishment not even Bella could manage to spare her from, and she survived and found...it did not dissuade her pursuit, that she did not want to stop her relationship with the Muggleborn boy, discovered to her horror she had truly fallen into love with him, would gladly endure her parents disdain, that of any others, to have him. “I...I play a perilous role in the War, you realize I must maintain my Death Eater status, serve the Dark Lord to best aid the Order, yes? Someday I might be the only thing that stands between Harry Potter and certain death should the worse come to pass. So this...might be the only time I am afforded being with Hermione in this way so continuously in the near future, when we return to time? Move forward from where we left? We might have to do so separately, until the war is over. When that time comes I’ll ask that you do _forgive me_ for preserving her life,” she sneered, and then snapped, insisting, “The very moment I can lay claim to her openly in both the Muggle _and_ non-magical worlds without risking our success in the War, risking her life? I’ll take a damnable page out in the Prophet, if it pleases you! Any who take issue can either snub us or meet my wand, I don’t have a care either way!”

...that was not meant to spawn further laughter! What was _wrong_ with her sister?! Narcissa let out an irritated growl, disapparating downstairs, summoning a bowl and fork, she dumped the food she’d prepared and popped back upstairs, returning to her sister’s cackling, and shoving the food in her direction. “Obviously you’re entertaining some asinine delirium from hunger! Do eat and cease conducting yourself as a thing deranged!”

“You...are far too easily riled, Cissy,” Andromeda mused with mirth as she calmed, accepting the bowl of food.”...if this is an endeavor to poison me I’ll remind you I alone might be capable of healing your beloved.”

“It is perfectly prepar-”...easily riled. Ugh! “Do shut up and eat!”

...it was well worth it, the satisfaction that came with Andromeda’s surprise at how delicious she found Narcissa’s cooking. Good. It _was_ delicious, she was a capable, excellent chef and Andromeda could literally eat it.

It was an utter relief, for both Narcissas, to see the greying light of day, heralding sunrise and the end of Samhain ritual without further assault or issue. Hermione slumbered on, Andromeda casting several diagnostic spells to ensure all was well and then she looked to Narcissa.

_“Oh yes, not to worry my love, everything is at hand here. Remus was kind enough to pull your roast from the oven, Merlin bless that nose of his. He was hardly insulted, you’ve a medical emergency to attend. We saved you a plate,” Ted said over the phone when Andromeda called to ensure her family was well and her house remained standing. “We’re still having a visit, Dora’s taken over for me in our game of Wizard’s Chess when I went to answer the phone. Are you on your way back now?”_

_“No darling, I’m sorry, my patient’s recovery is tenuous, I must remain here to monitor them through the night but-”_

_“Is that mum?” Nymphadora’s voice in the background. “You tell her we’re talking about this when she gets home! I don’t care if she doesn’t like it, Remus is important to me-!”_

_“Inform our daughter I do not dispair of her choice of boyfriend.” It did...there were valid concerns. Her daughter was choosing to be with a man who came with a world of baggage, unbearable heartbreak, a crippling chronic disease, one he was known for the Wizarding-World over. She had nothing against Remus, she just wished...she wanted her daughter to have love, that was simple and easy, she wished to spare her hardship. Of course...she would not be her mother’s daughter, if she didn’t live to do things the hard way. So, “I’m proud of her, standing by the man she loves. I am very sorry but…there really was a dire emergency.”_

_“Your mother likes Remus fine and she’s proud of you, Dora, for standing by him, she had to answer an emergency call, and you know that, honestly,” he spoke in gentle reprimand of their daughter._

_“We’ll I’m marrying him whether you like it or- oh,” her child deflated at that, “...shite,” she drew nearer it sounded like, standing with her ear next to her father’s, “Sorry mum. You okay? Is er...everything going alright?”_

_“My patient is still among the living, and I’m doing all I can to keep it that way," Andromeda breathed a wavering sigh. "I am sorry sweetheart, I did wish to be there tonight but my expertise was absolutely required.”_

_“Dromeda? You sound rather shaken,” Ted fretted._

_A tired, sad sound broke from her lips, breathed like it was meant to be a laugh that became tainted in the horrors this evening held. “And nothing much shakes me, in my profession. So you can be most assured I am very much needed here.”_

_“Holy hell, it must be bad,” Nymphadora sympathized, offering encouragement, “But you’re the baddest, mum, you got this.”_

_“Indeed!” Ted agreed with their child, oh Merlin, “Go on with your bad self!”_

_“Dad!”_

_“What? I know what the youths are saying these days!”_

_“Oh my God,” Nymphadora groaned, though she let out a soft, pleased sound that mirrored her father’s when Andromeda burst out laughing._

_“Oh my loves,” she sighed. “Do give Remus my regards and my most sincere apologies. I’ll be home as soon as I can and I promise we’ll try this again soon.”_

“I should return home, see to things there. I’ll keep you appraised to Madam Pomfrey’s response to my offer of advise, if I’m called to treat the Present Hermione. I will return tonight to continue treatment. I’ll need to resupply my potions stores-”

“Go, do get some rest, Dromeda,” Narcissa intoned. “I’ve access to the necessary ingredients, I can see to it you’ve potion for tonight, fresh and formulated to work most intune with Hermione’s magic…” she considered it a moment. “If it would assist I...I understand Wolfsbane is expensive. Severus provides as much for Remus on behalf of the Order, does he not?”

“He does. Albus insisted and...Nymphadora was Nymphadora. That Severus lives after what he did to Remus…”

“Disgusting,” Narcissa spat. She’d seen some of Hermione’s memories of that topic in their Occlusion lessons; it was through Severus’s bigotry she discovered Remus was afflicted as such, and even she, in her Third Year, a muggleborn unfamiliar with the topic in full, had the good sense and decency to keep it to herself. “Did you know when Remus suffered under the moon his first time during his tenure at Hogwarts, he returned to a stack of Defense essays, one penned by his most beloved friend’s son, on how to lay a werewolf slain?”

“...I was not- that- he-,” Andromeda let out a frustrated sound. “Severus is vile, and Remus is far too forgiving. That is the only thing that keeps Nymphadora from tormenting the man to this day, Remus’s behest. He insists she forgive, not hold a grudge on his behalf, you would think _he_ was the Hufflepuff.” and then her expression blanked, and she glared at Narcissa, “Do not-”

“...you birthed a Hufflepuff,” Narcissa snickered.

“She’s a great many Slytherin traits! Her work for the Order and as an Auror requires as much! She’s just very…”

“Hufflepuff.”

“Oh bite me!” Andromeda snapped. “...it is Ted’s fault. Father hugged us occasionally but with him? That she learned to walk was a miracle through the grace of her absolutely asinine level of independence and stubbornness. I swear to Merlin the moment his Dora was born he picked her up and never put her back down until she started making complaint of it. Memory might fail me but I am absolutely certain there is little exaggeration to the idea that Teddy cuddled the child from birth until she was nearly two, and then she squacked at him, bit his nose and he got the message to put her down for the first time and she toddled off fully capable of walking the moment her feet met the floor.”

She might exaggerate a bit. “Surely he didn’t take the child to work with him?” Narcissa mused.

“On occasion when he wasn’t on patrol, he’d a chest sling he put her in and toted her around to let me have a day's respite,” Andromeda smiled softly, shaking her head. _Teddy Tonks, newly a father, excitement personified as he pushed a baby carriage through the Ministry with Andromeda on his arm. He smiled wide as he laid eyes on a coworker. “Oi! C’mere, look! Look what my wife made!”_

Oh Merlin bless that man. “I do hope to meet him, your daughter, be better acquainted with them in future. And dear Remus, do let him know...if he wishes to obtain Wolfsbane not brewed by a bigotted bastard, you now have means of procuring it, free of charge.”

Andromeda’s brow shot up at that, “Truly?”

“Absolutely.” ...he was to be family soon, afterall. “If you would get me his ingredient measurements, I would make certain he has a perfect formula to aid him in his moon times, assist in his recovery from them.”

“I will extend the offer. Thank you, Cissy,” Andromeda cleared her throat, “I’ve monitoring still in place but if you’ve need of me just call. I...my home’s phone number is in your mobile now. So, if it isn’t Sigil Stone level emergency…” she shrugged. Oh, oh Merlin she’d her sister’s phone number!

“Thank you, Dromeda.”

Her sister nodded, gaze sweeping across the room once more to assess if there was a single thing left she needed to do before taking her leave. The only tasks she discovered, apparently, was the need to set her Patronus back at its station...it had vanished before Narcissa made it upstairs earlier, a large silvery lion took its place, standing guard between their bed and the bathroom door, Merlin.

And then of course the woman felt it a necessity to step nearer, and press a kiss to Narcissa’s cheek, “Do get some rest, yourself,” she said, before disapparating from their home.

Narcissa sank down onto the bed...the ghostly lion regarding her with some scrutiny for a moment before finding her something to be ignored, not a danger to the patient he guarded. She was exhausted, and she would lie down momentarily but with sunrise came a new day. A Friday. Hermione would be expected at work...

She took up the mobile, and dialed the Whitaker’s, denoted _Whit-Home_.

“...hello?” a sleep gruff voice answered, Violetta. Oh, she sounded tired, as much as Narcissa felt. 

“I am sorry, I realize it is early but-” oh, a sob bubbled up in her throat unbidden, her throat suddenly felt sore, ached as she allowed only the barest sound to escape her as her evening caught up with her and she felt every bit of hardship the last twelve hours held.

“Narcissa?” Violetta asked, concerned, “John honey, wake up. Narcissa’s calling, I think something’s wrong.” There was a rasping breath from nearby and the creaking of a bed as weight shifted.

“Narcissa?” John wondered, coughing from deep in his chest to clear it. “Oh dear, what’s happened?”

Narcissa sought to compose herself. “There has been-” she bit back a whimper of sound, “Hermione has been gravely i-injured. She cannot make it into work and I apologize that leaves you short staffed but I will not leave her.”

There were sounds of surprise and concern from the other end of the phone and then, “Oh good heavens! She...Stacie, you mean Stacie? She’s been hurt? Gravely, you said, is she in _hospital?”_ Violetta questioned, and then there’s a sound like she’d turned her head to look to her husband, some quiet communication taking place silent, save for John speaking softly as if not to be caught by the phone _“Of course, the poor girl’s got no family”,_ and then Violetta offered, “Can I come see her?”

“No she...she cannot be taken to hospital for her injuries, we’ve a healer at hand. She is resting, I do not know when she will wake.” it took a moment for Violetta’s confused correction to catch up with her...Narcissa’s own words finally clicking with her, oh Merlin! She sputtered a moment, mouth working as her mind worked in overtime trying to think of how best to backtrack, “Oh. St-Stacie I meant. Forgive me, it has been a trying night. Morning now, I suppose.”

“You’re home then? Oh lovey, you sound exhausted, you’ve been up all night with her? Sweetheart,” Violetta’s voice broke over the word, somehow that made Narcissa’s tears worse but her heart lighter, oh this dear woman, “Let me come take care of you honey, what do you need? I’ll bring meals so you needn’t cook, clean up around the house. Are you lying down now? I can come sit with her, and you get some rest.”

"Oh, my dear lady, you needn’t trouble yourself on my account. I will let her know you are thinking of her, and I do promise to keep you apprised.”

“Alright dear,” the woman spoke with some quiet doubt that spoke to...well, the woman may well still show up despite Narcissa’s insistence, to at least check on them. “Don’t worry about the shop, tell our girl to do the same. She’s to focus on getting well, she has the next week off at the very least, more if she needs it. Don’t you even consider setting foot in our shop unless it's as a customer until she is absolutely better.”

“Truly? Thank you.”

“It's the least we can do honey. Get some rest, you call us if you need anything at all.”

She fell to her side as the mobile line died, and pulled her legs up onto the bed, turning about to face Hermione. She rested a hand on the younger Witch’s chest, to feel the surety of her heartbeat, the rise and fall of her breathing under her palm, before immediately succumbing to her exhaustion.

She woke the instant there was a pull on her magic, Draco’s journal. He’d not sought word from her since earlier, but it was nearing noon when he wrote,

_How are you? How is she? Hermione’s still out. Aunt Andromeda is coming around soon, to talk about treating her, you’ve been brewing nutritive potion all morning, for both present and future Hermiones. She’ll be sending it along in the sack she said, and she wants you to go ahead and call on Jinsey. She doesn’t know where you are, but she can come to you if you call, mother...you? Want her helping to care for Hermione._

_Thank you, Dragon. I’m well, and Hermione is still comatose._ Feverish to the touch and likely hungered, but that would be righted. _I’ll call on Jinsey._ She needed to brew, as vital as Blood Replenisher was in immediate emergency, it took several hours for its ingredients to cook together, and potion of Oxidation, while the laboratory work for its making was swift enough she would get it out of the way first, it had to sit for hours before use, she would let it absorb fresh air from the gardens, yes.

She reviewed her present memories, she was presently...in her laboratory, her First Years suffering something of a crash from either lacking sleep due to the excitement of their first Halloween at Hogwarts, or coming down from their sugar highs from the very same reason. They were children yet still, and she’d more urgent matters, so she’d offered her second period of the day the opportunity to nap before lunch, and they were all of them...very much taking her up on the offer, heads on their desks, oblivious to the world...it might just be a bit of mean fun to wake them come end of class.

_She startled when the door to her classroom creaked open, but relaxed when she looked up to see...Mister Potter offering a smile and a wave, looking to her as if requesting silent permission to enter. Her First Years had their heads down, most of them their eyes closed, all resting so she raised a finger to her lips, and then waved him forward and he made his quiet way up the aisle to her workstation, casting to dampen the sound as they spoken. Whatever was he doing here?_

_“Hi!” he said...with enthusiasm, but still speaking softly as if a precaution in case his casting hadn’t been sound. “Oh, it’s my Free Period,” he promised the Professor, assurance he wasn’t skipping, “I know...we don’t really know each other that well, but I talk to you all the time. Future you. She likes me...you like me? We like each other,” he assured, as if nervous she wouldn’t believe him...he’d indeed a love of her, Merlin, that much was clear in his mind, snippets of...apparently he’d joined her future self at Venus Fountain? With Draco and the Future’s Hermione...walked arm in arm with her through...ahh Bella’s vault. “I- I know you really care about Hermione and you can’t exactly uh...show that. So going to sit with her isn’t exactly on the table but um…” he licked his lips, nervous still as he withdrew something from his robes, shimmery silken cloth he offered to her and when she stared at it, he twisted about to look and see if anyone was watching before he whipped the thing, a cloak, unfurled and whisked it around himself and vanished before her very eyes before poking his head out, smiling wide, “It’s a cloak of Invisibility, it uh...makes you invisible,” a portion of his left jaw became invisible for all of a second as he shrugged. “I thought maybe you could use it to visit her if you wanted?”_

_“...you would trust me with such a thing?” she wondered bemused._

_He nodded, “Yeah, absolutely, you’re on our side, right? I mean I- I’ll need it back it…” he pulled it from his shoulders and folded it gingerly, thumbs rubbing against the silken material as he looked to it before looking up at her, “it belonged to my father its um...its one of the only things I have of his really. But I know you’ll take care of it and I- you seemed sad at breakfast and I just want to help...do you need anything? I’m sh- crap at potions but I could go get Draco, he’s in History of Magic right now but once his class lets out. Oh! Chopping stuff, I’m good at chopping!” he brightened at that as it struck him that yes, there was at least one facet of potions he mighn’t be ‘crap’ at. Oh, his mind was awash with worry, that she’d looked so sad and exhausted, made the bare minimum of appearances at breakfast in the Great Hall before using the administrators doors behind the Head Table to take her leave to seek her fastest route to her laboratory. He squeezed Draco’s hand under the table and told him he would check up on her, “_ I’ve got Free Period after we get out of Transfiguration, you go take good notes for Hermione, I’ll make sure she’s okay and eats good at lunch.” 

_How exactly did he plan upon executing such a thing? “Thank you, Mister Potter, I do appreciate this and I assure you I am well. You may resume your Free Period as you wish,” Narcissa said, accepting the cloak. And then softly, leaning across her work station to speak in conspiracy, “And for the record darling, I like you too.”_

Both Narcissa’s were blessed with the presence of House Elves. A bare five minutes after her class was...despite her deep temptation to do otherwise...gently roused and sent on their way to lunch and she returned to her work, Dobby appeared, _“Harry Potter is telling Dobby if Mistress isn’t being going to lunch, he is to be bringing lunch to Mistress! Would she like to eat in her classroom or her quarters?”_ And Narcissa could remember telling Jinsey to wait in her quarters for her Future Self’s call, so the Elf was readily available when she sat on the edge of the bed and called, 

“Jinsey!”

The _pop!_ of apparation was followed by Jinsey...somewhat clumsily near-falling into the room, she landed on her feet, wobbling a bit wildly to catch her balance before looking up at Narcissa, utter elation in her expression, “It is Future Mistress! Oh Jinsey is so much happiness to be seeing her again!” and then in a wild swing of emotion, great fat tears welled up in her eyes as she pulled on her ears rather harshly, remorsing, “Oh but Jinsey is so much sadness that Mistress’s Hermione is _injured!”_ oh the poor thing began wailing!

“Jinsey, oh my darling Elf, please do calm yourself,” Narcissa insisted, sliding from the bed to kneel before the House Elf, patting her head while being mindful not to muss the darling pumpkin orange headband bow she was wearing to match her dress today, a change of pace, choosing to wear clothing that was not just miniaturized versions of her Mistress’s ensemble. It had started with her choice of accessories and led to making fashion choices entirely her own and it was simply delightful to see the sweet Elf had a fashion sense all her own. “Everything is going to be alright, Hermione isn’t in any pain right now, she’s just resting, and we will be taking care of her.”

The House Elf brightened immediately at that, “Yes! Yes! Jinsey will be taking care of Mistress’s Hermione!” she insisted.

“Thank you my darling. I’ve brewing to start-” she was saying, but...well, admittedly, her stomach growled as she spoke, reminding her she’d nothing since dinner yesterday, she was cut off however, by,

“No no no no _no!”_ Jinsey very _angrily_ insisted, face wrinkling up with her frustration, greening with her angered rush of blood to her features as she pointed a reproaching index finger at Narcissa, “Absolutely _not!_ Mistress is being _hungry!_ So Mistress is to be being eating, _right now!_ Jinsey is here to be taking care of her! And she will!” she heatedly assured, stomping her foot for emphasis. Good heavens, the Elf was rather riled today. She looked about to examine the room, discovering the space was merely a bedroom, “Jinsey will be going to the Kitchens! Mistress will be following!” and then when she took sight of the large Lion patronus standing behind her, Jinsey yelled, “And you will be sitting!” the thing blinked slowly at her in its confusion before resting on its hindlegs, receiving the approval of an angry sounding, _“Good!”_

So Narcissa led the dear Elf through the house, offering her a bit of a tour...endeavoring to, when she pointed out the doors on either side of the hall Jinsey looked between them as Narcissa named them ‘bedroom’ and ‘office’, and her brow furrowed as she looked up at her Mistress. “These is not being the kitchens!”

“My apologies, Lady Jinsey,” Narcissa offered with a bow, albeit bemused.

The Elf groaned a bit miserably at that. “Jinsey is not being trying to be being unkind to Mistress,” Merlin that was quite the sentence. “But she must be taking care of Mistress! Mistress isn’t being taking care of herself! Neither Mistress seems to have been making sleep they is just being brewing! And they are being hungry! Oh if anything happens to Mistresses because they is not being taking care of themselves Jinsey will be weeping and weeping until she is being dead because she has no more water in her body or her heart has been being broken!”

“I’m unoffended at your tone, Jinsey, you’re rather stressed about everything. Darling, it will be fine. I can promise you I will rest when I can, I’ve slept this morning and I’m certain my present self will sleep tonight. And she is eating now, Mister Dobby has brought her lunch and he’s making certain she is sitting down and eating before resuming her work.”

Jinsey’s expression melted at that, hugging herself a bit as she swung side to side, “Oh...Mister Dobby is being such a good Elf! Taking care of Jinsey’s Mistress, he is, he is. Jinsey is loving him with all of her heart!”

Narcissa smiled, offering her hand down to the sweet Elf, “I’m very pleased, the pair you two make, you’re very sweet together. Come, the kitchens are downstairs.”

Jinsey nodded, smiling up at Narcissa, “Mistress is so much kindness helping Jinsey!” she said, taking her hand and then gingerly taking the stairs. She was walking a bit strangely, something different in her gait. She was a Free Elf and they’d only been in Hogwarts a single evening...surely no one had taken it into their heads to lay injury on her House Elf? She’d avoided Lucius as much as possible as of late, he’d not struck her recently that Narcissa had seen.

“Are you quite alright Jinsey?”

“Jinsey is being worried for Mistresses but she is also being wonderful!” the House Elf cheerily assured as they reached the living room. “Oh Mistress is so clever! Jinsey is sorry she made Mistress lead her when she has already laid a path to the kitchens!”

Ahh, yes, “Jinsey would you be a dear and cleans the pathway if you’ve finished enjoying it? I did not intend to leave it as such. The candles and flower petals are a bit much now.” Her star-speckled ceiling would take more advanced casting to unwind, or she could merely allow it to burn out, and she did not dislike not having to flip lightswitches everywhere she went. 

“Jinsey is doing as Mistress is asking!” she assured, snapping spindly fingers together to banish the path of petals, the floating sets of candles. “Mistress’s Hermione’s manor is small but it is very nice!”

“It is, I quite enjoy living here. I thought it horrifically small at first but I find it comfortable now.”

Jinsey did not find the stove to be very nice. She could not cast for it to light, it required working the fobs, and after she’d done the work of magicing the skillet in place and filling it with oil and herbs to begin her preparations, Narcissa brought over the kitchen stool for her to stand on as her offer that she could very well cook for herself was met with, “Jinsey is to be being doing it!” and who was she to say otherwise?

The House Elf steadily worked to prepare her mistress something of a late breakfast, she was delighted to find her charms could work on the toaster, to produce slices for her meal, summoning a plate to catch them on before calling it to her to await the eggs she was preparing. They smelled delightful, the mixture of arugula, basil, sage was pleasant, but the hint of underlying egg...seemed to get to Jinsey in the most unfortunate way. Greyish skin paled to near white on her cheeks as the House Elf had no sooner snapped to whip them from the pan onto her plate than she disappeared from atop the stool to reappear standing atop the counter by the sink, going to her hands and knees at its edge to sick up into the sink.

“Jinsey?!” oh good heavens! House Elves so rarely got poorly, but when they did it was often serious, she would hate to call on Andromeda when the woman was already being pulled in so many different directions just now, but- maybe she could get away with whisking the House Elf to St. Mungos? At least having her returned to her Present Mistress for her to do as much. Narcissa went to her side, rubbing small circles on her back to soothe as she retched.

“J-J-Jinsey is being so very sorry Mistress! She isn’t liking the smell of the eggs,” she explained a bit ruefully as she cast to cleanse, making certain she herself was clean, and the sink before rising up on her knees, and Narcissa aided her to stand on the counter before her, turning to face her Mistress peering at her Elf with concern.

“I was unaware you were so adverse to the smell of eggs, darling why did you never say so?”

“Oh! Not Jinsey, Mistress! Jinsey does not think it should be perfume but she is liking the food she makes Mistress,” her nose wrinkled a bit, “though Jinsey is always thinking spinach is being stinky,” she supposed, and then something seemed to dawn on her. “Oh! Jinsey...hasn’t been being saying anything. House Elves isn’t supposed to be saying anything but...Mistress is kindness and loves her Jinsey, so she is thinking this would be making Mistress very happy, and she wanted to tell Mistresses, both of them without spoiling the surprise for the other! If she has been telling present Mistress, then future Mistress will be knowing...but if she is telling future Mistress, present Mistress will still be surprised?”

It took a moment to parcel through Elf-speak describing the intricacies of Narcissa’s duality in the timeline, but “...yes darling, I receive my present self’s memories, but she has no method of knowing mine.”

Jinsey brightened, holding out a hand to Narcissa, the Witch slipping her hand into the Elf’s grasp. “Jinsey is not being sick because she isn’t liking Mistress’s food,” she said, gingerly guiding Narcissa’s hand, nearer, “She is being sick because… _she_ isn’t liking Mistress’s food,” she explained, as she pressed Narcissa’s hand to meet...the taut roundness protruding from the House Elf’s lower stomach and the Witch breathed in an excited gasp. “Jinsey hasn’t been being able to eat eggs since she has been being with her baby.”

“Oh my love, oh congratulations!” Narcissa breathed, letting out an excited bit of laughter as she wrapped her arms around the Elf to hug her gently. Oh she was so relieved the dear Elf had put such trust in her, telling her Mistress of this. It was...a tentative issue. Masters and Mistresses dictated everything about their Elves, down to their breeding, they were not allowed to without direction from their Masters, and if an Elf did fall pregnant unwarranted, it was easily terminated by their Master’s will alone. House Elves were expected to do as directed, create a new generation of workers when ordered, and they weren’t to speak of it--what reason was there to? It wasn’t as if many cared to hear of their pregnancy, they were expected to not allow their condition to get in the way of their job, have a quiet gestation, an absolutely silent birth, and continue on as if it was nothing more than a mere stumble and not an act as strenuous as bringing life into this world. That was the culture curated in the majority of Pureblood homes, but Jinsey would absolutely not suffer as such in Narcissa’s. “I’m so very happy for you!”

“Jinsey is being so very happy! Dobby is being so very happy!”

“I’m pleased to hear as much. Oh my darling, this is wonderful!” Narcissa assured, oh it was so exciting! “Hermione will be so very excited, hearing as much will surely hearten her.”

Jinsey nodded, seeming shy, “Jinsey...Jinsey is always grateful for Mistresses being kind...Jinsey is wondering if...if Mistress’s Hermione would take Jinsey’s baby when she is big enough to work? So Jinsey knows she is with a good, kind Mistress?”

“Well darling I...I suppose so? Why would you not wish for us to keep your child in-house?”

Jinsey’s expression blew open with elation and relief at the idea, “Truly?! Mistress would be letting Jinsey be keeping her baby with her?!” ahh. Unexpected Elves being added to a family, if the pregnancy was still allowed, their unplanned staff member was often foisted on another. Some did not keep house elves of family ties together full stop, House Elves were often bred for other families to take on, an exchange between Wizards and Witches seeking favor with one another, for fear of a House Elf rebelling on behalf of their child’s treatment.

“Of course, I would not separate you for the world. So long as I’ve a home, you and your family will likewise. Mister Dobby is free to be in our home wherever we are,” she’d options of Summer housing and her quarters at Hogwarts were spacious enough. “If he wishes, he’s a Free Elf after all, and he would be treated as such.”

“We- we can be being a family?”

“Of course darling, you _are_ family.”

And her sweet Elf was rather lost to tears then, weeping into her hands, “Thank you Mistress!”

She needn’t...it shouldn’t _be_ a matter of gratitude. It should be the standard, honestly.

It was not solely the fact she might be so directly connected to the future Minister...Ministrix? Of Magic, that she wished for Hermione to take on the role. She’d a great many ideals for the future of magical creatures...magical persons, the younger Witch insisted they should be considered. She rather looked forward to what a magical world might look like with Hermione Granger at the helm.

Oh. It sort of washed over her, the idea that...well she certainly wasn’t thinking about a potential end to their relationship but…

Once upon a time, Narcissa never dreamed she would ever be free of Lucius, but if she entertained fantasy? She thought if she ever was released from their marriage, she would never again wish to be with anyone, full stop. And certainly never devote herself to another for time eternal. But the thought of Hermione’s future...she very much wanted to be a part of that. She wanted it to be their future and that somehow delighted and horrified her beyond words, like standing on some great precipice overlooking a glorious view, the scenery just as breathtaking as the threat of toppling over drop to her doom.

Somehow she was certain if she allowed herself to fall she would soar.

Narcissa shook herself, pressing a kiss to Jinsey’s cheek, “Come darling. Are you still entertaining upset? Eggs can be off the menu for the foreseeable future, and I would be happy to formulate something...have you been suffering morning sickness my dear?”

“Baby will not interfere with Jinsey’s wor-”

“Jinsey. I am not concerned about your work, I am concerned only for you and the precious life you carry. I know it is not...the norm to make complaint, but in this situation, with me as your Mistress? I would ask you allow me to take care of you. You will tell me if and when something ails you, and you are to absolutely not push yourself needlessly.”

“Jinsey is alright Mistress. She sicks up but then she is right as rain!” the Elf brightly assured, bouncing on her toes a bit. “Mistress is to be eating her breakfast! Oh!” she let out an excited sound, “Mistress is calling to Jinsey...she is to stay here, Mistress is just being letting Jinsey know there is nutritive potion now! Jinsey can be being feeding both Mistress and her Hermione!”

“Are you certain? I can handle it-”

“Jinsey is being wanting to help Mistress! And she can be brewing as soon as she is being done eating!” and then after a moment’s consideration, “Jinsey will be telling Mistress if she is needing rest.”

“Very good. Alright darling, if it truly won’t put you to discomfort, I believe I’ll enjoy my meal in the bedroom before I proceed with my days brewing. There is a garden through those doors,” she said, pointing, “it leads to a cellar, that is where I will be, but you are absolutely forbidden from that space,” she was merely letting the Elf know she would still be on the property, “I’m certain my Present self will share my every sentiment, but darling you are to also remain out of my classroom when there is brewing in session. As for today, I will set alarm to the bedroom so you may alert me should I be needed.”

“Jinsey will be being safe!” the Elf promised. She did not wish to patronize the Elf but she was an Elf and thus small enough to carry and Narcissa was perhaps indulging in a bit of fretting. She opened her arms to the Elf who hugged her, and then hoisted her on her hip to cross the kitchen and...for caution sake, she cast to clear the air of the scent of her meal before taking her plate in hand and Apparrating upstairs, summoning the sending sack and depositing Jinsey on the bed as it flew into the room. The Elf unpacked vials of potion she cast to store in the nightstand at Hermione’s bedside before walking along the edge of the bed to sit at Hermione’s head.

It was heartbreakingly sweet to hear the Elf making soft, gentle song as she stroked the Witch’s hair, offering quiet assurance as she supported her head and brought potion to Hermione’s lips. “Jinsey is here. Jinsey will take care of Future Mistress and her Hermione as long as they is needing her! Mistress’s Hermione will be being better soon. Mistress sends nutritive potion just for her Hermione!”

She truly had, and while she was certain if the Present’s Hermione was to remain in the Hospital Wing for another evening, her Present self would indeed use the cloak Mister Potter lent to visit her, for now...she’d excuse enough to at least lay eyes on the younger Witch.

_There was the sound of a mix of voices echoing softly from the Hospital Wing as Narcissa approached, a small oak box between her hands emitting the soft rattle of clinking bottles of potion that clattered to silence when the Potions Mistress came to a halt, heart thumping rather harshly in response to a familiar voice._

_“...ly, Mister Goyle. An astute observation. You’re familiar with that particular Curse?” Andromeda’s voice. Merlin above, her sister!_

_“Yes, Lady...Tonks,” Mister Goyle caught himself, earning a soft chuckle from her sister._

_“I’m no more a Lady than I am a Black,” Andromeda assured. “You’ve been a dear friend to my nephew. You may all call me Andy.” Andy? Narcissa mouthed the nickname to herself incredulously. She’d heard such reference before but it was still baffling to hear from the woman’s mouth. Well, she’d spent a majority of her life now married to a man named Edward who went professionally by the name ‘Ted’ and more familiarly, ‘Teddy’. She supposed that had to rub off in the most unfortunate ways, it was her understanding their daughter decried her beautiful name and insisted upon being called ‘Tonks’. How perfectly bizarre, Andromeda and her family could be perfectly strange and she craved to know them all the same._

_“Why do you ask, Aunt Andy?” Draco’s voice questioned._

_Andromeda sighed tiredly. Had the woman gotten any sleep? “Madam Pomfrey and myself are weighing our options in what little time we have. She is unfamiliar with such injury but I...am due to resume treatment of a patient this evening, that will take quite possibly all magic I’ll have at my disposal to handle. But neither will I leave here without seeing Miss Granger healed.”_

_“Even with...help?” Draco asked._

_“Even with the help I will have tonight, that I cannot have here, it will be tenuous at best.”_

_“I know...certain parties can’t be asked to assist but I...you could use my magic, to help Hermione.”_

_“Mine too,” Mister Potter eagerly offered. Oh, the darling boy._

_“That is kind of you both, but Mister Potter it requires familiar ties of blood or bond. Thus Madam Pomfrey cannot be of assistance to me in this way. Draco is more suitable but I would not risk you in this way, it is more strenuous to cast through another than to cast for yourself.”_

_Draco growled. “I’ll have the bloody weekend to recover and even if I didn’t, drain me dry I don’t damn well care, I’m not just- just going to sit by and do nothing when I could_ help!”

 _“Draco Cygnus I will return to your school when you are taking lunch in the great hall before all and sundry and I will hug you_ and _kiss you on your sweet face if you keep up that tone with me. You will never live it down.”_

_“And I thought the constant death threats were bothersome, Merlin above no need to be so drastic. Just- she’s-” oh, his voice sounded so very small, “she’s my friend.”_

_“I know darling, I will keep your offer in mind, we’ve time yet before the damage is permanent.”_

_Narcissa had to steel herself, remind herself that what was most important was making certain their future selves efforts for the war were not in vain. Maintaining her role was vital. But oh she could gladly strangle Pansy Parkinson. The little bitch thought herself clever, watching the Hospital Wing while Draco was so drawn to it, while one of Harry Potter’s allies lay helpless within. She thought she was being clever with her casting but Narcissa saw her magic all over the corridor, the girl using Death Eater tactics to cloak herself as she stood just outside the Wing in wait. Narcissa let out a frustrated sound, as that could be interpreted by the girl as something meant to speak to her discomfort entering this place when her traitor son and sister stood in wait with Potter’s Muggleborn, Narcissa lifting her voice in tones of haughty mockery,_

_“Isn’t it a shame, poor little thing,” she tsked. Miss Granger certainly was popular today, a throng of teenagers around her bed, Mister Potter, Draco, two Weasleys, one of them with Blaise at his side making an effort to look bored while the other stood with Gregory Goyle and Miss Lovegood, Andromeda at the foot of the bed, eyes bruised with lack of sleep, arms crossed over her chest, wand in hand pointing out between her arm and ribcage. She rolled her eyes as she looked to Narcissa._ An unfamiliar kitchen holding a hauntingly familiar scene, Narcissa in her sister’s arms seeking to be consoled. “If I had known- if I thought for a moment you were in such danger-” that felt of utter remorse, fierce protection. _Narcissa had to avert her gaze, to offer what she hoped passed as a sneer in the comatose Hermione’s direction, “Curses are so very complex to treat. Andromeda dear, are you certain you’re not in over your head? No secondary education to speak of must certainly be a hindrance to your profession. Healer now, is it? Entirely ridiculous, that anyone would consider employing someone so underqualified.” Madam Pomfrey was bustling over, looking wary at having the estranged Black sisters in the midst of her Hospital Wing, Narcissa offered her a smile and her box of potions, “ Let me know if you’ve need of a more skilled professional’s assistance, Poppy, there are many who come to my mind far more befitting aiding you.” She hoped her sister understood the offer of assistance. She could not do so openly here and now, but with Mister Potter’s cloak perhaps, she could return and aid her, but if not, if time could not permit her to return at end of day…well, there had been one offer of assistance Andromeda certainly hadn’t perceived, “Mister Goyle, do stop by my office this weekend, we should discuss the internship opportunities you’re considering for Winter Holiday.” Word had returned to his parents, his affiliation with Draco...Harry Potter, at school. A great many more Slytherins would be seeking alternatives to returning to their homes, when on break from school this year._

_“Internship?” Ginerva Weasley questioned, looking to the young man at her side even as the girl holding her hand let out a knowing hum like Miss Lovegood knew precisely what the Slytherin boy was pursuing._

_“Oh Ginny, I've told you! His aura is positively emerald! Lord Goyle taught him how to hurt, but his heart wants to use that knowledge to heal!" Luna enthused, popping up on her toes to press a kiss to Gregory's blushing cheek._

_“..._ Healers _internships?” Andromeda asked with some interest. “...and you’ve experience with Dark Arts.”_

_The young mam shrugged as he looked to Andromeda. “S’why I offered help.”_

_“To hel...oh. Well then, you certainly don’t mince words, do you,” Andromeda said, realizing his offering knowledge on the topic earlier was his telling her he would gladly help her if she thought him capable._

“Mistress! There is being intruders!” Jinsey wailed, bringing Narcissa’s focus back to her own present. The House Elf had one hand raising to snap her fingers to disapparate, her mind set on going to face them, the other making more visible the swell of her belly as she cradled it protectively.

“Darling, do desist, if there is danger, you are to take Hermione and flee to my quarters in Hogwarts,” Narcissa said, rising and brandishing her wand, she could hear movement downstairs, the front door being unlocked and opened, “I will investigate.”

There were two startled screams, neither from her, when she apparated downstairs to appear in the living room, wand raised at-

“Jesus Christ!” from Sara overlapped her mother-in-law’s cry of, “Jesus heal the masses!”...could he? Perhaps they would call upon him if this evening’s treatment grew dire.

“My dears, I apologize but you gave us rather the fright,” and then, speaking her name so she would hear, “Jinsey, it is alright, they are friends, our position has not been compromised.”

“Okay that’s some spy sounding shit, holy crap,” Sara breathed with some excitement, hand still clutching her chest from Narcissa having startled them. “Who’s Jinsey? Some kind of weird alias for Stacie or…?”

Merlin above she’d prayed the misstep wouldn’t be mentioned, thus far it seemed to have worked. “Jinsey is...my dears would you care to meet someone of our world? The Magical one. She is a House Elf, here to aid us while Her-” Jupiter smite her damn tongue! “...mistress is in recovery.”

“...like...some kind of magical slave?” Sara questioned skeptically.

“...a great many House Elves are enslaved. I freed Jinsey, however, and she aids us of her own volition out of loyalty and love she receives in kind, she is well cared for and paid salary for her work.” she looked the women over and saw the...three stacked long rectangular covered trays in Violetta’s hands. “Violetta,” she gently complained.

“Oh you shush,” the woman insisted, “we were worried sick and wanted to check on our girls, make certain you’re alright, and you shouldn’t have to worry about cooking at a time like this.”

“Thank you...they...are to be stored in the fridge?” Narcissa checked, and when Violetta nodded Narcissa cast and they vanished from the woman’s hands. “They’re stored for later, I do thank you. If...If you would like to see her, she is resting upstairs I’ll show you but then I must...I hate to be rude but you must understand, if she is to be healed, there is potion vital to that healing I must make before she resumes treatment tonight.”

Sara’s mind whirled a bit as the Muggle woman sought to reign in her excitement at hearing about ‘Witchy things’ such as the need to brew _potion_ , and bring it back to the somber focus of their situation. “Lead the way.”

Sara was taking their environment in with some keen interest, eyes assessing the star-lit ceiling, though the women at her back let out soft, distressed sounds as they entered the room and took sight of the younger Witch slumbering in their bed.

“Jesus, what the hell happened?” Sara asked as she drew nearer the bed, though she let out a startled yelp when there was a soft bit of growling and her attention was caught by, “Holy shit there’s a ghost lion!” and then movement in her peripheral startled her further still as her eyes were drawn to the House Elf who rose up onto her feet on the bed at Hermione’s side, pointing an index finger at the Lion.

“You will not be scaring Mistress’s friends!” Jinsey snapped. “Jinsey has been telling you to be sitting, you will be sitting!" He did, huffing softly in Jinsey's direction as she nodded her satisfaction.

“Our Healer’s Patronus...a magical spirit that guards and protects,” Narcissa explained, resting a reassuring hand on Violetta’s arm as the elder woman still looked taken aback, ““he monitors her patients while she is away.” The woman smiled and nodded.

“...cool,” Sara said, looking to the Lion and then Jinsey again, “Hallo erm...I’m Sara,” she said, dipping something that resembled a curtsey to the House Elf. “Pleased to meet you.”

“My name is Violetta, it is a pleasure to meet you, Jinsey is it?” the elder Muggle woman offered, smiling kindly to the House Elf.

“Jinsey is happiness to be meeting Mistress’s friends!” the sweet Elf enthused. “They is here to see Mistress’s Hermione?” oh. Honestly she gave up, could she not have a single modicum of useful thought today? She shouldn’t have- well she should have perceived Jinsey’s patterns of speech would reveal-! Oh she prayed Hermione wasn’t horribly upset with her when she woke and discovered how sloppily Narcissa had handled secrets her love had _trusted_ her with!

Sara’s brow shot up at that, looking over her shoulder to share a look with Violetta before looking to Narcissa. Though it was, “ _Mistress’s..._ Hermione...huh?" her thoughts were working through the implications, that her child's middle name might just truly belong to her Godmother. "Things get settled with you two even in all the craziness?”

“We had only just settled, yes, when...when Hermione was injured.”

“How?” Sara wondered, incredulous, mind flitting from the fear perhaps the Witches were into, quote _some super kinky shit_ , back to the notion that no, even if they were involved in mixing pain and pleasure it would _never_ result in such true harm to one another. No, something horrible had happened she was certain.

“The Witch who placed a Curse scar on her...the blade she used to do it, when it is in use to harm others, it...leaves similar injury on her surviving victims’ magic. She is allied with the evil Wizard we face, he celebrates Samhain in a horrendous fashion she took part of.”

“Magic is in your skin?” Violetta wondered, curious, “So _that’s_ how you two and my grandbabies are so gorgeous,” she said, trying to make light even as she frowned, examining the scrape on the peak of Hermione’s right cheekbone, the thin slice at her left temple, across the bridge of her nose, the split cut into her lip, all smaller dermal injuries that would not gush blood, that would heal on their own, banaging at a cut along the side of her neck, her fingers wrapped though that may come off soon, Andromeda had plied ointment to the bruising on the young Witch’s knuckles from her thrashing against stone in the bathroom, and wrapped them to secure ointment to her skin and keep it from spreading everywhere.

“Um, your grandbabies are gorgeous because Mike and I are a gift to the world,” Sara saw fit to remind her.

“Magic is in us. Healing requires drawing her magical injuries out,” Narcissa said, clearing her throat, “I must go prepare potion, I’ll be in the cellar should you need me.”

“Jinsey will be taking care of Mistress and Mistress’s Hermione and Mistress’s friends Violetta and Sara!” Jinsey announced, “Is there anything they is being needing?"

Violetta smiled but shook her head that she was fine while Sara launched into, "You are the cutest and I need nothing but to just, like, stand here and adore you, where did you get your adorable bow?" she wondered.

"Jinsey is being making them! Jinsey can be making some for friends!"

"I have a baby girl...so far," she supposed, "to the best of our knowledge so I'm pretty addicted to dressing her up."

Jinsey beamed, a hand going to rest at her own swelling life, "Jinsey is being with baby! A baby girl, her magic is most most certain!" She gasped excitedly, looking to Narcissa as the realization struck her, "Jinsey's baby can be having clothing! Jinsey's baby is free!"

"Absolutely darling," Narcissa warmly encouraged, "I rather look forward to shopping for your sweet babe."

"Oh my God you just got like, a thousand times cuter!" Sara sounded as if she could hardly stand it. "You're having a baby?! That's so exciting!"

“Congratulations, Miss Jinsey,” Violetta offered warmly, looking to Narcissa then as she prepared to leave them to pleasant conversation, “Would you like some help? Some company at least? You know I can follow a recipe and...John, he and Mike are with the kids but if you need...er...non-magical medical attention, for her cuts and scrapes, he was a medic when we were in the military,” Violetta offered. “He could come look her over.”

“Oh yeah, he makes this great ointment, it can go on just about anything, burns, scrapes,” Sara said, “Jessie’s sensitive to a lot of things because duh,” Narciss and Hermione had cautioned her about her children having medical difficulty, Hermione had been surprised to discover there _were_ means by which Muggles could contact St. Mungos and call for aid for their magical friends and relatives. Why Hogwarts taught _Muggle Studies_ but not some equivalent to aid their Muggleborn students, give them vital information to navigating themselves in the magical world was beyond her, there was more to it than spells and potions, there was an entire society they’d little understanding how to access without explanation. “But his magic seems okay with it, he’s never had a bad reaction when we’ve used it with him.”

“...if you wish to keep me company, I would appreciate it yes,” Narcissa said to Violetta. “We would not wish to burden you further but if John wishes to see her, he may, Mike likewise, even your children,” it had been in Sara’s mind, that they’d not brought them for fear of bothering Hermione if she needed rest, having a rambunctious toddler and a crying baby near, but, “she is spelled to sleep, under a medically induced coma, nothing should wake her. Though if she does, Sara, I am to be called immediately.” That would mean something was wrong, more likely than it would mean something was right with the girl.

“You got it babe, leave it to me, I’ll just be here, hanging with Jinsey and watching over sleeping beauty, um...we’ll see about bringing the babies around once their Auntie doesn’t look so...Jessie’ll have a conniption if he sees her…” her eyes went a little wide. “Shit. I should have known- Bug kept waking up, he had to come sleep with us because he was having nightmares and every time he woke up he’d start signing...Stacie’s name sign with an ‘H’. We told him she was alright, he doesn’t...well, we said we were just coming to see you just because, we didn’t tell him she’s hurt but…”

“He likely knows she’s injured,” Narcissa agreed, “Oh, I am so sorry he suffered nightmares of it. Darling if you bring him to me I can examine for...I can try to see what he saw, and advise you if he might need…therapy,” oh Merlin above Bella may well have traumatized a child! They weren’t certain how his intuition presented, Jessie's eyes never quite made contact with hers when he was experiencing as much, his gaze was more drawn to people’s lips and hands for communication. He might have seen nothing, it could just be vague impressions or a sense of _knowing._ Or he could have seen _anything,_ from Hermione’s suffering to- to Bella tormenting Muggles!

“Hermione helped us get in contact with this uhhh...crap, what’s the word? This Squid guy-”

“Squib darling, a person born to be magical who lacks all magical ability.”

“Yeah that, he’s a child psychologist who...for his magical clients specialises in magical trauma with a focus in Division induced Anxiety Disorder?”

“...Divination. The other just sounds like your child abhors maths as you do.”

“I’m about to have words with whoever the fuck is out there naming this shit!” Sara snapped, “He’s got ‘De-vision’, that’s what it should be called! And what the fuck even is _Squib?”_

“...if my darling were awake she would inform you the word originates from the phrase ‘damp squib’. A squib references a form of firecracker or explosive, if it becomes damp, it does not operate as it should even when lit.. Comparing something to a ‘damp squib’ means it failed to meet expectations, which...is what a Squib is, to our society, unfortunately.”

“...yeah so that’s fucking insulting I’m not calling my kid’s therapist that. And _Muggles_ just sounds damn rude.”

“I- I am sorry if I’ve insulted you,” Narcissa offered sincerely. She’d not...quite considered it that way before, that to a non-magical person, the word might hit like insult, to mean that they are less than...and in truth, more often than not, that was how the word was meant. How she had often meant it, really. “It- it is the word that has always been used but...I can understand your discomfort. There is some occasional need for differentiating between the magical and non-magical...but I suppose that phrasing is better for describing in those instances.”

“Yeah, some cringy bigoted git probably came up with calling ‘non-magical people’ Muggle and Squib.”

“Indeed,” Narcissa was most certain. “Are...are you upset with me?” 

She...hadn’t expected the question to cause Violetta to pull Narcissa into a hug, wrapping her arms around the Witch to pull her directly to her chest, resting her chin atop her head, a hold that, once her initial startle passed, made her feel very safe and very small and she wondered if that was what it was supposed to feel like when one’s mother hugged them. Not that Druella ever hugged her daughters, perish the thought. “Dear, no one is upset with you, and even if we were? Honey, it’s okay to have hurt feelings and disagree from time to time, that’s normal and healthy and part of life. No one, not me or Mike or John or even ‘dry-Squib-ready-to-pop-off’ Sara, is ever going to hurt you because of something like that. Or for anything, ever! You’re always safe to be yourself, to express your heart and mind and your experiences, and if we meet an impasse? We talk it out, work through it, and we love on each other and move on.”

Sara’s weight was at her back, Narcissa letting out a soft ‘umf’ from the woman wrapping her arms around her waist and Violetta’s, to sandwich her between in a hug, Sara's cheek resting just at the base of Naricssa’s neck, between her shoulder blades as she promised, “Yeah babe, no one...no one’s going to hurt you, not for the world let alone a disagreement. Don’t get me wrong I can bitch the roof off a building, but we raise voices not hands. Unless it's because we’re lifting our arms to hug you!” her arms squeezed tighter, “You cute! Perfect! Witch, you!” 

...there was weight at her legs, arms wrapping around her knees. “Jinsey is being loving Mistress! Master was cruel, he hexed and cursed, but Jinsey and Mistress’s Hermione, we would never be hurting Mistress! Only loving and protecting!”

“I- I did not- I wasn’t assuming any of you were about to hurt me,” Narcissa faintly assured.

“Oh honey. I don’t think you realize it but...sweetheart you _always_ ask, check to make certain you haven’t upset someone and you...tense up, like you expect the worst. Deep down?” Violetta offered gentle challenge, “When you come through something like what you’ve been through, that possibility is always in the back of your mind, anytime someone raises their voice or gets upset, or even just disagrees with you. It’s okay to need encouragement and assurances. You should never have to be afraid, whenever you’ve upset someone you love, and it's okay to need to be reminded of that, that with us and anyone worth having in your life? That will always be true.”

“I do...appreciate that, I-” she felt rather at a loss for what to say, it was rather a startling thing, to realize she was cowed in this way, intimidated by even people as lovely as the company she kept these days raising their voice or taking a tone. Part of her said it was utterly pathetic, that she should be embarrassed that they’d seen such weakness. But there was another, one that grew ever stronger in their care that said...in the company of friends and loved ones, weakness could be made strength. She sniffled, clearing her throat as she pulled away, Sara squeezing as Narcissa stepped further into her hold before releasing the Witch, Jinsey stepping away to peer up at her Mistress with wide glittering eyes, the hope that they’d been a comfort ringing in her mind. “Thank you. I do love you all likewise, but I really must go.”

“Right! You go, have fun with your uhh...brewing?” Sara tested the word, and when Narcissa nodded the woman smiled and giggled, “That’s so cool…” she sighed, “I’ll make sure whats-her-name sleeps well. Jinsey? Hi! So I have like a million questions, and I plan to become your best friend before I leave today so we better get started on that. Is it rude to offer to help you back up onto the bed?” she wondered.

“Jinsey isn’t minding as long as Mistress is always asking. But Jinsey can return to bed herself!” the House Elf brightly assured, snapping her fingers and eliciting a surprised sound from the Muggle woman as she popped back onto the bed.

“Oh my gosh that’s so cool!”

Autumn air was pleasantly cool on Narcissa’s skin as she and Violetta stepped out onto the patio, the woman at her side offering compliment and concern for her _lovely_ garden, wasn't it getting too cold for her poor plants? Narcissa took them the longer way to the cellar, a detour of a few steps wouldn’t be amiss. She offered Violetta her arm and escorted her along the fence, Hermione’s warding lined that place, drew boundaries between the patio and grass of their garden to keep their plants in an appropriate environment without making challenge of her home’s electrical lines and the like. Violetta was delighted with the warmth of their gardens, hugging Narcissa’s arm and enthusing that she’d quite the talented green thumb, the space was just beautiful. The woman paid close attention as Narcissa led her down to the cellar, leaving the doors open for fresh air while they worked, and she was delighted as she donned the set of black potions robes and found they shifted from the size more appropriate for Hermione’s stature to fit her frame perfectly. She stood alongside Narcissa...lessening her workload, quite nicely, potions instruction and cooking instruction were not all that dissimilar, she was able to follow as Narcissa simply told her what to do with the ingredients at hand, and Violetta worked magic of her own handling them, helping Narcissa make excellent time with her potions prep. They had Potion of Oxidation sitting out in the garden in half the time she’d expected, moving right along into Blood Replenisher, Narcissa grateful she could go straight into the spellwork required while Violetta chopped and ground and strained the necessary ingredients, dropping them into the base Narcissa had brewing in her cauldron as the Witch instructed.

The woman seated herself on a high stool once Narcissa assured her all that was left to do was wait and endure the _riveting_ task of stirring continuously until their brew was prepared for consumption. Violetta took up the task of keeping her good company, quell the numbing boredom Narcissa had been dreading, it was such a mindless task she’d been worried it would leave her alone with her thoughts and that would mean parceling through everything the last twenty four hours had held...oh Merlin had it only been a day? It felt like a year had wedged itself into the expanse of time between her freedom from Lucius and her willing confinement to the cellar.

“I’ll have a word with Sara,” Violetta assured...for some reason.

“A word?”

“Not to pester Stacie too much, about her name,” Violetta explained. “It’s a complicated situation, one we can’t know everything about, that you two are dealing with. John and I were never 007 or anything in the military,” ...double ‘oh’ seven? Mug- Non-magicals had the strangest slang, “but there were times, situations where our families couldn’t know where we were or what we were doing, times we were separated. To this day we’ve never once discussed with each other anything that transpired the summer of ‘66, we spent months apart with zero contact and when we were reunited?” she shrugged. “We fell back into step, and let the past be the past. If you and Stacie can’t disclose something to us? There’s a good reason for it. If she…” Violetta considered it silently before saying, “I love that girl, I love her like she’s family. And I can’t tell you a single pertinent fact about her life outside of Whitakers. I don’t know her family, I don’t know where she studied, or where she grew up, or where she was born. I don’t even know her birthday and I...have never considered asking her any of those things. Which strikes me as extremely odd. The only thing this...name business has caused me to conclude is in actuality, I haven’t asked? Because I _do_ know. I just don’t remember. And that makes sense to me, I _feel_ like I know. If you were to _ask me_ if I do I would insist as much and then come up blank on the answers. John’s the same, I...suspected as much after our phonecall. He gave me immediate assurance I was to visit Stacie in Hospital, she’s got no family, and when I asked him about that? He seemed confused, because there’s a level he’s certain she _does_ have family, parents, but he couldn’t name them if his life depended on it. I don’t know why that is exactly but...I trust her, I understand at least to some degree the pressures you two are under. It isn’t for us to judge, and it’s certainly not our place to make it harder,” a soft smile came to the woman’s face, “that girl loves and respects me, no matter what name I have to use. I’ll always expect the same courtesy be extended to her. When the time comes that she’s ready to let us know Hermione again? We’ll be patient, and ready.”

Narcissa risked looking away from her mixture for only a second to turn and press a kiss to the elder woman’s cheek, a wet sounding laugh escaping her as she pulled away and the woman let out a soft cooing sound, opening her robes to get at her dress pocket and pull out a handkerchief to wipe at Narcissa’s tears, oh, she was just so relieved. Hermione might still be upset with her but at least the true harm in the situation was abated, Narcissa’s worry lay more in the reaction of Hermione’s loved ones than that of the younger Witch herself, Hermione would be met with acceptance and kindness and patience and she would forgive Narcissa, of that the woman was certain, more than that? It would be fine. _I can love and be mad at you_ , she once assured, and Hermione was nothing if not a Witch of her word.

“Thank you-” there was a pull on her magic and _Narcissa! She’s awake- oi!_ _Eyes open,_ Violetta saw the look that overcame Narcissa’s features and immediately rose, nodded and took over the task of stirring in the instant Narcissa stepped away to Apparate upstairs, _don’t go making a liar of me!_ echoing in the darkness before she appeared in the bedroom to find Sara lying next to Hermione looking utterly frustrated before she looked up to the Witch, pleading, “Please remember I have two small children you adore who need me, mostly for my ability to feed them. I swear to God her eyes were just open.”

Narcissa drew near, looking the younger Witch over for sign of distress before feeling at her forehead for fever. It had lessened, not spiked further which was good. “It’s alright darling,” she assured, more to the Witch whose hair she brushed back, than the woman she offered, “Thank you for staying with her, I’ve nearly finished my brewing.” She looked about for Jinsey to discover the dear thing nestled between Sara’s stomach and Hermione’s side, taking a bit of a nap. 

_Seated alone in the privacy of her quarters, trembling with exhaustion, the weight of her evening-turned-day as she raised her wine glass to her lips, her sip cut short when she started at Dobby popping into the room, the House Elf casting a worried stare over his Mistress before he tentatively announced, “Hermione Granger is being waked. Mistress Andromeda instructed Master Gregory through making her healed. She is being needing rest, and Mistress insists she is being under observation, but she can be being returned to the Tower tomorrow.” and then, “Dobby is drawing Mistress a bath! She isn’t being expected at dinner, she will bathe and eat and sleep before she…” he blushed, cheeks greening as he bashfully insisted, “Dobby isn’t having a clue what Mistress is up to after curfew. But he will be making certain nobody is being disturbing her, whatever it is she is doing with Harry Potter’s cloak.”_ Oh thank Merlin. The Present’s Hermione was healed. 

“Yeah, she’s out, I don’t blame her, I’d need a nap too if I was working that fast,” Sara said as her own gaze was on Jinsey, “I’m not sure if I’m envious or horrified that Elves have like, three month* pregnancies. She’s just tiny but she’s due in December, January at the latest, that’s just insane.”

“House Elves are fast to produce, small in size and they grow swiftly both in gestation and post birth,” Narcissa confirmed.

“Her boyfriend’s name is Dobby, she says he’s the best Elf, but like is he? I’ll kill a man, I don’t care.”

“No darling, Dobby is indeed a very kindly Elf, deserving of the relationship he has, I’m certain he’ll be just as excellent a father as Jinsey will be a mother.”

“Good. Oh! Your mobile rang, the number wasn’t saved so I didn’t answer but they left you a voice message if you want to check it,” Sara said.

It was Andromeda’s number on the screen when the woman handed off the mobile, “I would...how does one do that?”

“Oh, you just...there,” Sara said, sitting up and reaching to press a few buttons.

A stranger’s voice informed her, “You have: one...new...message.”

“Yes?”

Sara smiled, slapping a hand over her mouth to cover it, “Honey she can’t hear you, that’s just a recording.”

“Why is it necessary unless you’re to complete ritual with it-” she fell silent as her sister’s voice came over the phone.

_“I’ve concluded my business at Hogwarts and all is well-”_

“Excel-” she stopped when Sara shook her head and dropped her hand to mouth ‘recording’. How inane!

“ _I’ll be returning home to sleep some more, I’ll return tonight, you can expect me to arrive between midnight and one...I’ve no other patients this weekend, Teddy’s on a case so he won’t be home and Nymphadora has a weekend excursion with her gentleman planned, so. As I’m dedicating to one specific patient for the next few days, I’ll be staying on site, until further notice. Good day.”_

...on...site. Until further notice.

“Who was it?”

“My sister...our healer she’s invited herself over for the weekend…” because Teddy and Nymphadora are away?...something warm settled in her chest at her sister’s belligerence, she couldn’t just _say_ she wished to be close at hand for any reason other than seeing to her patient.

“Oh, really? You two get along?”

“Hardly. We’ve not spoken in more than twenty years before this incident. We’d...something of a falling out. She married a man born to non-magical people, She was disowned and...would have been killed, if she’d been caught by my parents, the people with whom I associated with in my youth.”

“Yikes. So it’s...weird getting to know her again?”

“...we’ve rather well picked up right where we left off. We are sisters, darling. We love each other fiercely, and we have _never_ gotten along.”

“Oh man, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Narcissa nodded. “We’ll be rather dedicated to the task at hand, I’m uncertain what the next few days will hold, but you’re more than welcome to visit once we’ve secured my love from permanent injury.”

Sara balled her fist against her lips to quell a quiet, building excited squealing sound, “Ohhh, you two! The second this is all settled, I want every last detail Narcissa Black!”

Narcissa offered the woman a mischievous smile, “Well, I’ve brewing to attend,” she excused herself, disapparating to the sound of Sara’s frustrated sigh.

Their welcome intruders took their leave once their potions preparations were through, with an exchange of assurances, that they were to call once they were safely returned to their homes, and she was to call on them if she’d need.

“Jinsey is being taking care of Mistresses!” the House Elf assured...somewhat protective like she feared a challenge for her place as she stared up at the women they’d seen to the door.

“Thanks Jin, you feel free to call us too if you ever need something, just want a chat,” Sara insisted.

“Do take care of yourself my dear,” Violetta offered the Elf kindly, “I look forward to meeting you again,” she looked to Narcissa, “And give your sister our dearest thanks.”

She did intend to. She truly did. But Andromeda didn’t very well deserve it!

...she did. But it didn’t feel that way. Narcissa had finally laid down for weary rest, falling into bed after Jinsey pushed a meal on her and she saw to making the Elf a proper bed for herself at the foot of their bed, something soft and comfortable and warm but low enough to the floor that the dear thing wouldn’t have to apparate or climb to lie down in, only to be woken by a very _rude_ very _loud_ lions roar _directly in her ear!_ Followed after by _giggling!_

Narcissa shot upward, wand in one hand and Hermione’s blanketed thigh in the other, heart hammering panic in her chest, good heavens! Andromeda was standing over her, with her Lion at her hip, openly laughing at her now! “Andromeda Cassiopeia Morgause Prudence Tonks!”

“Yes, Narcissa Celeste _Hesper,” oh! “_ Alexia Black?” she returned casually, as if she were perfectly innocent!

“You nearly gave me a heart attack! You could have woken Hermione or given Jinsey a fright! She is with child!”

“I am aware, she is already awake and greeted me when I arrived unlike _some people_ , Hermione is spelled with much success to remain comatose, and if your heart is so very weak it cannot withstand a little startle? How very unfortunate for your young lover, to either avoid all exciting congress or send you off to the afterlife with her wiles.”

“Mistress Andromeda!” Jinsey yelled as she appeared, standing on the bed in silken blue nightgown, a tray of tea floating behind her as she glared at the Witch, hands on hips. “Jinsey was saying Mistress Andy could be waking her sister with _gentleness!”_

“Oh darling, you’ve cared for Cissy since she was a child, you’re well aware that _was_ gentle.” 

“Oh yes,” Narcissa drawled, “I can only vaguely recall the incident where you dropped me from the roof of Black Manor.”

“Daddy caught you!” Andromeda defended, “And I didn’t drop you! Bella did. I just watched. We tried teaching you basic magic and you failed to entertain, she thought perhaps invoking a sense of danger would bring wild magic to your rescue, as it would have, it was perfectly safe, and your own fault for boring her.”

“I was a baby!” Narcissa argued, though she spoke in time with her sister, mocking their eldest’s speech, “And babies are _boring!”_ oh, it was a bit of fun sharing a laugh and a smile at their sister’s expense, even as she wasn’t the most pleasant topic to think about.

Jinsey just stared at them incredulously. “Babies is not being boring!” she assured them, stomping her foot and pointing at Andromeda, “ You will be being kind to Mistress and Mistress’s Hermione or Jinsey will be washing Mistress Andy’s clothing with itchy-scritch!” she threatened.

At Narcissa’s confusion Andromeda supplied, “A delightful form of prank detergent courtesy of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It looks like common powder detergent but leaves clothing itchy to all skin it is in contact with. And if you’ve just done a load of laundry?”

“...you’ve nothing to change into save for equally cursed attire,” Narcissa supposed, “How delightful, yes Jinsey, do fetch me a tub of the stuff when the darling Weasley boys' establishment opens in the morning,” she instructed, giving her a conspiratorial wink she received in kind as the Elf understood she was jesting.

“Oh Jinsey is being doing what Mistress is asking!” the Elf assured with some delight. Darling thing. “Jinsey has been making tea. She is being hungry so she brought finger sandwiches, Mistresses is welcome to. Jinsey will be sleeping unless Mistresses is needing her.”

“No darling, do eat your fill and return to bed,” Narcissa invited though, “We will be working...would you care to sleep elsewhere? It isn’t pleasant, what we must do.”

“...Jinsey will be being sleeping soundly unless Mistress calls for her,” she assured, oh she was tired. Though still, “Jinsey wants to stay…” she looked to Hermione, “if Mistresses are both being working...if Mistress's Hermione needs comfort, Jinsey can be staying awake and holding her hand.”

“Thank you darling but my own work involves holding her hand and administering potion.”

Jinsey nodded. “Jinsey administered more nutritive potion after Mistress was laying down for sleeping,” she informed. Oh, bless her, Narcissa had nearly forgotten, was just considering she might need as much now.

Lovely as Jinsey’s tea was, it was no pleasant tea party. The House Elf slept soundly through the night, as her Mistresses worked, diagnosing injuries, pulling them up once they’d decided how best to handle them, rinse repeat until Andromeda’s magic snapped under the strain.

“Dromeda?” Narcissa worried when her sister’s casting faltered and the woman sat straight down on her bottom, on the floor by the bed, head between her knees as she caught her breath. Narcissa was kneeling at her side in an instant, rubbing circles on her back. “What can I do?”

Andromeda considered it. “I...I would like to finish tonight if we can. Part of what makes this difficult is they are beginning to set, I have to work them out. If we have to stop...tomorrow night we must absolutely finish, or she will maintain injury to her magic and that will have unknowable consequences from disruptions in her casting, inability to maintain spells, to the certainty that they will always be painful,” she said, taking a deep breath she breathed out slowly. She looked to Narcissa. “I need to eat, rehydrate. And then we’ll try again, with you powering my casting.”

...two of three goals were successfully met. Narcissa reheated more of Violetta’s delightful casserole, and returned with plates for herself and her sister, they ate quietly, Andromeda’s mind rather occupied with their goals so Narcissa left her to her thoughts, summoning glasses of water the woman quaffed like she might just be dying of her thirst.

The first words spoken occured after they’d risen and attempted their casting. Andromeda’s preparedness to take on their task had been clear in her mind so Narcissa rose with her sister, wrapped an arm around her waist and held her near as the woman raised her wand to draw up the rest of the injury she’d dropped, half a slash across Hermione’s hip bone…

That remained half, as Andromeda growled out, “...it isn’t working.” she looked to Narcissa, “Why aren’t you powering me?”

What nonsense? “I am!” she insisted. She was! Or “I- I am trying to!” Her magic was active and alive, pulsing to rise from her skin and transfer into Andromeda’s but it- it wasn’t _working!_ “Could...could it be that you were disowned?”

“Disowning doesn’t take away the fact that we share blood, our magic is directly related. Ugh, Bella always said you were adopted!”

“Oh ha- oh.”

“...oh?” Andromeda returned.

“...it’s not an issue of power. It is what I intend to aid in casting,” Narcissa slowly worked out. Oh, it was most blessed Mister Goyle could be brought to assist the present Hermione. If her present self had been brought to aid Andromeda? “...I cannot harm Hermione.”

Andromeda sighed with some frustration. “I understand you are so tenderly in love-”

“It isn’t- I’m avowed! I- when we arrived from the future we had to escape Malfoy Manor, I couldn’t bring Hermione through the wards without...I couldn’t add her directly, that would be visible. I had to...attach her permission to mine.”

“...you vowed her your fealty,” genuine fear breaking out in Andromeda’s mind. There was the idea that Miss Granger would never be cruel enough to harm Narcissa but, “Narcissa! You know better than any such one sided vows are dangerous-”

“Then it is most excellent they are not one sided!” Narcissa snapped. “The very _instant_ Hermione realized she’d some power over me that wasn’t reciprocated, that I would be powerless to defend myself if she laid harm to me, she returned my vows in full!”

Andromeda relaxed at that, “...well then. Good.” She loosed a tired sigh, “Well, that explains her ability to cast Black family magic. Draco tried convincing us his precious little Wizard’s Truce with the girl was enough to permit as much,” she rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Well then...I suppose we’ll have to wait until my magic has regained its strength.”

“This home is fully functional without the use of magic, you’re to rest magically until we attempt again tomorrow night.”

“Oh is that your Healer’s recommendation?” Andromeda wondered, brow arched.

“Yes, it is," Narcissa insisted. “The facilities are yours, bathe as you please. There’s a bedroom, through the other door in the bathroom you’re free to use.”

“I suppose I’ll bathe then,” Andromeda said, stretching her arms overhead, a series of pops traveling up her spine before she relaxed once more. “...as you’ll be waiting at your turn for a bath,” Andromeda noted, taking hold of a lock of Narcissa’s hair between index finger and thumb as if to scrutinize it- she-! Ugh, she did feel rather disgusting.She hadn’t thought of anything other than the next necessary action. Her hair, delight Hermione found in it, was not vital to the Witch’s survival, she hadn’t bathed or cast to cleanse herself in...far too long now, Merlin. Her hair was _greasy!_ “I have something you might like to see in the meantime.”

“Oh?”

Andromeda had left her possessions on the dresser, a cloak, a leather messenger bag that held her Healers supplies, and before the dresser sat a carpet bag presumably filled with her necessities for this weekend stay at her sister’s. It was from a cloak pocket she withdrew a rolled up magazine she handed off to Narcissa, “The latest interview might be of interest to you,” she supposed, pressing a kiss to her cheek and pulling away to tease, “Stinky Cissy.”

She wasn’t! She didn’t smell spectacular but she mostly smelled of their food and potions ingredients! Andromeda left her to sulk and...seat herself in a summoned chair at Hermione’s bedside, she wouldn’t lie down next to the girl again until she’d bathed. 

She unrolled the magazine to reveal...it was something, yes, that piqued interest when she saw it lying on an end table in a waiting room of the Ministry October 31st. The Halloween edition of The Quibbler, her son’s face drawn in this strange stylized way, clearly Draco, just like his face being viewed through a kaleidoscope, his face recomposed correctly but made of angles and curves in a rainbow of colors. _Death-Eater Defect: Draco Malfoy Despells Deceit!_ as its headline.

...he’d kept abreast, as he could, to the progress of his parents divorce. It had taken careful conversation but the young man had worked out that his mother would be safely divorced on the 31st. That had apparently been all he needed to feel free to decry the Dark Lord and his followers in print, meant to be released the very same day. Lucius had scoffed decisively when he saw it in the waiting room at the Ministry…

...she’d not been allowed to touch it, he forbade it in the same breath he saw it, as they made their way to the meeting room, not that she would have done so then, they’d more pressing issues to handle, and if she were going to view such a thing, discretion would be key. She had been curious, wondered at perhaps disillusioning herself and perusing the copy readily available since it wouldn’t do to be seen purchasing it, giving her money to an organization disrespecting her Dark Lord. But when she emerged from the meeting room just after Lucius...the man had swept away like he couldn’t abide being in the room a moment more, beaten her to the elevator, she’d had to take another and that suited, she hardly had an interest in being alone with him full-stop, let alone in such a confined space. Anyway, their copy of the Quibbler was gone from the table when Narcissa sought it after…

_Lucius turning to face the doors just as they were closing before him, face downturned, veiled by his hair as he slumped as if exhausted, something bright blue in his hands, clutched to bend, wrapped tight around the hilt of his cane._

Narcissa turned over the Quibbler in hand...its back cover was mosaic-esque, brilliant shades of bright blue, a small fluorescent green signature squiggled in its corner, _L.L._

...he likely took it to shake in the face of some poor administrator, demanding to know why the Ministry had such a biased publication for their guests to read, and didn’t they know who he was? 

Narcissa shook herself, opening the magazine...noting the Runes puzzle, _Yeah the articles aren’t always...based in fact. But their Ancient Runes puzzles are great fun,_ Hermione had said when Narcissa wondered at her recalling a memory of Luna requesting Draco sit down for an interview with her. Oh but this copy already had writing on it...oh, the puzzle itself was left untouched, but Draco’s script was high in the right hand corner. 

_Blaise sat down and did this puzzle in 15 minutes, 44 seconds. Two sickles say you can’t beat that. Feel better soon, this is very rude of you, I_ _just_ _warned you Granger about hurting my mother, literally what, two, maybe three hours before you go and get yourself nearly killed? If you die and break her heart they’ll never find your body._

...just before Hermione returned home from discovering Narcissa did in fact love- had she- of course she had. Merlin above, she’d sought permission from her son to ensure he was comfortable with her pursuit of his mother, and if Draco wasn’t the dearest thing, if he’d hesitated or despaired against their pairing to Hermione...Narcissa would have gotten her way eventually but it would have taken a great deal of effort to convince her into something that might hurt her son and-

She swallowed, blinking back tears as she looked to the absolutely inane young lady slumbering away in their bed. “If you are not returned to me soon, Miss Granger, my son’s protective sentiments will stand. You were astute, in your observations I might be driven to murder of my sister for love of you, I could _kill_ Bella,” she shook her head, rising enough from her seat to lean over and press a kiss to her temple. “I love you, Hermione Granger.”

She truly did. Present and Future Narcissa’s mirrored one another, seated at a slumbering Hermione’s side, one in the Granger household, the in the Hospital Wing under a cloak of Invisibility, both reading spirited away copies of The Quibbler, the present Narcissa’s confiscated during an afternoon class.

...Luna Lovegood was an impressive interviewer, for all a few of her questions were _what is your favorite color?_ and _What color is my aura, can you guess? There’s no wrong answer!_ and _If you could be a Crumpled-Horn Snorkback or a Heilopath, which would you choose?_ ...Miss Lovegood noted her delighted surprise that Draco insisted...jested in kindness, Narcissa was certain...that he might enjoy being ‘Wrackspurt’. Whatever the devil that was. Her more hard-hitting questions took the foreground, however. What led him to defect, why did he decry the side of darkness now? What would he advise any considering joining the Dark Lord? What would he ask of his followers? When did he know he loved Harry Potter? Her last question met no verbal response though she did note his bashfulness as he called for a conclusion to their interview

Draco left Narcissa out of his answers, of course, but he did share what caused his own doubts, ones he’d fought while he believed both his parents wanted that path for him. There were several disclaimers laced throughout the piece, one at it’s beginning, another just before Draco’s answer that bore detail to Voldemort’s follower’s inner workings, Draco forewarning when he was about to describe something graphic as he spoke before launching into tale of his initiates dinner, the tale of the utter demise of Mister Crabbe’s sister and husband...the only mercy to be found was at least the _only_ family either of them had, were seated at that table wishing for her death, save Vincent...and that was even phrased to be read dulely, to speak the truth that Vincent Crabbe hadn’t wished for his sister’s death, but leaving it to be read to also imply to any in Darker circles that Vincent had merely been absent from that ritual, that he may well lament not being present.

_Two sets of wide, tearfilled eyes staring up at her from the small opening she’d made in lifting the lid of a large trunk in the parlor of the home...a living room she now knew it would be termed as the home was small. She raised a finger to her lips._

_“Cissy! I found them Cissy!” Bella called from upstairs, cackling before her voice went to sing-song, “I found the little-mud-bitch, and her filthy-hus-band.”_

_Narcissa only had a second to cast, she flung spells to disillusion the doors she’d opened to find the first sign of children in this home, their bedroom, hide them from sight and then she cast to summon untouched photos in frames on the high table behind the couch, slipping them into the trunk, meeting the children’s gaze once more to make certain they understood before closing shut the lid and then she banished the broken photo frames lining the stairs, their photos with them, Bella had cackled while dragging her sparking wand up the wall as she went straight up the stairs, knocking photos she thankfully hadn’t examined to crash and break against the hardwood steps. Narcissa’s casting left only the long slender black burn that lined the wall._

_“Why the fuck are you playing House Elf?” her sister wondered at the cleared mess as she stepped over the couple she’d shoved to the bottom of the stairs._

_“You aren’t wearing any shoes, sister. I would so hate to see you hurt,” Narcissa drawled._

...Bella’s response had been to summon broken glass and stomp on it repeatedly with both feet, gasping in elation as if the act alone could send her to orgasm and then she’d twisted about to look at her captives to assure them she _liked_ pain.

Narcissa had not shared that she discovered the former Crabbe heir’s children, not with anyone, but Draco knew, and had secured their secret survival further. She prayed it was survival. It had taken days to work Lucius into allowing her to leave the house under false pretenses and discovered the home was burned to the ground, her only relief found in the magical signatures responsible were the Lord and Lady Crabbe...and that was only relieving because that meant couple hadn’t been available to blaze their child’s home to ruin until _after_ their dinner, hours of time lapsing their capture, and her casting to detect human ashes came back blessedly negative, and the ground was not cursed. Innocent blood had not been spilt there, and if Lord and Lady Crabbe _had_ discovered their child’s muddied spawn? Their anger would have been so great it was murderous, and their shame so deep they would have immediately absconded of their lives the instant they discovered them, no preamble, no taking them captive, if they could keep the fact that their bloodline had been corrupted from seeing the light of day they would have, so...neither knew, and their grandchildren’s precious lives were secured somewhere they were hopefully cared for and loved and safe.

Draco pleaded for those seeking to idolize and become Death Eaters to truly look and understand exactly what that meant getting into. It wasn’t a cool club of Wizarding Elite gathering over tea and scones, it was a culmination of sheep and psychopaths following a madman and doing _his_ bidding, like his _pets,_ all of it evil and vile and damning, all of it for hypocritical notions, Tom Riddle was a Half-blood leading Purebloods in _Pureblood Supremacy._ And his challenge for his followers? _If you’ve any ounce of decency, any scrap of humanity, any love of your children and care for their future? Decry the Dark Lord, or live and die a slave to one of the Half-bloods you so hate._ Brazen, his Gryffindor boyfriend might hold a touch too much influence on his behavior...but no. No, her son had always been brave. She was proud of him, even as she feared for him. This article...he’d thought only of her safety, when he’d been reticent to do something of the sort. Now that it could be released without Lucius having available access and leave to take his outrage at their son out on his wife...he could be damned, what consequences might lay for him further railing against the Dark Lord. Even if it only redoubled his father's efforts to decimate him for the crime of shaming the Malfoy name.

...Hermione would be nothing but proud to read this interview. Narcissa would see to it she knew of it the moment she was well. She would smile and glow with her love of Narcissa’s son and that would always break Narcissa in the most blessed way. 

Andromeda took her sweet time with the bath, and Narcissa was tired enough she considered merely casting but settled on a hot shower before returning to her room and lying down alongside Hermione.

The instant she laid down...Andromeda emerged from the hall, and Narcissa let out a soft grunt as her sister’s weight was added to her own, “That bed, honestly, it's much too small,” the woman complained in Narcissa’s ear as she settled in to the smaller space beside Hermione, lying directly atop Narcissa as she sighed contentedly and wished her, “Well, goodnight.”

 _Oh_ , she had missed her.

“...goodnight.”

_If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Sorry about that? I’m not excited to die or anything but if I do, I just hope it was for a good reason, for something worth it. This? Definitely qualifies. If something’s happened, please know as long as we tried, as long as you can press on and commit, despite the now very obvious risk, my ghost definitely isn’t sticking around to scream at you while you’re on the toilet. I’m more likely to haunt a library I think. That’s supposed to be funny? I feel weird writing something like ‘haha’ or drawing a smiley face in a list of instructions on what to do if I bite the big one so...please know if nothing else, at least I went out a struggling comedian._

“What on earth are you doing?” Andromeda’s voice asked tiredly, still rough from sleep as the woman let out a muffled groan while she stretched to loosen sleep-cramped muscle as she came to a stop at Narcissa’s side, clad in what Narcissa assumed was Teddy’s red flannel shirt, she’d slept in the thing. Narcissa was seated on the floor in the hall just outside Hermione’s bedroom, open jewelry box at her hip, the time turner taunting her from its place there, and the younger Witch’s recollection of the previous year in her hands, tears sliding off the protected pages.

“Masochism,” Narcissa hallowly informed. She wasn't certain if it was curiosity or depression that got the better of her but she'd apparently hadn't been miserable enough, she had to _know_ what Hermione left. _Needlessly._ So help her, it would _never_ be needed, it was to be _ignored_ , the document was _irrelevant_ the moment she saw its first rule was _1\. Do_ _not_ _doubleback in time and try to save me. We're already testing some serious limits, I'm not worth breaking time over. You can do this._

“...stop emulating Bella, and copy-cat your much cooler, far more coherent big sister, at least for a moment. We’ve a problem.”

Narcissa’s head snapped up as she looked up at her sister. “What’s wrong?” Oh Merlin, please-

Jinsey approached, tentatively stepping out from behind Andromeda, looking utterly remorseful as she informed her in a very small voice, “Jinsey is being hungry.”

“There is also...no more food in the house,” Andromeda added.

…they had been nearing need to go grocery shopping, and while Violetta’s offerings had been many and delicious...and three entire trays consisting of breakfast casserole, cheese pasta, creamy chicken and noodles _would_ have lasted Narcissa alone far more than a single weekend, she’d not accounted for a household of bearing the addition of a magic-worn Witch, and a pregnant House Elf.

“I will right this immediately,” Narcissa promised, “we were meant to visit the Tesco this weekend-”

 _“You_ …” Andromeda interrupted, “shop at a _Tesco?_ You _know_ that word? You can use it _correctly_ in a sentence?”

Narcissa glared up at her sister. “I just... _did.”_

“Ohhhh my gods, we have to go-”

“ _I_ have to go. _You_ will remain here and monitor Hermione.”

“ _I_ have a drivers license. _You_ have unbearable audacity.”

“ _You_ have unbearable audacity!”

_“No-”_

“Jinsey is having no food and Mistress has said she must complain!” Jinsey yelled to interrupt their bickering, a whining sound escaping her before she said, “She hasn’t been eating since nighttime and it is afternoon now. She is feeling poorly.”

“Oh my darling, I’m so sorry,” Narcissa apologized. “Are you strong enough to return to Hogwarts?” Jinsey shook her head no, mind full of the fear that if she tried her magic would falter in the worst of ways. “...we will run to the store...and you may call on Mister Dobby. I’m at peace with him being aware our whereabouts, and he can bring you something to tide you-”

“Dobby!” Jinsey began calling before Narcissa finished, “Jinsey is being hungry! She is wanting banana cream puddings and-”

...Dobby appeared in their hallway, clothed in a Slytherin green woolen jumper with _three_ knit caps piled atop his head, orange and pink and red which she supposed made a strange sunset-esque accessory all assembled. And in his hands was a punch-bowl filled to the brim with yellow banana cream pudding topped in pink and green Elf sugar...green flecks all throughout the yellow confection. Green flecks bearing tiny red specks.

...diced... _spicy..._ pickles.

...her own pregnancy had demanded a now gag-worthy confection made of what might have been chocolate covered onion slices but that was neither here nor there.

“Dobby is here!” Dobby earnestly announced, “Jinsey is to be sitting, and eating and Dobby will tell her how Mistress fares and young Master, oh! And Mistress’s Hermione, she is awake! She is being all better and she misses Jinsey and hopes you’re well! Dobby is wanting Jinsey well! Come come!” he insisted in a bit of panic, setting the bowl to float before him before he stepped forward to pull the other Elf into his arms, one at her back, the other scooping her up under her knees with a little grunt of effort, “Jinsey is to be telling Dobby where to be going and Dobby will be taking her there!”

Andromeda’s monitoring was still in place, and the Elves wouldn’t dally. “Dobby,” Narcissa offered, “There is a garden out in back of the house, warm and in bloom if Jinsey would perhaps enjoy the fresh air with her...delightful meal.”

“Is that what Jinsey is wishing?” Dobby checked with his chosen mate, who nodded. “Then that is what Jinsey will be having! Thank you Mistress!” he said before he and Jinsey and their abhorrent pudding vanished.

Narcissa wasn’t certain which was truly more abhorrent. Her sister’s so called driving...or her heinous sense of fashion. Narcissa had already been dressed for the day, and now she walked alongside her sister entering the Tesco, heart hammering away under her blouse to catch its rhythm after the fiasco she endured to journey there, smoothing her skirt, heels clicking against tile while her sister walked alongside her, hair untouched from its bed-mussed state, attired in only her husbands shirt partially tucked into light-wash jean shorts that bore what were apparently _intentionally_ worn-out ‘ripped’ spaces where the fabric had been worn to taught white strings stacked together to cover her skin, feet adorned with these atrocious black sandals her sister termed _flip-flops_ which did indeed herald the inane incessant _flip flip flip_ sounding smack of the unnatural looking material striking against her sister’s heels as she pushed the trolly through the store. _You’ll be chilled!_ Narcissa had argued before they left the house. _Oh but Cissy, I have your love to keep me warm._

Sisters are punishment for erroneous sins of a life long passed, Narcissa was absolutely certain.

“Are we even appropriately parked?” Narcissa worried as they began searching the store.

“I’m in the lines!”

“Like how you were in the appropriate lane when that car nearly clipped us for your veering!”

“I _do_ apologize Narcissa, it is my professional medical opinion that you are still very much alive!”

“By only the grace of the gods...holy trinity!” she covered. Some non-magical persons worshiped as she did but they were few and far between.

“Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” Andromeda blithely offered. “Quit your whinging and hand me the list.”

“There is no list!”

“And here I thought you were an expert, an experienced adventurer of Tesco,” Andromeda drawled.

“Hermione makes the list!” they were lucky Narcissa had only just remembered to pilfer through the younger Witch’s bag for money, to add to her own sums she kept on hand so they’d enough for their shopping trip. Her Present self had yet to dole out money for their ventures, she had only just received confirmation from Gringotts her vaults were hers alone, relinquished to her master-keys. She was distracted as of late...perhaps her earlier melancholia derived from shared angst, anguish, it killed her she could not write to check upon the Future’s Hermione. Too, she was more focused on making certain...her primary banking affair was considering how best to return Andromeda’s vault to her. How would the woman best access it, how would she be most likely to agree to accepting it once more? Could she just transfer its contents to the Tonks family vault? That was likely unwise given...mother dearest had used Andromeda’s vault, to hide her personal portrait from Bella, instructing Narcissa to hang it elsewhere, somewhere respectable but safe from her eldest child who might do unspeakable things to her sentient form trapped in a portrait. Narcissa hadn’t the care to find such a place for it, nor the nerve to much face the woman’s portrait, she left it to its lonesome, untouched in Andromeda’s unused vault where it could be harmful to none.

“Well then, let's just grab the essentials and be done with it,” her sister supposed, taking the lead through the store.

The sisters had...differing opinions, on just what qualified as an essential.

“Jinsey cannot abide eggs just now,” Narcissa argued when Andromeda took up a package for examination...opening the carton to look them over for breaks, Hermione always did likewise and it always left Narcissa with a vague sense of impropriety, to imply the store housed unsuitable wares.

“Is she residing with you for some great duration?” Andromeda wondered. Perhaps? Her Present self was still unaware the dear Elf’s state, and Narcissa wondered if she mightn’t find Hogwarts an unsuitable environment. It wouldn’t do to have the Elf out where she might be confused with any other Elf on staff, and it was something of her nurturing to adhere to the tasks given by any Witch or Wizard, she may be overworked, or open to abuse. She could remain in Narcissa’s quarters, but it wasn’t as if the Professor would be able to keep her much company, and Dobby’d his own duties to tend, she might be safer, have a great deal more company and freedom if she remained in the smaller, secluded home that more often had occupants, where someone could remain in her company, she might even find some delight in knowing the Whitakers, their grandchildren. “Perishables can always be preserved,” she assured with some frustration.

“Why needlessly buy them now when we can always resume purchasing them in future?”

“They mightn’t be such an excellent price in future.”

“They might be an even _better_ price in future.”

“You were keeping abreast of the rise and fall of muggle produce prices as they fluctuate before your trip through time? How enlightening, I’d no idea your hobbies were truly so _boring.”_

“That is hardly the case, the miniscule difference in egg prices is hardly going to pauper us!”

Andromeda snorted! That _was_ where her son picked up such a habit! “Of course you assume money is no object. You are not rolling in British currency, not at present, we only have what we _have_. I have been raising a family on a budget for more than twenty years, do allow me to execute my expertise.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes, accepting the carton and dropping it into the cart, smirking at the soft, muffled _crack_ that bore a frustrated growl from her elder sister before the woman looked about before hunching in on herself and withdrawing her wand from...apparently it was under the untucked portion of her shirt, secured in the waist of her shorts, and she cast a mued _reparo_ , as was a neat magical solution for broken eggs, so long as the incident had only just happened and their insides hadn’t been exposed to the air for too long

“You, Narcissa Black, are _such_ a _brat_.”

“And _you_ , my sweet sister, are most _certainly_ a _bitch.”_ Andromeda’s eyes widened at that in her outrage, face flaming further when Narcissa shrugged and offered innocently, “Whatever is it darling? You know what I mean, but the decree, oh I simply can’t accuse you of witchery, whatever would the Ministry do with me?”

Andromeda growled, pushing the cart forward as she muttered something under her breath about how unfortunate it was they’d placed the _wrong_ Black sister in Azkaban.

“Oh honestly Narcissa put those back!” Andromeda reprimanded as Narcissa dropped several bags of now discounted Halloween themed chocolate sweets into the cart.

“What?! They are on sale!” Narcissa defended. “I am budgeting!”

“You are _belligerent,”_ Andromeda assured. “There is no reason on this earth you need to purchase that much candy post-holiday!”

“Jinsey has consumed the whole of what we did not get to pass out to the children, she obviously dearly enjoys it! And it will be a pleasant treat for Hermione when she wakes!”

“It is hardly advisable to indulge your dear House... _guest_ , with so much processed sugar. She will eventually make herself ill and it is hardly the healthy building blocks for a growing child!” the other Witch snapped, hurriedly returning the several bags of candy to the shelves.

“ _Thank you, Andromeda,_ wherever would we be without your _expert opinion!”_

“Mindlessly running around Tesco putting garbage in your cart. You may keep a _single_ bag, now let us move on!”

Narcissa took up a single bag...in each hand, making direct eye contact with her elder sister as she placed them directly into the cart before continuing the walk forward.

“You live to make me regret keeping Bella from pushing mother down the stairs when she was pregnant with you,” Andromeda tiredly complained as she watched Narcissa place a fifth bottle of wine in their shopping cart.

“How interesting, you live to make me regret that likewise.”

“You do not need seven-”

“I do not need seven. I need twelve.”

_“Twelve?!”_

“It is not as if I am a lush! It is cheaper today than it has been and we do tend to go through it, it is best to stock up!”

“You need wine enough for half a year or more? Right this instant?” Andromeda wondered and when Narcissa’s mouth worked to find a response, “Oh my _God_ , Narcissa. This is for...what? Five months? Four? Should I count down in a measure of weeks? _Days?”_

“It will last a good long while! Just-! Do shut up!”

She did no such thing. Andromeda ran her incessant mouth all the way to check out, picking and fussing over every last thing in their cart.

“I have been grocery shopping on several occasions now I am perfectly capable of handling myself!”

“Cissy, honestly,” Andromeda crooned, arms crossed casually as she leaned against the cart as if she’d not a single clue what could be setting her sister off while Narcissa set their shopping on the something-belt, Hermione’d a name for it, the revolving black belt that drug their products toward the cashier. “No need to be so _testy.”_

Oh. She would see testy. The very instant it would not cause a scene...and Narcissa had perfectly crafted a devastating come-back, she would verbally annihilate Andromeda, most assuredly.

The cashier softly scoffed at their exchange, a strike already against him as Narcissa looked to the young man scanning and bagging their items. “Wow, you ladies planning a party?” he wondered as he began bagging wine.

“Life is a party,” Andromeda drily offered, looking to Narcissa with some amusement, as if to insinuate life with _her_ was no such thing.

“Yeah I guess,” the young man supposed, “hey where’s uh…” _damn it, what’s her name? Hot little tight-ass bitch always checking the math when I ring them up._ “Harmony? She’s usually with you, right?” 

Narcissa felt her jaw set. She usually tried to be subtle about her casual legilimency, even more inappropriate thoughts were...matters of privacy, as long as someone wasn’t behaving untowardly and keeping their rudeness internal. But there was never a time she would meet thoughts...both lewd _and_ disrespectful toward Hermione with any politeness. Just what had she done to offend this young man? Narcissa had never paid him much mind, Hermione always took point in their interactions, she was the one with every constraint of their budget in mind, coupons and the like in hand, and it wasn’t as if there was a great deal of personal connection to be made, it was a matter of scan, bag, goodbye, or at least it was supposed to be. Apparently there was this strange mix in his mind, he enjoyed when Hermione and Narcissa came ‘round, thought them physically attractive, but Narcissa was...as he was thinking now...a ‘frigid bitch’, which she _was_ in such miniscule meaningless situations, cold and closed off, and Hermione was a pain in the ass know-it-all. She could be, but she’d never gone out of her way to make him feel ignorant. She had one time questioned the final price of their goods, only to discover the man had scanned something twice and Hermione had smiled sympathetically, assured him it was fine, they’d caught it and it was fixable, accidents happen. Of course he’d not quite known how to adjust their pricing, she’d waited patiently but he’d wished she would just let it go, intentionally tested that patience and was frustrated when he found, as Narcissa had, she could hold an everlasting well of it when it was demanded. The only thing he could do is either stand there dithering with buttons while she smiled at him until closing, or call over a superior, perhaps that was what left him with such a foul context, he’d been belittled and disrespected in the aftermath and blamed the girl for ‘getting him into trouble’ in the first place. Andromeda's gaze went from Narcissa’s face to the young man, narrowing a bit.

“...Hermione,” Andromeda corrected.

“Right, Herminny,” _weird-ass name, the hell is any bloke supposed to remember that?_ “So she let you off the leash tonight? Must be a right relief not having her breathing down your neck.” _Creepy sometimes. Kind of hot, but the ice-queen’d have a conniption, probably doesn’t even realize the little dyke’s got a crush on her._ Dyke?...Hermione had done her the service, a similar one they’d offered the Winters, sitting Narcissa down and discussing wordage to look out for should Draco have interaction with the Muggle world for one reason or another, offering up a list of slurs that...were sometimes reclaimed by individuals in the community, it was alright if they used the terminology about themselves because they felt it resonated with a part of their identity. There was a difference in someone shouting in Hermione’s face that she was a ‘Queer’, and Hermione herself occasionally referring to herself as such. That word was similar for other, they’d taken it as a descriptor for their ascetic. He hadn’t meant it with any kindness, nor was it his place to label her as such, especially in a context where it seemed...sexually the idea of their pairing excited him, but if they were deluded enough to love each other that was a different story.

“I assure you,” Narcissa leveled coolly, “I’m quite unrestrained.”

“Woah, okay. Wow, your uh, lady friend’s right, no need to be so testy,” _she definitely looks like a carpet muncher._ ...Andromeda did have a penchant for suit vests and button ups and trousers and she supposed her attire this evening was another end of that spectrum but she was a happily married woman! With perhaps something of a wandering eye for the occasional Witch. She and Anathema had quite the summer fling the year before she left with Ted Tonks, small blessings indeed, their names were difficult enough on their own? Together? Coupling would have been a nightmare, however would you know who you were calling on between Andromeda and Anathema? A wedding announcement would sound like they were merely wedding themselves.

“Excuse me!” Narcissa snapped in the same moment as Andromeda leaned forward on their cart to address the man.

“ _Hermione_ isn’t here, because she’s been badly hurt, a horrendous incident my sister witnessed, so you’ll forgive her if your _jack ass_ sentiments she should be _glad_ she isn’t here don’t invoke smiles and giggles at your _charming_ disposition. I am right, in my right, to tease my sister about my living to piss her off, but _you_ have _no such place_ to dictate to her how she should behave. Especially when you are being rude! How _dare you_ speak to her in such a way? _Leashed_ indeed.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just a saying!” he defended, “That dy- she’s always in her business, it would annoy me if I were her. Sorry for making small talk.”

“That _what?”_ Andromeda wished for elaboration, and she looked to Narcissa who readily supplied the young man’s thoughts to her mind. “Ohhhh...my dear boy,” she laughed darkly, returning her gaze to the cashier, smiling all too pleasantly and suddenly Narcissa well understood the discomfort Hermione took with what she called ‘Stepford Wives’. “I would like to speak to your manager.”

“Th- that isn’t- she’s probably-”

“Now.”

...Narcissa almost, in some horrendous fashion likely derived from association with Miss Granger and her utmost compassion for any and all in retail, felt some sympathy when the manager was summoned and the portly ginger woman smiled wide upon seeing Andromeda, who greeted her,

“Rachel!”

“Andy!” she greeted in kind, just as excited to see her, “Never thought I’d see you ‘round this way.”

“Oh, I’m just here visiting my sister,” she said, looking to Narcissa, speaking to inform both she and their charming cashier, “I frequent a Tesco on the other side of London, nearer my home, and darling Rachel here has worked there for over twenty years before she transferred to this store. She used to dole out peppermints to my sweet Dora and my Ted.”

“He always looked so crestfallen.”

“Like you’ve kicked a puppy, passing him over for a treat, that man’s sweet tooth,” Andromeda shook her head.

“I’m sure you keep your dentist in his summer home,” the manager shared a laugh with Andromeda, “And your Dora oh! I can’t believe she’s all grown up now!” _A small child, in a white tee and bright orange dungarees, blazing pink hair pulled back into twin pigtails. She comes up to her knees, both in stature and literally as she leans against the woman’s legs, arms reaching high, and she wonders how her parents safely indulge her gorgeous hair in so often switching such fun colors without damaging it, as brown eyes peer up at her with delight, “Have you been a good girl for your mummy?” and the dear girl giggles, full of mischief even as she insists, “Yes! The goodest!” and the woman looks up to her mother, a younger Andromeda clad in a pale blue jumper and jeans, standing in the hold of Teddy Tonks, his hand low supporting the small of her back while her hand rests against the swell of a swollen stomach and with a rueful smile she nods, supposing her daughter has been behaving well enough to deserve a minty sweet._ “Now, what can I do for you?”

Narcissa paid the interaction precious little attention moving forward, lost in thought, a sinking feeling in her stomach like she might be ill. She startled when Andromeda waved a hand in front of her face. “Hey, you still have to pay the lady.” Lady? Oh. The young man wasn’t behind the register anymore, this ‘Rachel’ was, and Narcissa handed off their bills before walking forward. Andromeda caught up with her, pushing the full cart with her change in hand. “Narcissa?” she questioned as they stepped out into the darkened afternoon, the sun already well into setting earlier and earlier now. Narcissa withdrew her wand, back to the cameras out front of the building and cast low, Warming Charm over her sister, disillusionment so she could cast stasis and summon their groceries directly into the ‘boot’ of their automobile, Hermione claimed it was called. “Ciss, I’m fine, take this nonsense off I’ll only be chilled a moment and I need every minute of it.”

What? Narcissa looked to her sister. “Are you fevered?”

“No dummy. It's one of those things, our bodies produce more magic to protect us in the cold, as much as it can. A shortcut, boosting my magic production a little in preparation for tonight, I’m eating that bag of crisps to compensate, when we get back I hope you’re aware...why are you looking at me like that?”

“You…” Narcissa swallowed, nervous to broach the topic, “you...were with child, after Nymphadora? You...said you’d not risked it?”

Andromeda regarded her curiously before she came to the conclusion she must have seen something in Rachel’s mind. “Ahh. Cyggy,” oh gods, tears filled Narcissa’s eyes. Short for _Cygnus?_ Her Dromeda had expected a son? “We never really tried with getting pregnant, it always just managed to happen with us, we were careful after Nymphadora but…” she sighed. “I’d a misscarrage near the end of my second trimester. He’d only just started really getting into kicking. And then he stopped. And I started cramping,” she offered neat, somber summary, and a wavering smile. “Over a decade ago,” she shrugged it off. But even now, that didn’t mean the pain couldn’t feel fresh to her mind. As much as Andromeda had missed of Narcissa’s life...she’d missed as much in return.

 _“Dromeda,_ ” Narcissa breathed, folding her sister in her arms, it seemed impossible the woman was somehow shorter than her, even out of heels. Her sister always felt so big, larger than life, she always held herself stout and strong. Even now as she sought to offer belated comfort she felt like she couldn't hug the woman tight enough, surely she had to have the stronger hold, but Andromeda hugged her back with near-bruising strength like she wished to dominate the act of comfort, console her little sister over _her_ loss. “I am sorry I couldn’t be there for you, that I- that I didn’t know.” Lucius would have forbidden it but she would like to think she would push through any and all suffering to be at her sister's side in such circumstance. Foolish thought, her body would cease movement at a point and even still it would have been no comfort whatsoever to darken her sister’s doorstep in the wake of such travesty, certainly not after their parting remarks. “Oh _Andromeda,_ I’m so sorry.”

“I’m alright, it was hard, but I don’t dwell on it often,” she assured as she pulled away, tucking a lock of Narcissa’s hair back behind her ear, “if I do and find I need comfort...I might consider going to you before I would Bellatrix.” For all Andromeda and Narcissa haid laid in bed holding their sister through the night in her first year of marriage, when she lost her first and only babe, the news another was never to be had, Bella was far more likely to be glad of her sister’s loss, than moved to console. “Ugh,” Andromeda breathed, raising her hands to wipe at her cheeks, “Alright. We’ve brought enough Black Sister drama to poor Tesco. I trust your trips with Hermione are far more pleasant.”

“Her’s do pale to ours in some regard. She doesn’t argue nearly as meanly as you do,” Narcissa said as she made her way to the passenger door, pulling it open, “...it is admittedly more fun.”

“Well, I am at liberty to say anything I please, while she’s avowed to never hurt you,” Andromeda supposed as she slipped into the drivers seat. Merlin help them all.

“Vows or no...she naturally _endeavors_ to not say anything she might regret in an argument, can you imagine?”

“I find I’m most at peace saying any horrible thing that comes to mind, it is an argument, that’s what it's for,” Andromeda said, “Like I see your hand, reaching for the radio dial Narcissa Black, and I’m regretting coming to your aid fullstop, I should have told Severus to stuff his Sigil Stone. Driver’s choice, or you’re walking home, not apparating, _walking.”_

“Your music sounds like a murder.”

“It is aptly called death metal, Nymphadora introduced me and I detest it,” Andromeda assured with a smile. “Which is how I know you detest it, and isn’t _that_ grand?”

“Severus should have stuffed his Sigil Stone indeed,” Narcissa drily agreed.

They arrived home to find peace and quiet. Dobby appeared, popping softly into the kitchen, landing gently as if he’d done so with the utmost care and quietness as he greeted Mistresses and wondered if they ‘was being needing’ any assistance at all. He was being rather soft spoken so they both shook their heads silently and he smiled, and then apparated away in what looked like careful slow-motion, dissipating from sight with the quietest pop in his wake.

When they returned to the upstairs it was to find Hermione still slumbering, two House Elves in her bed, Dobby lying along the bed’s edge with Jinsey in his arms, nestled between Elf and Witch, fingers gently stroking his Jinsey’s stomach and humming softly in her ear. The female House Elf’s eyes were closed but she was holding Dobby’s free hand, and in the other she held Hermione’s, her lips near the Witch’s ear as she quietly relayed bedtime stories, ones Narcissa vaguely recalled from her youth to the sleeping girl. When she cracked open an eye to peer up at the Witches in the doorway, Narcissa caught a glimpse of what looked like Jinsey’s perspective from lying down in the bed Narcissa prepared her, and _she popped from there to the larger bed in an instant as Mistress’s Hermione whimpered! She was being sweating! Her breathing was picking up, something is wrong! “I don’t know,” the whisper cracked in Hermione’s throat, “I d-don’t know anything I swear-”_

_“Mistress’s Hermione is being knowing lots of things!” Jinsey insisted with some panic. Why wasn't Mistress's Hermione believing in herself?!_

_“No!” Dobby amended, appearing at Jinsey’s side before stepping between her and the Witch, threading his fingers through her hair as he brushed it back, “Hermione Granger is right, she isn’t knowing anything. It isn’t her fault. She is being safe, Dobby is here and Dobby will always protect Hermione Granger.” and then he looked over his shoulder to Jinsey, apologetic, speaking quietly as if to keep Hermione from hearing. “Hermione Granger is having trauma from bad Bellatrix Black being hurting her. She will be feeling better if we is agreeing she isn’t knowing things. Even if she is being knowing so many things.”_

_Jinsey wasn’t being considering that. There’s a quiet, excited squeaking sound that escapes her, because, “Dobby is being knowing so many things! Dobby is going to be such a good father to baby!” He is so handsome when he is being blushing!_

“Hermione suffered a nightmare in our absence...is she dreaming while comatose?” Narcissa fretted. Was Andromeda's casting wearing off?

“That shouldn’t be pos-" the woman bit her lip, looking like she caught herself, "...except a nightmare from her magic,” from her magic?...a memory living inside of it, receiving her Curse Scar. Damn it. “Your Elves are communing with her magic right now. Doing so and implanting pleasant stories makes her dream them, I should think.”

...disgusting as Jinsey's favored treat was, she'd a fresh, second filling of it remade with non-magical ingredients awaiting her when she and Dobby rose. Andromeda made good on eating an entire bag of crisps and a sandwich Narcissa pushed her way in an effort that she kindle her magic with something more substantial.

Sara called in the evening, asking for Jinsey, wishing to check in and see if they'd care for a jar of John Whitaker's 'Cure-All Cream' she jested, saying he'd prepared fresh should they wish it to aid Hermione's smaller injuries. Narcissa and Andromeda sat at the end of the bed as Narcissa took the call. The woman was utterly delighted that Jinsey could come to her easily enough by merely calling her name, but Dobby heard their conversation, talk of Jinsey leaving and wondered if he could go in her stead.

 _"Oh my God, is that baby-daddy Dobby?!"_ Sara's voice over the phone wondered in excitement.

"...yes Dobby is being the father of baby. Jinsey is being baby's mother!" he said as if pleased to be informing the woman of such a joyous fact.

 _"Okay! So I have to meet you, right now. Calling_ _your name lets you come here?"_

"Yes! But Dobby is being a Free Elf, he isn't needing to be coming. But he will because Mistress Sara sounds nice and she is kindness to Jinsey, and Jinsey can be resting!"

"Jinsey is fine!" Jinsey insisted, perplexed.

"Wizards and Witches is being using 'fine' to compliment, it is being meaning beautiful Dobby is thinking. Jinsey is being the most fine!" Dobby assured.

 _"Ohhh dang! Dobby's got game!"_ Sara cheered, _"Get on over here Daddy!"_ Oh good heavens. Andromeda snorted.

"Dobby,” the Elf corrected, “Mistress is needing to be meaning to summon him."

 _"Dobby!"_ Sara called with intent.

 _"And Dobby is here!"_ his voice sounded over the phone once he vanished from sight.

_"Oh my God you're in a jumper! You look so handsome! I love your little hats!"_

_"Dobby is thanking Mistress! Hermione Granger is making_ _them!"_

 _“Granger, huh?”_ Violetta's voice could be heard, clearing her throat. And then Sara defended, _"He said it, not me! I wasn't even going to ask! I can be cool! Here Dobby. Thanks for coming to pick this up."_

_"Dobby is pleased to be helping Mistresses! Have a pleasant day!"_

When the Elf reappeared and handed Andromeda the squat glass jar of translucent cream, Narcissa softly cleared her throat, "Darling, you've done nothing wrong, I've been considering how best to broach the subject with you...but my dears, when interacting with those in Hermione's life who are non-magical, her prefered mode of address is an alias, 'Stacie Greene'. I know it seems perhaps a bit futile now, but until Hermione directs otherwise…it is to be used."

"Oh! Dobby is so sorry Mistress!"

"Jinsey is being sorry!"

"Dobby will be being ironing his ears! For himself and his Jinsey, Jinsey isn't to be being puni-"

"You are neither one of you to be punished, please do put such thoughts from your mind," Narcissa cut him off. "I've never in all the time I've known Jinsey demanded she punish herself in such a way...darling I am sorry being brought up in the Malfoy home has left you with a different experience. You are a free Elf, that should also free you from such harmful tendencies. It is alright to make mistakes especially those born of a lack of context. It is my own fault I've not amended your understanding. I'd...I'm rather distracted, I hadn't considered you might either one of you meet anyone from Hermione's life nor did I think of the obvious, that you would of course offer her given name.”

The Elf looked shamefaced, "Dobby is forgetting Mistress is always being so kind! Dobby will be doing as Mistress is saying. He will not be hurting himself when he is being making mistakes," he promised, and Jinsey let out a relieved sound, a little teary as she hugged him.

“...that is clever, having a separate identity,” Andromeda offered, “I did wonder at what I found on this house. It’s owned by some muggle couple, the Wilkins? The lease is connected to a muggle identity, Stacie Greene.”

“How did you come across such information?” Narcissa questioned, aghast.

“...the internet, darling. I looked up your hideout’s address when I returned home.”

“You’ve the internet inside your home?”

“Yes, damnedest thing, but Teddy has family he keeps up with through it, cousins and the like he emails.” And then, “I’ll leave my home address, directions, should you need it.”

“Your husband emails? Do you?”

“...I’ve an email address,” Andromeda allowed.

“As do I, if you’d care for it.”

“... _you’ve_ an email…”

It was necessary for the holding of online accounts. “I spend a great deal of time being acquainted with the computers at the library. The one on Silk street is a favored of Hermione and myself.”

“Barbican?” Andromeda asked as if it were a pleasing sentiment. She raised her hand to her chest, over her heart as she fiddled a bit with a button of her shirt. “We used to take Dora there when she was small. Loved their musical selection, she and Teddy could spend hours in it.” _Teddy Tonks searching through a rack of records with a smile on his face, humming to himself, his daughter riding on his shoulders, lime green hair adorned with overly large headphones, spiral cord connected to the library’s player, feet gently knocking against her father’s chest to the beat, left right left right, and then she lets out a happy gasp, “Mummy will like this one! It’ll make her smile!”_

_“You make her smile, baby girl!” Teddy cheerily insisted, tickling at the top of a sandaled foot, a warm glow to the memory as her husband and child smile and laugh._

“You’ve a beautiful family,” Narcissa felt compelled to compliment.

Andromeda grinned, “You’ve...a beautiful son. Draco’s quite a remarkable young man. Dora lives to tease him, loves him quite to death, and Teddy hasn’t been able to shut up about him really, it’s just about as bad as when we had Dora, since we’ve become acquainted, Teddy goes into work babbling away how he has the most wonderful nephew, so very clever, he’s in Slytherin, you’ve got to be clever to be in Slytherin ‘like my Dromeda’,” she rolled her eyes. “His copy of The Quibbler, he’s got two of them, one he keeps at his desk at work to show off to his coworkers, and the other I found when I checked in at home, it is stuck to the fridge, along with his most recent Charms essay.”

Oh, that was a place of honor, if her understanding was correct, Hermione had spoken of such a practice, using magnets to pin things of importance or pride or sentiment to a central point everyone gravitated toward multiple times a day, for viewing. “Truly?”

Andromeda looked bemused with how very moved Narcissa seemed at the notion. She shook her head, “...perhaps you’ll see for yourself sometime. This is a complicated situation to say the least but if you truly wish to know my family...my husband and daughter are Aurors*. They understand situations such as these, work in them more often than not, I wouldn’t add complication to this scenario just now but...well perhaps something can be arranged around the holidays,” she shrugged.

"That would be most wonderful," Narcissa assured.

That seemed to put them at some limit for pleasantness. In the next moment Andromeda summoned Narcissa's pillow and struck her with it. "Alright, enough chatter. Sleep. We'll rest, and Jinsey, Dobby darling, if you would be so kind I would appreciate if we could rise to a meal and get straight to work."

"Jinsey can be doing this!" Jinsey insisted cheerfully, and when Dobby opened his mouth to volunteer likewise, " _Dobby_ will _not_ be helping!" Ahh, she'd apparently grown sick of his coddling. But the female Elf did peck a kiss to Dobby's cheek, quietly assuring, "but Dobby can be being watching." ...invitation of which sent the male Elf's cheeks burning green and put quite the smile on his face. Well then.

"We'd best sleep and leave you to it then," Narcissa supposed with some mirth.

Andromeda forwent her husband's flannel for a sweatshirt so bright a yellow it was painful to the eyes, _Hufflepuff, Do Your Stuff!_ scrawled out in black lettering across her chest.

"You look like a bumble bee," Narcissa drawled from where she lay alongside Hermione. Oh! The woman fell harder this time, nearly winded Narcissa as she sprawled out atop her.

"How fortunate I've a flower to rest on," she supposed in return.

Narcissa smirked as, "Mistress Andromeda will be being gentle with her sister!" was shouted in her defense. Jinsey would 'be being' a most expert mother indeed.

Narcissa sighed. Her sister had fallen on her before she could dose herself with experimental potion for pleasant dreams. She was close to getting it right, she thought, she'd absolutely no dreams to recall when she woke yesterday after their initial treatment of Hermione. And last night...well, this morning really, had held the sensation she'd dreamed pleasantly, there were glimmers of things in her mind. Lazing in the garden with Hermione, something more nonsensical about grocery shopping with Draco and scouring the shelves for a jar of flobberworm puss to avoid extracting the stuff themselves for a potions project which was frustratingly _not_ something the good people at Tesco stocked even as in her dream Narcissa had been absolutely _certain_ they _must_ , and something else, she wasn't certain the circumstance, just Hermione's smile prevalent in her mind as she woke to face a day she met without the girl's ability to do so. Thus had begun Narcissa's spiral into self-inflicted torment, reading Hermione's post-mortem instructions.

Tonight without the aid of potion...she found she dreamed not unbearably unpleasantly, because it wasn't a dream at all. She usually had a more closely timed sleep schedule with her present self, the two of them sleeping at the same time. Tonight however, the future Narcissa fell asleep a several hours before her Present self would seek her bed, and her mind was full of her forming memories.

_She was seated by the fire in her quarters, idly staring past the single paragraph she'd been rereading for the past hour, an essay in hand she was meant to be grading but she found she couldn't focus. It had been days since she last heard from Hermione, the dear girl wishing her luck at her request. She knew Andromeda was with her, but...surely she would be healed by now if her injuries were not much greater than her present self. Which meant they must be just awful. Draco hadn't much update, he was eager to keep appraised of the situation but he'd confessed worry he was being distracting, might be interrupting whatever his mother's future self and his aunt needed to do to secure his friend's health. It would take multiples of those horrible sessions, the single one Draco bore witness too had been a gut wrenching preview, the present's Hermione had only two injuries to pull up and mend, and it had taken all of ten minutes for Mister Goyle to dredge up and heal to completion. Gods above how badly-_

_She hated this. She wanted to help! She wanted to do_ something, _more than just sitting and waiting be it at the present Hermione's bedside or here, not-grading a dearly misguided Hufflepuff Third Year's essay on emulsification. He seemed to confuse it somehow with mummification, there was a great deal of excellently researched but wholly under performing to the true assignment reference to the process of embalming and burying the pharaohs of ancient Egypt._

_There was something of quiet but urgently rapped out knocking at the door to her quarters, the small mirror affixed to the door's front took in reflection and showed it in a larger, silver framed mirror in Narcissa's parlour when she looked upon it to see who might be disturbing her._

_A welcome disturbance for all it had her heart racing, stomach sinking with worry as she dropped the essay to rise and swiftly make way to the door, opening it to pull her guest inside to not risk their lingering in the hall attracting unwanted attention, even as Pansy Parkinson was thankfully at task today, researching in the restricted section of the library on her own as Narcissa had riled her into demanding to be allowed to do as much by insinuating the girl_ couldn't handle _doing so without her help, a ploy that relievingly left her without the girl watching her every move. She pulled her guest to her side as she closed the door securely behind her._

 _"Darling, what's wrong?" Narcissa wondered worriedly. The Present's Hermione was pale and wan, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, and Merlin she was_ trembling _. She'd been released from the Hospital Wing that morning but, "You're meant to be resting."_

_"I- sorry I- oh God, I shouldn't be tr-troubling you, I should have just gone to the Hospital Wing-"_

_Narcissa's lungs ceased their ability to draw in air, fear flooding her as she used what breath she had to question, "Are you hurt still darling? Does something not feel right?" She raised a hand to feel at her forehead, and air startled unto her lungs again, and she cried, "Oh, my love, you're chilled!" She was frigid to the touch! She felt like she'd been lying out on a cold wintry night not peacefully resting in her warm bed in the Tower as Narcissa drew her nearer still, into her arms to share her own warmth and guide her into her quarters, to seat her in the armchair she'd abandoned as she knelt before her. Wait something smelled-_

_"I think somethings burning- ahh! Narci- Wingardium Leviosa! Aguamenti!" the younger Witch swiftly cast to send parchment that had incidentally...but perhaps for the best, fallen into Narcissa's fireplace, up into the air to get it away from the fire before blasting it with a short jet of water she cast to douse it from burning further leaving a half-charred ink-running wet mess of parchment hitting Narcissa's floor with a soft_ plop. _"Oh Merlin, I- I hope that wasn't impor-"_

_"A happy accident really," Narcissa assured. Now she didn't have to agonize over giving the poor Third Year a failing grade, she would merely lament to Mister Dwyer she'd an unfortunate mishap that left her unable to read his work, and request he resubmit it, reiterating the assignment and making absolute certain he understood what he was to write on this time. That was not the issue at hand. "Darling. What can I do, what's happened?"_

_"I-" she swallowed like perhaps she might be ill, shivering even in the warmth of her fireplace and Narcissa cast to send the blanket resting on the back of the chair draping over the younger Witch's shoulders, warming charms seeking to soothe. Hermiome offered a wavering grateful smile as her arms crossed over her chest, hands gripping at the blanketing to pull it tighter as she said, "I was sleeping and I- oh God I saw these awful- there was this horrible-" her chin quivered._

_"Let me see, Hermione, you needn't-" she fell silent as Hermione shook her head in refusal._

"No way _,_ no _it's- it was_ awful _Narcissa I- I saw a- a forest, and it was dark and full of fire and D-Death Eaters," she shuddered, "I saw Voldemort sitting on some kind of viney throne and- and B-B-Bellatrix was- she had a_ knife _and was c-cutting me-" her victims. Oh Merlin._

_"Oh my darling, I'm so sorry you've suffered such a horrible nightma-"_

_"It wasn't a nightmare, Narcissa! It was_ real, _like a memory not some twisted figment of my imagination! It was-" her chin quivered, eyes pleading with Narcissa to_ believe her _. "It was_ real!"

_Narcissa felt her own expression crumbling, "I know, Hermione. I...I was present...keeping guard of these events."_

_"How?" the word shuddered brokenly from her lips, tears in her eyes, "How can you just-"_

_"It isn't with any great ease. I despise that I cannot do more but bide time and strike in small ways at moments of opportunity. But those moments are only presented through patience, and to lose that is to lose all ability to help. I alone cannot stop the things that occur by the Dark Lord's will. I...I am sorry."_

_Hermione swallowed. "Me too. You...you're right just- God, those poor people. She- it felt like she was at them for hours and hours, I only laid down for one by the time I woke up." She was still sweat drenched, trembling. "I scared poor Lavender half to death with my screaming."_

_"A bit of payback for her pettiness. She was very rude to you last class," Narcissa supposed. For all Hermione wasn't entangled with one Ronald Weasley, and too the boy was wholly besotted with Blaise Zabini, the girl still seemed to harbor some dislike of her fellow Gryffindor, she would approach Hermione, get much too in her space to pick at something she found off about her uniform or inform her her hair 'looks funny today'. Hermione pulled a curl for examination and supposed it_ was _hair washing day afterall, thanking Lavender even as Narcissa thought it rude she'd so bluntly walked up and addressed a perceived flaw before leaving without so much as the courtesy of a farewell. And she could ask the most inane, irksome questions, Narcissa had to threaten to separate her from Miss Patil if she could not keep her questions quiet...Gryffindor's Parvati Patil, the only intra-House pairing she allowed because otherwise Miss Brown became something of an unbearable distraction to both her partner and the rest of the class._

 _"I...I don't think its that she dislikes me all that much. In fact I think she's trying to be my friend now since all the Ron nonsense has died down. She...I think she might have Autism*? I've never considered it before because the only autistic student I've worked with is...well she's adept at Masking, that's a lot more common in girls with autism, seeing the accepted behavior of those around her and copying it even if it mightn't feel natural to her so she comes across seeming more neuro-typical, finding her interactions pass more pleasantly when she does so. There's a pretty vast spectrum. I've a Fourth-Year who just joined our Arithmancy group, he behaves similarly to Lavender and he's muggle-born, he was diagnosed at five. Parvarti always has to explain to Lavender_ why _people perceive her as rude when she doesn't mean any harm, she doesn't have a word for it but she seems to understand Lavender's just not quite on the same wavelength most everyone else is. She doesn't speak so flippantly about things or only discusses the things she cares about because she's rude, she just doesn't have the same inherent need we do to soften things with pleasantries and delicacy. If my hair looks like it needs a wash, she's just going to say so not dance around my feelings, because why would it bother me? What must be bothering me is my hair and she's trying to help me fix it so I can feel better. She was being sweet, really."_

 _Ahh. "She mightn't be aware she has any such disconnect," Narcissa supposed, and that ached her. She'd seen some prevalent isolation in Miss Brown's mind, despair at herself because she wasn't certain_ what _she was doing wrong, she just felt she_ was _doing something. Maybe it was just her that was wrong, she thought. Narcissa had perceived it as adolescent angst, something that the encouragement from her best friend would help heal. Oh, "I will speak delicately with Minerva on the subject and see if we can perhaps aid Miss Brown both in the classroom and possibly figure out a way to see to it the young lady seeks proper diagnosis so she can better understand her own needs and we can better equip her in her education."_

 _She was relieved the topic had distracted Hermione from addressing Samhain further but, "Thanks. But um...I came here to see if maybe...maybe I could have some Dreamless Sleep? I- I'm not in pain anymore but Merlin am I wiped. I'm so tired but I- oh God I feel sick just_ thinking _about going to sleep and seeing that again."_

 _"Of course. J-" the call died in her throat. Jinsey had yet to return from the Future Hermione's side and she wouldn't dare remove her. Especially...whatever was happening must be dire. Dobby had been informing Narcissa of Hermione's release from the Hospital Wing when his expression blew open with panicked concern,_ Baby! _in his thoughts before he cried out_ "Jinsey is being _needing_ me!" _before he vanished from sight. Did House Elves develop pet names for one another? That was of little matter she supposed. "Darling if you'll wait right here, I'll retrieve potion for you. Are you hungry at all? Would you care for something warm to drink? Your future self has gifted me a lovely selection of tea you might enjoy." A gift 'just to make you smile, of course' a few weeks back, she'd tea so readily available already and it felt precious, something to cherish and savor on special occasion when she was in need of comfort, so she'd not much indulged in it save a cup or two, Darjeeling when she rose Samhain morning and to sip at as she read words of comfort and encouragement from Hermione in the wake of Lucius's cruelty. Another, the Chamomile meant to encourage peaceful rest when she could not sleep last night._

_"Tea sounds really great if you don't mind," Hermiome said, looking on her with gratitude as a hand raised to rest at her screamed-strained throat._

_"Would you care for a bit of honey? It will soothe your throat."_

_Hermione nodded, blushing at her fretting, "Yes please."_

_"It will be only a moment," Narcissa assured, rising and perhaps it was a bit indulgent but it was her due after such worry and incapability to aid either Hermione, she leaned forward to press a kiss to the younger Witch's hair before she stepped away into the small kitchenette, a space with counters and a sink more so meant for small accessible potions brewing if she'd need as the Kitchens were to service her every request at any hour but it served to allow her a space to still stretch some measure of culinary ability. She did not wish for even Jinsey to do as much, she wanted to brew tea that would be of comfort to the younger Witch, herself. The counters and cabinetry were dark brown, nearly black, wood as was the base of central isle of counter space but its countertop was comprised of smooth dark grey river stone, like that of her floors, all varying in size and shape and cemented together. Each was charmed so at her casting they would chill or warm to her desired temperature, she rested an index finger on a large stone in the center of the edge of her counter and willed it warm before summoning her kettle she cast to fill its infuser with tea leaves from the pale blue sachet she'd received before casting clean water through to be brought a near-boil, a delicate silver gilded porcelain tea cup appeared at her side and she called her request to the kitchens, the Elves were not...particularly pleased with the addition of Jinsey, having a second Free Elf that accepted Wizard money for her services as Dobby did, the sort of resentment for distancing themselves from_ their way _causing them to meet her with disinterest and coldness. So Narcissa wasn't personally compelled to offer pleasantries if it wasn't Dobby taking her order of, "Honey!"_

_Oh her heart swelled at the barest bit of weak giggling that got her from the younger Witch, the reason being it sounded like something she could respond to teasingly with the jest of, "Yes, dear?"_

_She smiled genuinely for what she was certain was the first time in days as she took up the now honey-laced tea and made her way back to Hermione, offering, "Your tea is ready," carefully handing it off to her slightly shaky hold, but Hermione managed to still herself and after a moment more of Narcissa's hands over hers keeping the cup secure, she nodded that she had it._

_"Thank you," she replied, blushing as she raised the cup to take a ginger sip that left her sighing contently. Though she caught her lip between her teeth, relaxation bringing about the comfort to press further with her concerns. "Narcissa...I- I'm really scared," she softly confessed, her focus on the cup in her hands now resting in her lap, like she was ashamed to say as much while meeting Narcissa's eye. The woman knelt once more to try and peer up into her face, hand resting on the younger Witch's right wrist, and as much as her heart had swelled fit to bursting at her earlier laughter? Her tears falling onto Narcissa's hands had her heart clenching tight. "I don't understand what's happening to me. Is- is there something wrong with my magic? Madam Pomfrey and Andy assured me there isn't but...I don't know why this keeps happening, the random pain when someone says that word or h-how something attacked my magic specifically. I was with my friends! None of them would cast like that against me, none of them even know_ how _to cut into someone's magic like that except maybe Gregory but he...he wouldn't hurt me I don't think and he's too smart to implicate himself by healing me, and healing me defeats the purpose unless the goal was to...look good or something but even then, the whole 'not stupid' thing still applies. It might sound absolutely insane but I- I think it might-" she met Narcissa's gaze then to say, "I swear to God Narcissa I'm not speaking badly about your sister. She's evil and unstable but that- I mean that_ you _don't burn the world to the ground after how your mother raised you,_ need _something to hate to cope with her hatred, or wind up hating yourself instead just- the only reason for that I think is...as bad as things were Bellatrix always protected you, things were just as bad already and then it seems like she was_ always _taking on_ more _to spare you and Andy…" she looked apologetic, "I don't mean to poke at it, the...major call for mommy issues, but I can understand Bella being the way she is after all that. I don't know what sort of person I would be in her shoes. You just seem like you swung to the opposite end of the spectrum, instead of becoming a homicidal maniac you...you've dedicated yourself to never being the sort of mother your own was." She shook her head to clear it, "sorry! God I'm rambling I- I'm tired and the coma spelling and that pain reliever your sister brought me out on really sent me for a loop, I babbled nonsense all the way back to the Tower," she huffed a laugh, "poor Draco had to hold me upright and kept doing his best not to laugh at me," she released a flash of medication-hazed memory to her faux-wall_ Draco holding her close to his side as he sets a careful pace toward the Tower, swallowing laughter as he looks over Hermione's head to where Harry was walking as Hermione giggles "and sometimes I think your mum's so pretty I might actually die, she's soooo pretty, don't you think so? It's why come you're so pretty too," the ceiling overhead enters her vision as she rears back with loud clumsy laughter, "Harry has a crush on your mum!" she decided...because Mister Potter's growing attraction to Draco means now he must find the woman he looks like appealing as well, even if that was not necessarily how it worked, Merlin her mind was rather muddled.

"Uh-huh, yeah Granger. My mother and I are drop dead gorgeous, how anyone in this school is even alive right now defies logic," Draco steadily returned as if sharing simple facts, nothing in his voice implying the girl should be embarrassed for her rambling.

Hermione giggled and it seemed like she snuggled her head against Draco's shoulder, gleefully announcing, "We're all gonna die!"

_Now, the Witch was blushing fiercely at the recollection she offered only to ensure, "I'm still out of it. I only mean that, I don't want to hurt your feelings because I understand about Bellatrix, I do, and I'm sure you really love her. So it kills me a little that I can't help but wonder if...if maybe she's been messing with my magic somehow? I know that sounds barmy, but we did cross paths sort-of at the end of last year, and then toward the end of summer was the first time the 'mud' word got dropped around me...by me...and that seems on brand for her, to want that word to hurt more than just, you know, the good-old self-esteem. And my nightmare-memory thing…I mean part of it was just a straight up nightmare I think? I was somewhere…I've never been before, this dark scary parlor or something and Bellatrix was screaming and shouting and y-you were there? I kept…" she seemed conflicted, something tinged in guilt._

_Narcissa felt she could scarcely_ breathe _, was she some how accessing memory of her future self's torment? "Kept what, darling?"_

 _"I kept looking at you? I was...it felt like I was angry, h-h," oh the very thought made the Witch cry now, "hating you? But at the same time I was relieved you hadn't left me all alone with her like maybe she wouldn't kill me in front of her own sister? Even though f-for some reason I felt certain you wouldn't care if she did- I know that's not_ real! _You wouldn't feel that way," Hermione insisted assurance._

 _Narcissa was the one who couldn't meet her gaze just now. Her hand squeezed the wrist she held, gently, head bowed because- because it was real, or it had been, or it might be? And she felt ill with the thought that maybe- perhaps she_ hadn't _cared one way or the other, if the Witch died, she whose existence Lucius used to torment Draco, who once struck her son in the face, bested him continuously, worked to keep this wretched conflict going when she once thought if all would just submit to the Dark Lord...at the very least it would be over, wouldn't it? But now, "I...I do love you, darling. I would always protect you."_

_The arm in her hold is pulled a bit and she looks up to see Hermione blushing and shying at the confession of love she...oh Merlin, she'd not been able to say as much before. But now she was free to say whatever she wanted. And she would, when Hermione was better, feeling more herself and the time was right? They would discuss their feelings and how to move forward. "I know. Thats why I don't think that's real? You...I don't think you'd sit by and just let someone hurt me. But then the other stuff, in the forest...that feels less like me but I'm seeing it happen through someone else's eyes. Is...your sister able to somehow send me things? Like Harry gets things from Voldemort but thats through his scar…"_

_Her grip around her teacup tightened as it looked like every gear in her mind rotated at full speed._

Narcissa startled awake, Andromeda flinching with her, chin poking into Narcissa's collarbone as she looked up at her, cracking an eye open, "Cissy?"

“I’m well, I’ll return in a moment,” she spoke in a quiet rush, but her sister nodded, leaning to rest on her side alongside Narcissa so the woman could rise up from the bed. She wasn’t certain just _what_ to do, but she needed air. She disapparated once she entered the hall, appearing in her gardens. Hermione Granger could not perceive Narcissa’s love as anything but mere friendship for _weeks_ , but a few hours with a touch more context in regard to Bella’s behavior matching attributes of issues arising in her own magic, and she was suddenly able to deduce _precisely_ what had happened. And Narcissa hadn’t a single clue just how she might handle such knowledge, _would_ she be able to? Or would it send her spiraling, jumping at every shadow wondering _when, where, why_ such a thing was going to happen to her? How could either Narcissa best comfort her without worrying the Future’s Hermione, oh Merlin, how was _she_ going to react to such realization her Present self was now aware of what the future had once held? Narcissa sat straight down in the grass, and breathed, focusing on the present moment.

_“...I definitely need that Dreamless Sleep now, I should think,” Hermione supposed rather weakly, swallowing harshly._

_“Perhaps something to calm your stomach first?” Narcissa gently offered, and when the younger Witch nodded. “I will be right back, my darling, just…relax as you can, you...you are absolutely safe here. Everything will be sorted, do you understand?” She could only nod again, and Narcissa moved as swiftly as possible, taking a pinch of Floo Powder from the small jar atop her mantle and whisking away into her office just off of her classroom…_

_She was halted only momentarily by the presence of a single butterscotch candy placed in the center of her desk. She sighed a bit frustratedly but took the candy up, continuing her way into her classroom as she unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth._

“Professor Black,” _Albus Dumbledore’s voice rang in her ears,_ “there have been some recent developments you should be aware of. They are still,” _the man chuckled with some mirth as if it were something amusing, but he did find good cheer even at the oddest of times, even as...he occasionally struck Narcissa as poorly, like something might be ailing him as of late,_ “developing, you might say. I ask that you make certain you can meet me in my office Monday evening post the close of dinner hour. Are you a fan of citrus as Severus is?” _and then recalling this method of communication was one sided, he was merely leaving a message for her to receive, whyever would she even attempt responding to such a thing?_ “It's no matter, I’ll have a selection of dessert and a full report I really must confer with you on. Toodle pip!”

_…the future of the Wizarding World rested so much on that man’s leadership of the Order and dear Merlin that was the stuff of nightmares sometimes. She trusted it was some tactic, to behave so bizarrely as to lull the enemy into a false sense of security but…well. She was almost glad the future was in the hands of Harry Potter, burden as that was to the poor boy._

_Message received, candy dissolved, potion procured, she Floo’d back to her quarters having only left Hermione for a moment, the younger Witch dragging her gaze up off the floor to look up at Narcissa as she returned, utterly exhausted, something hollow in her stare._

_“Here we are darling. Drink this and see how you feel,” Narcissa instructed, unstoppering Stomach Calming draught for her before passing it off, she stared at the potion offering hand distractedly for a moment as if trying to figure out why it was being offered before shaking herself and accepting the potion before gulping it down, closing her eyes a moment to focus on not immediately sicking the stuff up before it could hit her stomach._

_“Thanks…” she offered quietly._

_Narcissa perched herself on the arm of her chair, leaning alongside the girl to look down at her, Hermione leaning back to peer up at the woman as the older Witch worked things around in her mind. She should be returned to bed, properly within reach of it before taking Dreamless Sleep, but neither did Narcissa feel confident in her returning on her own power, not...making the arduous walk from Narcissa’s quarters near her classroom, back all the way to Gryffindor Tower. But she’d a dual solution for this issue, a way to see her safely back and fulfill some goals she needed to meet. “Do you feel well enough to Floo, darling?”_

_“Floo?”_

_“You’ve heard of it I trust?” Narcissa returned wryly._

_The girl leaned to rest her head against Narcissa’s arm, closing her eyes. “Don’t be mean to me.” Narcissa almost felt badly for the small bit of laughter that pulled from her, but she was glad at the little smile that quirked at Hermione’s lips when she did._

_“My most sincere apologies, Miss Granger. To elucidate, in case of dire emergency, all Professors quarters are keyed in to be capable of Flooing into any Common Room. As there might be witnesses, however, I would ask you do me the favor of donning Mister Potter’s Cloak of Invisibility, to wear until you’ve returned to your dormitory so we are not seen Flooing in together. He allowed me to borrow it for something of a favor and I’ve not yet met opportunity to return it to him, this would suit nicely for that.”_

_“...so we aren’t seen Flooing in together?”_

_“I would like to make certain myself you’re returned safely. Too, it will deliver the opportunity for me to pop around for a chat with dear Minerva. I’ve concern of one of our students to speak of, after all.”_

_Hermione let out a quiet, appreciative hum at that. “Smart...you’re so smart.”_

_“As are you, darling. Even as you’re presently falling asleep in my chair. I do wish for it back at some point, and neither should you fall asleep without first taking potion.”_

_“Get your own chair.”_

_“That is my own chair.”_

_“Well get another one, barmy,” she yawned, eyes scrunching with the act and remaining closed after, “should...should have two.”_

_“I should?”_

_“Yeah, I mean otherwise where else are you supposed to sit?” she wondered with some mischief, implying permanent claim to her present seat._

_“I’ll take the matter under advisement,” Narcissa assured, before rising to stand, Hermione jerking a bit at the loss of the woman’s arm and looking up at her as the older Witch offered her hands, one with Dreamless Sleep in her hold. “Come,_ accio Harry Potter’s cloak _,” she called, the shimmery fabric flying to drape over her arm as she helped pull Hermione to her feet. “You’re to take this once you’re prepared to return to bed,” she needlessly instructed but still, a force of habit, a good one to keep, it wouldn’t do for the one instance someone needed as much she failed to do so for lack of practice._

_Hermione took potion in hand, looking to it momentarily before looking up at Narcissa._

_And then she rose up on her toes, and pressed a kiss to the woman’s cheek._

_“Everything’s going to be okay,” the younger Witch had apparently decided, assured her, before taking hold of the cloak. It took Narcissa a second to offer assistance in donning the thing to cloak her head to toe. The older Witch wrapped an arm around what she was certain was her shoulders, guiding her along to the fireplace._

_“Stay close to me, my darling, and that is absolutely true.”_

Their third and final healing session bore success, Narcissa capable of providing more aid now that they better understood the ramifications of her vows. She could not power Andromeda’s casting to draw up injury, but she could aid in refreshing monitoring charms, to clean their patient and the bed, spells meant to promote healing, even power Andromeda’s natural ability to-

“...you’ve been sharing our bed to be in proximity with Hermione as you sleep. It promotes-”

“Healing, yes,” Andromeda confirmed, examining a few diagnostic spells. “And it annoys you. And its recompense for all your childhood whinging. _Ohhh ‘dromeda, I had a nightmare, there was a werewolf in my closet and he was eating all of my_ shoes!” she mocked a nightmare Narcissa had sought comfort from _one time!_

“And now there’s to be one in the family,” Narcissa smugly returned. “With you missing all weekend after skiving off such an important family dinner I would be none surprised if they’ve eloped in your absence.”

“Perish the thought Narcissa Black or I swear on everything, the moment Hermione is awake and cognizant? I will inform her every embarrassing thing you have ever done in the whole of your life. Which will take quite a while, it is essentially a summary of everything from your conception as mummy and daddy dear’s little unfortunate accident, to...well. You call Tesco ‘the’ Tesco, I honestly don’t see how the girl can abide being in public with you.”

“That is what it is called! It’s the Tesco!”

“It’s just Tesco!” Andromeda argued.

“That is grammatically obtuse!”

“Ohhh my Gooood. This is going to be the longest conversation. It’s an excellent thing your choice of lover is such a famously brilliant student,” Andromeda complimented as she concluded her casting. “Alright,” she sighed, something tired but satisfied, “She is clear of all magical injury, at least from Samhain...I will work with her Curse Scar once she’s more recovered and my magic has had some rest. For now...I’ll be removing the spell that makes her comatose, and begin dosing her with your...reformulated version of painkilling potion,” she noted with some criticism, she hadn’t quite an appreciation for Narcissa threatening to banish the vile potion. Which Narcissa insisted she misheard, she’d merely meant to _suggest_ they banish the _vials of_ potion, as they were _not_ to go anywhere _near_ Hermione, her Present self had been wildly adorable but addled, far more than what could be considered reasonable by such a thing. “She’s to have fresh dosing every eight hours until she wakes, it will ease her from residual pain left in her magic as it catches up with the healing process, and assist with that felt from her still healing physical injuries. Once she’s capable of waking on her own, we’ll revisit how often she should be dosed, it isn’t meant to be imbibed more than a handful of times without some form of break,” and at Narcissa’s inquisitive stare. “With the chances being either ‘it is habit forming’ or ‘she builds up too much in her system and her kidneys will shut down’...a break is advisable.”

Narcissa nodded. “Most assuredly,” she said, looking over the younger Witch. “She...she will wake soon?”

“When she’s ready.”

Saturday evening turned to Sunday morning...which drug on into the Monday afternoon that Narcissa pacing impatiently before the foot of the bed, Jinsey’s eyes following her Mistress’s movements as she sat reclined alongside Hermione, Andromeda sitting up and reading a Medi-Witch journal in bed on the younger Witch’s other side, still bemused with Narcissa having ordered her to be at Hermione’s side, proximity to her sister’s magic and whatnot. “Why isn’t she waking?” Narcissa demanded to know.

Her sister didn’t look up from her reading, turning the page with the simple guess, “To be spared your irksome presence?”

That was singularly not funny! “It has been _days,_ Andromeda!”

“Has it been? I have always wondered, the machinations of the heavens, dark, light, dark again, that is the passage of days? How exciting.” Andromeda mocked her, Then, true assurance, “She is healing nicely, Narcissa, that takes energy. She’ll wake when she wakes…” she closed shut her book. “Come. I believe a sound trouncing in Wizards Chess will distract you nicely.”

The woman had packed a chess set, apparently. “I could do with a victory.”

“I mean to trounce you, and you best believe I will.”

“It is so sad to see you growing senile in your old age.”

“Time travel considered? We’re very nearly the same age,” she said as she rose up from the bed, stretching before she gasped with delight, “Gods above, Cissy, when you’re returned to time…you might just be the elder sister!”

“Perish the thought!”

“Shan’t. It’s science darling, you can’t hide from facts,” she giggled at Narcissa’s frustrated growl. Her sister was a nuisance.

…but a knowledgeable nuisance.

They cast for quiet, to contain the sound to a small area around directly around the table they transfigured at the end of the bed to stay...well Narcissa hadn’t been about to leave the room if there was even the slightest chance Hermione might wake in their absence. And they’d not wanted their chess pieces disturbing her sleep unnaturally, as much as Narcissa ached for a more tangible sign of recovery in Hermione, she wished it to be authentic. Too Jinsey was beginning to doze off, and she could use the rest, to prepare for her return to Hogwarts that evening, Narcissa had seen her Present Self’s building nerves at her meeting with the Headmaster, the lack of hearing from the future’s Hermione despite Draco’s updates, Harry’s sweet encouragement, popping in on the woman’s office hours with the ‘pressing potions question’.

 _“Hermione’s tough, and she’s got you with her, and you’re an amazing potion’s professor, and Draco thinks Andy’s treating her, so you know between the two of you with fresh potion and the whole ‘natural-born healer’ thing, she’s got the best of the best_ ,” and then, _“I really do have a question though? Draco’s…” he looked perplexed, fidgeting a bit with the different accoutrements on her desk, adjusting the positioning of a small silver hourglass full of Slytherin green sand, giving into the curiosity of...it was a toy of sorts, one of the texts Hermione had directed her to on tools to aid students in focusing in class or soothing their nerves, had recommended. A 'Tangle', a plastic circlet of interconnected curved pieces of differing colors and textures from bumpy to smooth, that could be coiled tightly or unwound at will, popped apart to reconnect if one found the sound or movement soothing, or to conjoin with a similar toy. When the boy took it up for examination, she nodded and he began twisting the toy in his hands, “...he asked me to ‘go with him’? But he won’t tell me where? I agreed! I don’t_ need _to know where, if he needs me I'm there and I told him so, but he just got frustrated at that, seemed embarrassed and said he was asking wrong and that I should forget it.”_

_“...oh my darling boy he...I hope he’ll forgive me,” Narcissa cleared her throat, “but I believe my son...was articulating a desire for courtship.”_

_There was a plasticy_ pop! _as his machinations pulled two pieces apart, making him startle and look a bit panicked that he'd broken the thing before further experimentation proved he could merely_ click! _the pieces together again, much to his relief. “I thought that’s what we were doing," he said then, "with the dinners and hand holding and walks and talking and sno-aaah,” he caught himself,_ pop-click, pop-click _as he fidgeted further,“...hand holding,”_

_Ahh yes, the ever passionate art of hand holding. “It’s more a proposal of exclusivity.”_

_“Yeah,” he shrugged, that was what they were doing._

_“...he wishes for you to be his boyfriend. A title, something official, as opposed to being merely ‘the boy he dates’.”_

_“Oh!” a wide smile broke out in his features, something determined in his eye as his hands stilled their nervous movements and he returned the toy to its coiled state before setting it on the desk once more. “Sweet, thanks for the heads up, Professor.” Ahh. Now that he understood, he’d the upper hand as Draco was still likely recalculating how to pose the question again, perhaps fearful Harry_ had _understood, and merely been outright rejecting him. He could now, apparently, ‘beat him to the punch’. Or in this case, kiss. Merlin help her poor son._

Be that as it may, her Present self was still rather a mess, to the point she’d barely slept for fear of missing a message from the Future’s Hermione. As she’d an important meeting to prepare for, Narcissa would return Jinsey to her Present self out of...care. Whether she was truly beginning to feel as much for her Present Self, or if it was merely out of a desire to have something she could show Hermione to prove she’d learned from the girl’s impassioned lectures on the matter, she was uncertain but either way it was likely some form of progress.

Until then, Jinsey napped and Narcissa endeavored to best her sister in chess, with distracting tactics that...mightn’t be wholly wise, she may well have distracted herself more but she did delight in taking her sister off guard with,

“...in your adolescent liaison with Anathema Zabini, did she ever make love to you using only her mouth?”

Andromeda’s eyes nearly fell from her head, blushing furiously as she placed a bishop...that had steadily been moving to capture Narcissa’s Queen...down too soon and left it on rather a useless spot, allowing Narcissa to secure her Queen with her next move while her sister scrambled to process the question.

“Why on _earth_ would you ask such a-”

“I have recently encountered the act in my personal life and I am eager but nervous to reciprocate as...it is not something I’ve encountered or participated in before.”

Andromeda blinked at her. “...you and Anathema never…?”

“Good heavens no.”

“...that _witch,_ ” Andromeda said in soft disbelief, shaking her head, “When I told her I was going back to Teddy she insisted that was fine, and she was going to just move on to the better- to you, anyway. She sent me postcards from Paris insisting you were there together!”

“We were! Shopping!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Andromeda! I- the agreement of my- _I_ was not bound to someone as depraved as a Lestrange who encouraged Bella to be well versed in love making before setting foot near the marital bed, nor was I the one going about breaking Black Betrothal conditions to break my engagement. I may have flirted with others but I-” she swallowed, “Well I’ve only ever been with Lucius, and even that- we never...I was pure unto our marriage.”

“ _Pure_ pure?”

Why on earth was she repeating herself? “Are you having some sort of Stroke, dear?” Narcissa deadpanned.

Andromeda held up her hands in surrender, “Young Wizards can come up with all sorts of inventive ways around the definition of sexual purity.”

“Lucius never endeavored to convince me to allow him congress with my ear-”

“That was a rumor Pansy Parkinson’s _bitch_ mother spread, Teddy _never_ made _any_ such suggestion! We were already fumbling our way through lovemaking long before that circulated in Fifth Year!”

 _…Narcissa_ had started the rumor in Andromeda’s Fourth Year, penance for pettiness she could not remember now, but she supposed the rumor hadn’t taken off quite so spectacularly until Rowena got wind of it, and began spreading it herself the following year. But details.

“Well, poor choices in our adolescence aside, note I said ‘our’, I am not condemning your choices as a whole or alone, but...now I ask advice on a delicate matter.”

“You want advice on how to...reciprocate- and you’ve _never_ had- Lucius didn’t-”

“Certainly not.”

“Well then, no wonder you were so adamant I preserve her life-”

“That is not the reason and you know it! And I know you do but it is unkind to jest otherwise!” Narcissa snapped, still feeling...perhaps a bit tetchy. The Present’s Hermione hadn’t seemed...upset with her. They’d written. But Narcissa was petrified the girl might truly believe Narcissa had been _gleeful_ to see her tortured, and she wasn’t certain how to broach the subject while maintaining control of the conversation to appropriately convey that she was _far_ from pleased, even in the moment she’d been utterly horrified and trying to formulate rescue for her. Andromeda joking she cared for Hermione’s life only because of what the younger Witch could provide sexually hit a raw nerve a touch too indelicately, reminded her of her fears with the Present Hermione and delved a bit too closely to being on the nose with Lucius’s value system for Narcissa’s life, caring for her only insofar as her body was useful in some form or another, she _never_ wanted to be the sort of person who did as much to their significant other.

“...my apologies,” Andromeda softly offered. “I...can gift you literature, instructional texts, on the subject, if that would be of help.”

Yes in hindsight her question had been marvelous for securing victory in their game but she thought she might actually prefer death to hearing her sister detail the expectations of what the tome Andromeda offered on the subject termed ‘cunnilingus’.

“Jinsey is being leaving, unless Mistresses is being needing anything else?” the House Elf checked, smoothing out her dark blue dress, the action a bit nervous. It had been sweet, her sentiment that she wished to surprise both Future and Present Narcissa’s pleasantly, but there was a measure of fear in her, things had gone so well with the Future’s Narcissa but what if the Present’s required some certain life experience that had yet to pass, or more time in the direct company of their resident House-Elf-Advocate, before she would respond so positively?

“Nothing at all, except for you to remain safe my dear,” Narcissa assured from where she sat in a chair alongside the bed. Andromeda had kicked her out when Narcissa insisted she resumed sitting directly with Hermione, her sister fidgeting with the mobile in the way Hermione did sometimes, to produce text messages. They were meant to be a thing of convenience, but Narcissa wasn’t certain what convience that was, outside the realm of communicating with someone incapable of hearing. It seemed rather the opposite of convenient to relay a message to someone perfectly capable of hearing your voice over the phone, in a far shorter time than it took to press buttons repeatedly to summon the correct, or worse incorrect, character to type out your missive. Jinsey came to stand alongside Narcissa’s seat and the Witch rested a hand atop her head. “Everything will go splendidly, Jinsey. I promise I’ll be most pleased. After the weekend I’ve had, this will be more than a brightspot. Do not fret for a thing and know that you may always come to me.”

The Elf’s eyes scrunched closed as she excitedly announced with a passion, “Jinsey is loving Mistress!”

“And I am loving you likewise, so that sorts.”

Jinsey beamed a smile as she vanished from sight, the sound of her apparation drawing Andromeda’s attention upward. “Oh...did Jinsey just leave?” she...fretted, worrying her lip.

“Obviously.”

Andromeda sighed. “I...Teddy is texting, he and his partner retreated to our home after an altercation with Wizards associated with Death Eaters. He’s his own healing abilities but they are proving futile to abate a curse his partner was struck with, I’m advising as I can but-”

“Go, everything is well at hand here, if there is some complication I will summon you.”

Andromeda nodded, looking regretful. “I will be back,” she assured, dropping the mobile onto the bed and rising to take up her medical bag before disapparating from the room.

_“Jinsey,” Narcissa breathed as the Elf appeared in her mirror, she was seated at her vanity in the bedroom of her quarters, brushing her hair and mentally running through potentials for what her meeting with the Headmaster might hold. Developments could be anything from the man merely wishing to congratulate her on her recent divorce, to informing her she’d lost her position at Hogwarts, that she’d too far compromised their operations somehow. She turned about in her seat to face the Elf, somewhat worriedly, “Has something happened?” was she here to inform her Hermione had taken some horrible turn? If she was awake...she would have written. Oh Merlin-_

_“Mistress is being sending Jinsey because she knows present Mistress is needing her! Jinsey is being bringing her happy news! Mistress’s Hermione is healed. She is still being sleeping, but Mistress Andy is promising that means she will be being all better soon! Jinsey...is feeling like Mistress’s Hermione will wake up soon. She was restlessness all of the weekend, like she was being waked and sleeping and waked and sleeping, but she was having less of that since Mistresses pulled the last ouches from her magic. Sleeping deeper and she isn’t being having nightmares anymore! Dobby and Jinsey have been making helping her magic make happy dreams!”_

_“You’d need of him, he said, but he’s since returned and assured me all was well though...he was absent for quite some time.”_

_“Jinsey was being poorly, but Dobby was coming and making her better! And then Dobby was helping Jinsey take care of Mistresses, so they was being cared for well and Jinsey could be resting more, because Dobby worries for Jinsey because he is loving her with all of his good Elf heart!”_

_Narcissa smiled at that, though, “You’ve been unwell?” she fretted._

_The House Elf nodded, blushing green as she bounced on her toes a bit as if excited over the prospect. “Jinsey is being feeling better, but she is being more tired and easily hungered while being with baby.”_

_“...while being with…”_

_It took all of a second for Narcissa to be seated on her knees before the House Elf and sweeping her up in a hug, spindly arms wrapping around her neck as she excitedly offered, “Oh my darling, that is simply wonderful!”_

_“Mistress is being pleased? She...she is letting Jinsey and Dobby and baby be family?” Jinsey timidly checked._

_“Of course!” Narcissa assured, rubbing circles on the House Elf’s back. Oh, she’d already a bit more weight to her, and holding her so closely made obvious the Elf was already displaying her pregnancy even as her clothing was loose enough to mask it to some degree. Unplanned pregnancy would be all the more fodder for retribution from her fellow House Elves, even if they themselves were not cruel, they may well turn a blind eye if Jinsey found herself at the hands of some vindictive Pureblood student bent on abuse. Pansy took her frustrations with their mission out on the Elf staff as it was, she mightn’t cross the line with Narcissa’s personal Elf but neither was she keen on risking it, she might perceive the likes of Dobby siring her child to be reason to harm Jinsey in some fool-headed effort to cater favor with Narcissa who, for all the majority were aware, dispised the Elf Harry Potter had...so cleverly in her true opinion, freed from her Husband’s home. Too...Lucius was still a governor, he’d access to the school, if he ever caught wind Dobby was the father and crossed Jinsey’s path oh Merlin above. She was just beginning to ruminate how best to protect Jinsey, her family when the House Elf tentatively ventured._

_“Future Mistress...she has worries for Jinsey and baby. She has been offering that Jinsey can be staying with her and Mistress’s Hermione, until baby is being born. Their house is small and secret and safe and they is having pleasantness there most times, and Jinsey would have company and Dobby and gentle work. And then when baby is here she could be bringing her back to Mistress here and caring for her. No one is knowing Jinsey is being with baby, it would be trickery!” she announced as if pleased with the solution._

_“...others would perceive your motherhood derived from my choosing a new Elf, for you to bring up in my house. You...don’t wish to be perceived as a biological mother?”_

_Jinsey nodded. “Dobby could be doing the same, just be helping a new Elf and...Jinsey would not have to be saying another Elf is baby’s father.” Ahh, as she would have to claim if they merely insinuated that Narcissa had directed Jinsey to make a child, it would seem unlikely that she would allow her Elf to do so with Dobby. Too, Lucius could always dispute that fact, Narcissa hadn’t had such control over their Elves in their marriage, and Jinsey was just a_ touch _too far along to have only become as much a mere three days ago. “If Jinsey and Dobby wasn’t making baby, then we can both be being caring for her in Mistress’s care and Hogwarts.”_

_“That is most sound, yes, I would dearly appreciate it if our Future selves could offer you a place with them until you can return safely,” Narcissa agreed, “...may I share this development in its truth with the present Miss Granger?”_

_“Yes yes yes! But be waiting please? Jinsey wants to be telling Mistress’s Hermione, because she is going to be being so happy! Mistress thinks it might cheer her, and being cheered when being hurt or sick can be being healing!”_

_Oh, it certainly was, Narcissa was most certain, she felt markedly better, less of her worries and weariness at her coming meeting, the headache she’d felt building was dissipating, lost to the rush of pleasant emotion. Oh she was so excited! She would miss Jinsey but there was nothing stopping the Elf from the occasional planned visit to Narcissa’s quarters when she was alone, and she could focus on preparing her rooms to house a place for Jinsey and Dobby and their child! And...well Hermione would assist her, wouldn’t she? In discreetness, but certainly it would be pleasant, reasonable motivation for the younger Witch to join her in the evenings now that their lessons were through, instead of meeting in the Room of Requirement, they would meet here, and make the space welcoming for the dear Elf family, so they could comfortably be together as a unit within Hogwarts._

Good, Narcissa was...admittedly pleased she’d sent comfort her...own...way? She still relished in the idea that she had earned Hermione's pride, but…it needn't be sole motivation for her to endeavor as much in future, there was a sense of satisfaction that came from it and too...a measure of what felt like healing.

Healing one's present self might…render healing to themself. Whoever would have deduced such a thing.

Oh, and her darling did reward her, it felt like. For Narcissa recalled the joy of gentle care as Jinsey brushed her hair and aided in selecting her attire for her coming meeting.

_"Ahh! Narcissa my girl, thank you for joining me," Albus greeted her, "Sherbert Lemon? We've a selection of cupcakes if that interests? Do be seated, do be seated!"_

And she was seated, directly at Hermione's side when the hand in hers _squeezed_.

She startled, Albus and his sweets leaving her mind as she sat up further and smiled her relief, Hermione's eyes were open, smile returned, something soft and full of fondness, not a trace of pain in her expression. “Darling?”

“Hey…" the word crested softly over her lips, her mind a haze of pleasantness, "you’re really pretty, you know?” Ahh, so her reformulation spared them _energized_ babbling of Narcissa's beauty.

She raised a brow at that and somehow the girl believes her even more beautiful, “Entertaining a touch of delirium are we? I look a sight.” She'd been taking such haphazard care of her hair, it was likely dull and messy she'd not cast to smooth or style it in days, eyes a bit bruised from lack of adequate sleep as she awaited Hermione waking.

“Mhm, beautiful one. It’s all your everything,” she gestured clumsily with a waving hand she didn't have full feeling in, “and the moonlight.” _Well damn that was poetry! I should work on Narcissa's birthday poem!_ joyously rang in her mind.

Narcissa chuckled warmly, “Oh my darling, I do love you,” she said, raising an index finger brushing a curl from her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Hermione hummed. “I definitely love you. Fuzzy on the details, confused.”

“I mean physically, Hermione," Narcissa amended.

“A little sore, everythings kind of hazy.” To her mind her pain isn't much perceivable, it is the strange high of her medicinal care that takes focus.

“Well, you’ve quite a bit of potion in your system,” Narcissa supposed.

_"...I'd a guest you're well acquainted with, here in my office the evening hours of November 1st. Severus arranged as much."_

_I was seeking air and Severus._

Both Narcissas' stomachs sank straight to their shoes.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione questioned, Narcissa's gaze snapping to meet hers as the younger Witch's mind whirled with thoughts on just _how_ she might be capable of helping, the need to aid her _somehow._ Narcissa squeezed her hand in assurance.

“...I’m not certain, exactly what is happening but...well I’m in a meeting with the Headmaster just now.”

That spawned an entirely endearing look of utter confusion on Hermione's face. “The Headmaster’s here?”

A smile tugged at Narcissa’s lips. “No darling, my present self is with him at Hogwarts.”

“Oh," dropped from her lips a bit dumbly. "Is something the matter?”

_Albus sat at his desk, gaze locked with Narcissa's as he allowed her access to his mind. The image of a world-weary Lucius seated across the desk from him, a pale rectangle of bandaging adhered to his left cheek. But what was more startling than his presence, were his words._

_"It might be of interest to the Order that the Dark Lord is in fact endeavoring to infiltrate Hogwarts and dismantle its leadership starting with Death Eaters swarming the school, while a Death Eater initiate handles your own assassination."_

_Narcissa had been magically bound to not breathe a word of her current mission, to thwart any effort to stop Pansy Parkinson. She’d merely been able to make it clear to Albus, with Severus’s backing her claims, that ultimately she was here to be of aid to the Order, that she was here under orders of the Dark Lord and if they monitored her, they might uncover just what she was incapable of informing them she was up to. An effort that had proved futile thus far, all that could be gathered was that Narcissa Black and Pansy Parkinson enjoyed walking with one another to the Room of Requirement, Pansy would disappear behind its doors alone while Narcissa stood watch. The closest to progress made on the matter came when Hermione was tasked with following them herself._ Narcissa had to do everything in her power to see this plan bear success, her guard was vigilant, she laced the hall with layer after layer of warding when she and Pansy worked toward this goal, things that made others turn a blind eye to what was happening in the hall or ignore it entirely, turn around and return to wherever they came from. Hermione, however, had been perfectly capable of walking, her own disillusionment spells cast about her to contain her from Pansy’s view, Narcissa’d the vague impression that day that someone was following them, but they kept from her eyeline rather diligently. Until Pansy was stepping into the Room alone and Narcissa caught sight of Hermione endeavoring to catch them in the act. The girl had darted when Narcissa was drawn forward, compelled to stop her, Hermione moving until she was backed up against the wall opposite the doors closing shut behind Pansy, “The Room of Lost Things,” she’d whispered to herself, meeting Narcissa’s gaze, unfazed by the older Witch’s nearness, standing with hands braced against the wall at either side of the younger Witch’s head as she peered up at her curiously.

“I _warned_ you,” Narcissa’s voice sounded haggard to her own ears, the fear and panic that had welled in her the moment she laid eyes on the Witch pursuing them. “You weren’t to-”

“Get caught catching you, yeah...so...am I fucked?”

Narcissa’s mouth worked momentarily, thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. She was vowed to guard their work at the cost of life. She’d hexed a House Elf lingering in the hall, cleaning it just the other day because it was prying eyes that might see their work. And now here stood Hermione, an eyeful of the fact they were summoning the Room of Lost Things. Narcissa should be compelled to do something, in fact she was, her magic was full of the horrendous imperative to _Crucio_ the younger Witch until her mind was muck not fit for formulating an intelligible sentence let alone recalling what she had seen here but she could not. It was physically, magically impossible, Narcissa’s magic was seized up within her at a deadlock.

…she was aware, to some degree, vows of some sort had passed between their Future selves some time prior to their actively influencing the timeline. Vows...she had taken _before_ the ones she swore to her Dark Lord.

“I- I cannot hurt you,” Narcissa breathed with some joy, Hermione regarding her with confused curiosity before the older Witch let out a wet sounding laugh, crying at her relief as she rested her forehead against Hermione’s. “Oh thank the gods I cannot cause you harm!”

 _They found Narcissa was incapable of moving until Hermione offered the lie that she’d seen nothing, and then ducked under Narcissa’s arm and left the hall entirely before Pansy could return and find Narcissa compromised. While Hermione had been their nearest catch, the fact it left it obvious she and Narcissa were allied was too great a risk to pursue the matter further, much to Narcissa’s relief. While she couldn’t harm Hermione neither did she_ enjoy _everything in her magic screaming at her to do such vile things, the thought alone was enough to make her ill. It was another thing coming between her and truly being of aid. That wasn’t necessarily true, she_ was _on the side of light, and she would do everything she could to coax Pansy astray, the girl was petulant and bent on following her parents bidding, honoring her family with her service but there was some weakness in her will. It was more the same, biding her time, manipulating as she could, and striking at the best opportunity as her bindings allowed._

_Lucius…had no such binding._

_Lucius, who had stood at Narcissa’s side as she knelt before the Dark Lord and received her mission, sat before Albus Dumbledor and his sole reason being he wished to inform the Order’s leader, "Pansy Parkinson works to repair the counterpart to a set of vanishing cabinets one of which resides at this school, the other in a Death Eater hold, so that it may pass living beings from one cabinet to the other, allowing the Dark Lord’s followers to assault the school from the inside.”_

“He’d a meeting with Lucius, apparently, the evening after Samhain,” Narcissa could scarcely believe the words coming from her mouth. She startled, sitting further forward when Hermione groaned, a pained sound. “Darling?" was potion wearing off? Or did they need to summon Andromeda?

“What’s he done now?” Hermione questioned as if she found the man’s continuous interference daunting...as it usually was. 

Narcissa cleared her throat, entirely uncertain, avoiding Hermione’s gaze, mouth working momentarily. She could _see_ what was happening, that did not mean she understood _what_ was happening, let alone the _how_ and most certainly not the _why._

“Well darling, Lucius has apparently informed the Order of the Dark Lord’s plans to take over the school, and…”

_“The Dark Lord is unbeatable, even by the likes of Harry Potter, prophecy or no. He has secured his life in a treacherous way and if- if Mister Potter is to defeat him, he will need guidance on the matter, that which only a scarce few can offer. I...am one of the few aware of our Dark Lord’s greatest weakness, not even my wife knows of it- e-ex wife. Narcissa.”_

_“Yes, yes. Interesting that is your first mention Professor Black,” Dumbledor had said. The man was rather interested in the fact Lucius had not outed her role in the Dark Lord’s schemes to the Headmaster. He pondered making the man aware of her involvement with the Order, that of course would only come once he’d been questioned more thoroughly, and too, with Narcissa’s permission._

_“She is not why I- I am here to speak with Mister Potter.”_

_“I can hardly allow that at this juncture. However, if you were willing to entertain a bit of questioning-”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Under Veritaserum?”_

_Lucius’s gaze was unwavering. “Absolutely.”_

Narcissa shook herself, “He seeks audience with Harry Potter,” she looked to Hermione then. “He apparently wishes to warn him of the existence of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.”

 _“We questioned him the whole of the weekend,” Albus was saying as he brought Narcissa from his mind, she caught the barest glimpse of- her niece? Nypmhadora Tonks, hair red and riled, shouting directly into Lucius’s face, Remus Lupin at her back, arms crossed over his chest but looking rather serene, a calm question dropping gently from his lips in the wake of his partner’s railing at their subject._ Ahh, a romantic getaway for two? Andromeda would be relieved they appeared to be too occupied with Order business to consider running off to elope.

 _“You cannot trust him!” Narcissa insisted to the Headmaster. Oh_ Merlin, _what was the man’s game? What foul trap was he setting for Harry, Draco?_

_“Oh I most assuredly do not. But he did comply to questioning and he was dosed with secure Veritaserum and his story remained consistent and unchanged, even as our questions were rephrased to catch any act of word-play-”_

_“He- he must have found a way around-”_

_“Narcissa, breathe. Indulge in a treat and calm yourself. I would not compromise our efforts. But I am curious to how this can be used.”_

_The Headmaster could stuff his treats! “Used?”_

_“...we will watch him, Lord Malfoy, as we always have, and see how he conducts himself while he believes we’ve fully accepted his assistance. One false move, and he’ll have the whole of the Order on him. We will start with...allowing his conversation with Harry, under safe, controlled conditions, he will not be permitted access to magic, it will take place someplace secret-kept, he will arrive bound and blindfolded and I’ve arranged security, guards who will be with him every moment, others that will be there specifically to secure and protect Harry-”_

_“He isn’t to be alone with him!”_

_“And he won’t be.”_

_“Not even for a second! If Lucius harms a single hair on that boy’s head-” she stopped but it was out of habit, she’d never much been able to threaten her husband, but now? She was free to speak and act of her own will, “I will erase every trace of Lucius Malfoy from this earth! I will end his life in such a way Wizards will fear my name in the ages to come!”_

“Wow...you’re really pretty when you look like murder,” Hermione was a bit giggly at the thought, “Scary, sexy Cissa,” she claimed her as she shook her head. “That’s...I dunno, that seems impossible. Everything’s really weird for me right now, I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating.”

“I can assure you, this is all horrifically real.”

“That’s exactly what a hallucination would say. I think,” she argued. “Is he sick or something? Having some fever-induced...good-guy streak? Or is this like, evil ‘big daddy Dark Lord told me to pretend to tattle to the Order to lure them into a trap’ thing?”

“Darling…”

“Yeah?”

“...do cease using phrases such as ‘big daddy Dark Lord’ it is entirely unsettling.”

Hermione giggled, “What? You mean Lucius _doesn’t_ call him that?”

Oh it was a horrendous bit of fun, a smile tugging unrelentingly at Narcissa’s lips as she felt compelled to quip, “Only on his Dark Immanence’s birthday.”

That sent the girl cackling, sighing with her mirth as she shook her head. “Oh sorry, my bad, I was merely trying to be accurate. Well...huh. That’s...weird and scary, I mean I can’t imagine this leading to anything good but...maybe...maybe we did something?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Harry defeating Voldemort is a point of destiny. We lost Slughorn equipping him to do that...so...the timeline is self-correcting? In the most incredibly wild way? We’ve officially entered the Twilight Zone.” Ugh, Cursed show, Narcissa could not abide the few episodes she’d attempted watching, they were dark and confusing and bizzare, their only benefit being Hermione holding her close and making rescue, changing the channel when Narcissa buried her face against the younger Witch’s hair. “Still...everything’s going to be okay. The Order will be watching, and so will we. We won’t let him hurt Harry or Draco. Or you,” she assured.

“I’ve your protection?” Narcissa wondered, teased.

“Mmhmm. Say the word and I’ll get up right now and go kick his ass.”

A smile spread on Narcissa’s face as she leaned forward in her seat, “Truly?”

She rose from her seat entirely to sit on the edge of the bed, bemusedly pushing Hermione back as the inane girl did make helpless effort to rise, drawing herself up as if from the grave itself with a groan of effort until Narcissa’s gentle pressing pinned her back against the mattress, the younger Witch pouting up at her. “Mean, I’m in the middle of an important mission!”

“An inane mission,” Narcissa shook her head. “You could not harm so much as a fly in your condition.”

“Oh _yeah?”_

It was a bit startling the strength with which the Witch used to grasp Narcissa’s biceps and push up and pull the woman across her lap, though it was hardly like she was resisting. Narcissa was the one who ended up lying on her back in the center of their bed, Hermione over her, cheeks flushed and a smile on her face…

Before her arms gave out and she unceremoniously collapsed against Narcissa’s chest, having used the whole of her strength, tiredly offering, “Take that!” as she caught her breath.

Narcissa chuckled warmly, stroking the Witch’s hair as she assured her, “Oh I intend to.”

  
  


* * *

Consciousness slipped in slow, the light of day, a pale white glow seeping through closed eyes that opened directly into the face of a ginormous...silvery...lion.

Hermione loosed a startled cry as she shot up in bed, scrambled back against the headboard, oh Merlin above she...she was still high, wasn’t she? From potion? Narcissa had said something about potion earlier. She was pretty sure, anyway. The woman had also claimed Lucius Malfoy was suddenly emulating his son, giving the Order a ‘tell-all’ interview to reveal the Dark Lord’s plans and that...didn’t sound like a real thing. His interview! Draco's! She needed to read that! She needed...something. Her journal, the day planner one. Where was it? She was a little nervous about getting up. The lion at her side wasn’t real, she was pretty sure it was a symptom of potion or...maybe it was a Patronus? 

The fact that the thought _Potion...Patronus?_ made her mumble rapid-fire, “Potion-Patronus, Potion-Patronus, Potion-Patronus!” and giggle for a stretch of several seconds was a decent indication potion had maintained its hold on her.

Jinsey appearing on the foot of the bed with a _pop!_ dressed in one of her sweatshirts, pale green white sleeves rolled up on slender arms they were much too big for was another sign, somehow an even greater one it felt like, that made Hermione certain whatever the hell she was on was a hallucinogenic.

“Mistress’s Hermione!” Jinsey cheered, “Oh Jinsey is so much happiness Mistress’s Hermione is being awake! How is Mistress feeling? Whatever she is needing, Jinsey can be doing!”

“I…think I’m okay? Are you? Why…you’re here, right?”

“Of course Jinsey is being here,” possibly-Jinsey cheerily assured.

Hermione raised her hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four and one thumb!”

Hermione looked to her hand, turning it over to examine her palm’s side…one two three four…and one thumb, alright. “Cool.” She had this. “Oh gosh, you didn’t come all this way for me, did you? I’m fine,” devising fact from fiction like a professional, “really.” 

“Jinsey wasn’t very far, she was being in Mistress’s Hermione’s old room…Mistress is saying Jinsey can be being making it her own while Jinsey is staying in Hermione Granger’s home, for baby.”

“...baby?” oh Merlin, surely- Narcissa couldn’t...but had…

Oh Merlin was _that_ what triple Witch’s orgasms all at once did?! She wasn’t ready to be a mother! She wasn’t even ready to tackle why she was hallucinating a giant silver lion, was it a House complex? A representation of her and Narcissa’s relationship? Had Hermione, despite her father’s absolutely splendid best efforts, developed some sort of inherent daddy-issues? Did Lion-ghosts represent daddy-issues? Maybe the lion was pregnant!

Jinsey nodded- wait, was she a Legilimist? “Jinsey is being with baby!”

“Wh-” oh God, surely the House Elf was terribly confused. There was no way, something like that would have to be intentional between she and Narcissa, and Narcissa would have at least asked first! At least a courtesy ‘by your leave’ before magically producing life! Even if they had Jinsey to help nanny! 

Jinsey giggled, “Oh Mistress’s Hermione is being so happy she is speechless! That makes Jinsey so happy! She is so grateful Mistress is letting Jinsey be staying until baby is born and big enough to go home with Jinsey and Dobby. Dobby is being baby’s father!” she announced and that would have sent Hermione into a divergence of sheer panicked confusion and the absolute certainty despite her finger-counting test Jinsey was a horrible hallucination, except the House Elf smoothed a hand low on her own belly, rounding from more than a good meal. Oh!

“Oh thank God!" burst from Hermione's lips with relief, and Jinsey took it as a declaration that the news was so blessed it sent her to praise, which worked, awe the sweet Elf was so smiley! "Jinsey, that’s so great! I’m so happy for you both! Oh! You’ll be living here, you can have my bedroom-”

“Jinsey has already been explaining Mistress has said so, but Jinsey is honored Mistress’s Hermione is wanting Jinsey to have her room.”

“Oh right...sorry, yeah of course, whatever you need to be comfortable just let us know. Do you need any help or anything?” where was her wand? She...caught herself just before opening her mouth to accio it. “Do you know where my wand is?”

“Jinsey isn’t needing help...and Jinsey is being very sorry to Mistress’s Hermione but Mistress Andy is being saying Hermione Granger cannot have her wand until it is being safe for her to be being casting again. She might be being confused when waking, and she shouldn’t be being casting unless Mistresses are with her to make sure her magic is being healed and nothing is being going wrong with it, and Hermione Granger isn’t being hurt.”

“Oh! That makes sense yeah, no need to be sorry,” Hermione promised opening her arms. She was hazy and felt like a hug and Jinsey smiled big, coming to stand in Hermione’s lap to hug her around her neck, humming contentedly as she squeeze Hermione tight.

“Jinsey is being so happy Hermione Granger is being better! Jinsey was being so worried! Mistresses were being so worried!” Oh crap! _Mistresses!_ Present and Future both! 

“Narcissa!” The Present Narcissa had written her, had needed her!

Hermione startled a bit when someone apparated into the room, pulled Jinsey more so against her side, away from whoever- oh. Narcissa.

“Darling? What’s wrong?”

“You needed me, like...last night? Present you, are you okay?”

“I did not write yo- oh my darling. My Present self merely wrote to check on you the evening of Samhain, she did not need anything and I managed to get her a response through Andromeda. It has been- Hermione it is Tuesday, the 5th.”

“...of...of November, right?” her question had Narcissa smiling warmly, looking amused as she seated herself on the edge of the bed. 

“Yes my love.”

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. Being down for five days was a bit horrific to consider, but less so than waking up an entire month in the future or something, Merlin.

“Mistress’s Hermione? Jinsey is loving hugging but hugging is also being squeezing Jinsey, and baby is squeezing Jinsey and she is going to be wetting the bed if squeezing isn’t lessening.”

“Oh gosh, sorry!” Hermione apologized, letting go of the Elf, “I just- I didn’t know it was Narcissa for a second.”

Jinsey’s eyes widened at that, “Mistress’s Hermione was being protecting _Jinsey?”_

“Well yeah, of course. I’d always protect you Jinsey. I mean, I dunno if you’ve _heard,"_ Hermione pressed a kiss to the center of the Elf's forehead and spoke as if in some conspiracy, "but I love you a lot.”

“M-Mistress’s Hermione is loving Jinsey?”

Hermione nodded. “I know Narcissa probably likes you calling me that, and I’m not complaining, I like being Mistress’s, but it’s kind of a mouthful. You can just call me ‘Hermione’.”

Oh God! She hadn’t meant to make the Elf _cry!_ Jinsey threw back her head and shuddered out a sob as tears spilled from her eyes and she raised her hands to cover them, “J-J-Jinsey is being loving Hermione so much!”

Hermione looked to Narcissa for help and the woman just reached to brush back curls by her temple, “Even I, ever unshakable, have been overwhelmed by the notion that you love me. You’ve done nothing wrong, Jinsey entertains a bit more emotion as of late. I almost feel badly for Andromeda’s Lion, the abuse he’s suffered at Jinsey’s stern command of him.”

Wait, “...you see the lion too?” Hermione checked and when Narcissa nodded. “Whew. Good.” Narcissa looked bemused at that.

“Jinsey is being so happy Hermione is loving her!”

“Me too. I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“Jinsey is thinking baby is being making her cry, but that is okay!” Jinsey cheerily assured, hugging herself a bit before her hand went to rub circles on her growing stomach, “Jinsey is so excited for baby! Baby will be so happy in Mistress’s house! Cooking and cleaning and making Mistresses happy!”

“Awe, Jinsey...you make us happy just existing, your baby won’t be any different and...I mean she might not want that, to work in Narcissa’s house.”

Jinsey blinked at her, eyes welling with tears again as her chin quivered, “Hermione thinks baby won’t be wanting to be staying with Jinsey?”

“Oh, not that! I didn’t mean it like- just, she’ll be free, you know?”

“Yes, baby is being free?” Jinsey said as if confirming but still not quite getting what Hermione was meaning.

“I mean...that’s different, isn’t it? It’s not like she _has_ to do anything. No ones going to force her to work so...she can just be a kid. She definitely shouldn’t be put to work the moment she can stand, that’s not flying in this household, right?” she checked with Narcissa who blinked a few times like the idea was foreign and new, understandably enough because it was, and once she considered it, she nodded.

“You’re absolutely right.”

“So if she isn’t forced into anything...I mean everyone has dreams Jinsey. Did you always want to work in Narcissa’s home?”

“Yes! Jinsey is always wanting to be working for Mistress! For always and always!”

“That’s great, and if that’s really what you want, you should have that. Just like your baby should have the opportunity to do whatever makes her feel that way, and it mightn’t be cooking and cleaning or helping some Witch or Wizard with their day-to-day. Something else might make her as happy as your work makes you, she might have different dreams, and being free? She can pursue them.”

Jinsey’s eyes blew wide at that, wistful, “Hermione Granger believes baby can be being dreaming? Can...can be being doing anything her heart is wanting?”

“Absolutely.”

Jinsey was very quiet for a moment, working it around in her mind, oh. She’d never thought of such a thing before either. But after a moment she looked up again, taking hold of Hermione’s hand. “Jinsey is loving Mistresses with all of her heart. She is loving baby and wanting her to be doing whatever makes baby happiness.”

Hermione smiled, relieved she hadn’t bungled that, Merlin. “Are you settling in okay? You’re sure you don’t need any help?”

“Jinsey isn’t being needing any help, she has done everything she is being needing to do to be settled here,” she assured, “But she is being needing a nap now if Mistresses isn’t needing anything.”

“Oh gosh, yeah, go get some rest, um...when I have my wand back I’ll charm your room so if you need me you can call for me, okay?”

 _“Jinsey_ is to be taking care of _Mistresses!”_ the Elf insisted.

“Hermione is a firm believer in reciprocity dear,” Narcissa informed her, “It’s to be a principle of our house from now on I believe.”

“Jinsey will be calling on Hermione, as long as Hermione is always calling on Jinsey,” the Elf decided, hugging Hermione around the neck once more and pressing a kiss to her temple before moving to kiss Narcissa on the cheek.

“Rest well darling,” Narcissa wished her before the Elf popped from the room. “Are you hungry, my love?”

She really was, she realized. Maybe food would help wake her up, make her brain work again. Narcissa was the smartest! And she was so pretty when she smiled! She was smiling wide at Hermione now for some reason, it was the best! Hermione leaned forward to peck a kiss to the older Witch’s lips, drawing a relieved sigh from the woman. “Yeah, food sounds great right now.”

“Then I shall go and aid my darling sister with breakfast preparations. We were just debating what to make when you called for me."

"Andy's here?!” in the haze of it all she was certain the woman was their Secret Keeper, but that still felt wild though. She was so happy, excited to see them together again! “Like, now?"

"That is her patronus which guards you."

"Oh!"

"You sound surprised. Andromeda is a powerful Witch, long associated with the Light."

"I just...well I thought I was hallucinating, but once you called it a patronus I thought he was yours." That got her a brow arched.

Narcissa seemed a bit wistful at the thought, "You truly believe me that capable?"

She shrugged. "I think you can do anything." That got her a soft smile and a kiss! 

"I have missed you, darling. Do you wish for anything before I descend?"

"Your day planner, please?"

"Certainly," Narcissa said, summoning the book and quill, setting them in Hermione's lap. Hermione opened it to the most recent page, relieved to see Andy's script there.

"I'm really proud of you for stopping her safely and not risking yourself," Hermione said, giggling when the woman looked at her like that was nonsense but nonsense that pleased her if the blushing was any indication. The message said for Narcissa to check with Draco when she wanted updates. "Would you mind getting me my Draco notepad? It's...somewhere?" In her apron, she thought, and that had gone flying at some point she was vaguely sure.

"Of course darling, but do not allow either myself or my son-"

"Oh! Harry! Can-"

A swish of Narcissa’s wand had Draco’s notepad and Harry’s journal sailing through the air to them. "...or darling Harry to wear you out. If you aren't well enough to write at length do not push yourself I- I am relieved you consistently wake, that is an excellent sign of recovery but I need that recovery to be in full. I will not abide any hindrance in this regard. You must absolutely be gentle with yourself, Hermione. If there is anything you need, or if something ails you, you’re to call on me, is that clear?”

“As Wizarding Crystal.”

Narcissa grinned at that. “Excellent. I’ll leave you to it then,” she said as Hermione took up her quill to begin writing her Present self. “Do not be overly concerned if I’m not immediate to respond, I’m in something of a staff meeting presently, an-” the word cut short as quill met parchment and Narcissa softly huffed. “Or not.”

“Huh?”

“Do forgive me if I disappear from time, darling, I believe I’ve just shushed Minerva McGonagal.”

“How, out of everything, does that feel like the most dangerous thing you could have possibly done?”

“The woman is a battle-axe and I must say I rather adore her. We’ve found something of a kindred spirit when it comes to our care and ideals for the school. We take a good many of our meals together as of late, work together on overlapping break periods, and she always has the most spectacular gossip. _Information_ , she calls it, _gossiping_ is for petty schoolgirls who haven’t a clue how to work with the power their petty exchange can truly get them.” Oh, that was nice! Narcissa had a work wife! Narcissa huffed a soft laugh.

“You really love it, huh?” Hermione supposed, “Being a professor?”

“Underhanded machinations aside...yes I am pleased, the role I maintain. I’d never considered as much but…”

“It’s something you’d like for your future? To keep teaching?” Hermione wondered, and when Narcissa nodded, the younger Witch leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek. “I think that’s amazing.”

“You...would support such an aspiration of mine? I don’t know that I would continually live in Hogwarts but teaching...it will not always be as it is now, you understand? Where we exist dually and can be together so often while I instruct.”

“Yeah I’m pretty up-to-date on how Hogwarts works,” Hermione teased. “Narcissa...of course I...I’d never resent the time you put in to your work. I’ve got aspirations of my own, I mean I’ll be...I dunno yet. But I’ve got all sorts of things I want to do education and career-wise. In the time apart I look forward to doing my best to make you proud and when we are together? It’ll be that much more special. Plus I mean you get July to September off every year, I’ll have similar breaks in uni-”

She didn’t usually particularly _like_ being shut up, but it coming in the form of a kiss, Narcissa leaning into her, back pressed against the headboard, lips working against her own as she...she’d been saying something, hadn’t she? Whatever it was, it led Narcissa to say, “I...am supposed to be seeing to your breakfast, my darling, and if you do not cease- well I cannot do that and make a hypocrite of myself all at once.”

“Hypocrite?”

“Warn you against allowing my Present self to wear on you, while I...draw on energy better suited to the use of your recovery.”

“Oh...I mean I’m not opposed to a bit of sexual healing. But...I wouldn’t want you doing that when I can’t exactly return the favor just now.”

“You realize that only makes it wor- are you _intentionally_ endeavoring to drive me to- the very instant my sister is no longer monitoring you Miss Granger, I will have you, reciprocity be damned.” Oh dear Merlin help her. Narcissa smirked at what Hermione was certain had to be the dumbest look on her face as her mind just flat-lined over it all, and the older Witch kissed her on the cheek before rising, hands smoothing over her skirts and it felt entirely unfair the extra bit of swing she seemed to put to her hips as she walked from the room.

Especially since the moment she was out of sight, Hermione heard her apparation in the hall to return to the kitchen. She looked to the lion. “ Aren’t you supposed to do something if someone’s trying to kill me? No?” Nothing, he just stared at her. “Alright then, useful you are.”

Oh. Useful she was. She’d gotten all of _Hi_ down before all that sidetracking and now the page was full of, _Hermione? Oh my darling I’m so relieved to hear from you. How are you feeling? Do you need for anything? Jinsey will be staying in your home, for the time being. If there is anything you need at all, anything I can send you darling you are to tell me at once and I will absolutely see to it posthaste. Are you in pain? I’ve just sent fresh ingredients through, I hope my future self is providing as you need but I do understand if things are hectic, if she needs assistance with brewing I would always aid in that. Have you need of Dreamless Sleep? Jinsey has assured me you’ve been sleeping pleasantly enough, you’d only the one instance of nightmares. Darling? Hermione, are you still there? Darling I understand if you are tired, but if you’re awake and well and reading this please do give me some assurance you are alright, even just tapping your quill to parchment to assure you’ve not lost consciousness or suffered complication._

She could do a little better than that. Her head sort of hurt, trying to focus on so many words, she was usually faster, reading but her mind just felt a bit sluggish with it now, but she got the gist. _Sorry, distracted. I’m a little high right now? Jinsey came when I woke up, I’m so excited for her and Dobby, and I promise not to let her run herself ragged helping us, we’ll take good care of her. I didn’t mean to worry you. Would it be hard for you to tell Draco and Harry I’m alright, to write me if they feel like it, tell me how they’ve been, for later? I wanted to check in with you all but focusing just now is making me_ she made a scratch, her train of thought was sort of somersaulting off the tracks, she almost forgot what she was even trying to articulate. _I don’t feel too great. I’m okay, just tired._

 _Do not worry for a thing darling, I will absolutely convey that you’ve woken and wish to hear from them. Do please rest, and feel better. Thank you for thinking of me, I look forward to hearing from you when next you feel up to as much._ And then, just after a moment, _I love you._

 _I love you too._ That...was okay, right? Narcissa seemed to be doing better with her Present/Future complex and...it wasn’t like...she couldn’t love them both, right? She did, maybe a little differently from one another, but it wasn’t in a bad way. Just…Narcissa’s present self was coming from a more direct place of horrible trauma, she was a bit more…fragile than her future self who had months of love and care and safety from all over, was working still to heal. Her love of her Present self felt more careful, cautious, protective, something supportive meant to encourage and cheer her as she works to stand on her own, instead of the sense of working to stand together that she had with the Future’s Narcissa. Was that weird, the sense of duality? She supposed it was loving Narcissa as she was in a different place in her life, they were the same person but...they weren’t. The future’s Narcissa was who she was to become, and it was exciting to see just who that would be as her Present self came into her own. 

She loved her, all of her, past and present and future.

She wasn’t sure what was on, exactly, with her body just now. She was starting to feel sharper, more cognizant of what was going on around her, but her head ached in a way that left focusing on reading and writing a sluggish murky process. She thought she’d lie back and just rest it off, but she was slowly starting to feel a building ache in her muscles, like a veil being thinned between her, and what she was really experiencing, fabric worn until she was left with aching soreness that felt like she’d spent her weekend...Sara had once begged her to be her work-out buddy, to encourage her as the Muggle woman got back into shape after having Jessie. There was a solid month full of attempts at going for runs and participating in some sort of satanic workout video with this woman who definitely murdered a husband, directly, with a kitchen knife Hermione was positive. Every other day was spent watching this woman cheerily kill off a room full of people, and Sara and Hermione in the Winter’s living room, as they endeavored to follow her every torturous order. All that ended in was Sara deciding brisk walks with the stroller were the ticket and if she didn’t get back to her pre baby weight? Well she’d never _be_ a pre-baby woman again, that was already said and done. She made an entire person, she shouldn’t have such a problem looking like it. Hermione had spent the month aching in muscles she didn’t even know she had. It felt like that month had been condensed into this past weekend, muscles sore and overworked, stinging in her skin in random places, oh. She raised a hand to feel at her nose where it stung right across the center of its bridge, and hissed quietly as she made contact with a scratch there. Small, healing, stinging scrapes and cuts littered her skin. Her finger was a little sticky after touching her nose oh, ointment. It smelled like the stuff Mister Whitaker made, that was sweet of him. 

Oh God, the Whitakers! Work! Probably not a priority at the moment but she felt badly, hoped everything was okay...Sara had visited, hadn’t she? She couldn’t quite remember.

She needed to move, stretch a bit, maybe that would help? It did, stretching her arms overhead, stretching out her back made all of those muscles feel less tense, they didn’t ache quite so fiercely when she was done, so she got out of bed. Narcissa had said she’d be back but she needed to move around and too...she was admittedly curious just what was going on in the kitchen. _Andy_ and _Narcissa_ were making _breakfast_ and that felt like something she absolutely had to see.

The stairs were a little pain to get down, thank Merlin for magical girlfriends, Narcissa would help her back upstairs she was sure. More sure than the term ‘girlfriends’. Were they girlfriends? Or was that dumb? Maybe it was a touch too soon to be putting labels on things, they mightn’t even need them, really, they...loved each other, that didn’t necessarily need a word.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Narcissa’s voice sounded in the kitchen, annoyed. Hermione hadn’t quite made it there yet, was she talking to her?

“To check on our patient, Cissy-dear. She’s- oh,” Andy was saying as Hermione entered the kitchen. Narcissa was at the stove getting ready to add pancake batter to a hot pan, and there was a space of counter next to her where it looked like Andy had been chopping up fruit, though now the Healer was at the kitchen entrance, Hermione had tried side-stepping to get out of her way and her footing wasn’t...the most secure, legs a little wobbly and weak and she just about bit it she was pretty sure, she felt the pressure of the kitchen archway against her hair for a split second like she’d just about smacked her head off it, before she was pulled secure to the other Witch’s chest, Andromeda Tonks looking amused and pleased with herself, and there was a clatter of a spatula hitting the rim of a bowl as Narcissa let out a warning sound not entirely unlike a growl.

“Andromeda-!”

“What, Cissy?” Andy questioned innocently, raising her hand to feel at Hermione’s forehead. “I’m merely attending my _darling_ patient. Or would you prefer your pretty lover concussed?”

“Oh go take over the pancakes!” Narcissa snapped as she came, arms wrapping around Hermione as she pulled her a bit and Andy snickered, stepping away as Narcissa held her closer, hand under her chin to prompt her to look up at her. “Darling, whatever possessed you to get out of bed? Breakfast is nearly prepared, I was to return to you.”

“Sorry I-” she shook her head a bit, to clear it, “I’m feeling more of the world but everything sort of hurts now? I needed to move around, stretch my muscles a bit.”

“You’re in pain?” Narcissa questioned worriedly, looking to her sister, “Andromeda, please, can’t we-”

“I’m very sorry Hermione,” Andy said, “but it would be best to take a rest from potion, at least for the next eight hours, though twelve would be preferable.” Hermione nodded, she wasn’t much sure she _wanted_ to be dosed again. Pain wasn’t pleasant but she prefered it over being a useless mess, what if something happened to the timeline that needed addressing? Draco or Harry or Narcissa needing help she couldn’t provide because she couldn’t think straight?

“You cannot be serious! Andromeda-” Narcissa argued.

 _“You_ are the one who insisted we dose her again last night, mid-resting period. She could have slumbered through it, now she must deal with it while awake.”

“It looked like even the air on her skin was torture after four hours without potion! You said you healed her, not maimed the poor girl!”

“I’m not maimed, just sore!” Hermione defended, looking to the Healer, “And I’m really grateful you’ve been such an amazing help, Andy. Thanks for coming and treating me. I hope it hasn’t been too much trouble.”

“Oh it has been my honor to aid you. My sister, however, is nothing but terrible burdensome trouble, as I’m sure you’re well aware,” Andy said. “I understand the effort to win the War is prudent but to be trapped in a house with Narcissa Black? The Wizarding World at large will thank you for the tremendous sacrifice you make.”

“Oh you’re one to talk!” Narcissa snapped. “Among his many fine accomplishments, the greatest contribution to my life from Teddy Tonks was his stealing you away and sparing me your insufferable company for twenty _blessed_ years!”

“Narcissa!” Hermione cried, utterly confused. Just what was she doing?! “I- I understand- I didn’t mean to worry you so, make you cross but if I have, you’re to take that out on me, not your sister! She-” she looked to Andy again, imploring, “She doesn’t mean it, honest! God no, she loves you, she loves you so much! She’s missed you terribly, and she’s so proud of you and she loves the life you’ve made for yourself! She adores Tonks and Teddy, loves them, is proud of the woman Tonks has grown up to be! She’s been dying to reconnect with you, I’ve been dying for that too! Oh my gosh I’m so relieved you can finally get to know each other again, be together, it’s been killing me, especially my present self when you’ve come around, not being able to let you know about Narcissa! That she loves you and stuff, what she’s doing, how she’s been working to do amazing things for the Order, how brave and incredible she is, that you’d not regret it an instant getting to know the spectacular woman she’s become-” why were they laughing? Narcissa was holding her close as she laughed in her ear, hand on the crown of her head to pull her to her chest, stroking her hair, and Andy was screaming with her laughter, pushed the frying pan off the fire in an effort to secure the food in it from burning as she stepped away to laugh and catch her breath. 

“Oh gods, is _that_ what you’ve got going on around here?” Andy questioned with tearful mirth, wiping at her eyes as she faced them. “This smitten little Witch singing your praises non-stop? How your head fits in this house is a feat unto itself.”

“Truly,” Narcissa agreed, snuggling a bit against her hair as she sighed and assured, “Darling, we weren’t fighting, not really. Andromeda’s feelings were hardly hurt, she doesn’t believe I despair of her, that’s merely how sisters speak to one another.”

“...Really?” Merlin, she didn’t have much context being an only child. Her perspective came from the Weasleys really and she’d thought they were so wild because they were all boys piled in on each other trying to assert dominance in the pecking order but...if they were a household of daughters and one son? There might have been actual, continuous, bloodshed, she realized. Fred and George...Freda and Georgina Weasley would be the stuff of nightmares, she’d the impression...one might kill the other off and cover it up by alternating between personas the rest of her life. Yikes. “So you’re not... _really_ fighting? Everything’s okay, with you two?”

“We’ve become well acquainted once more, Miss Granger,” Andy assured as she resumed her work at the stove, “I’m glad to know my sister again and I am proud of her, the accomplishments she’s making. Even as she still calls Tesco-” she smirked as Narcissa growled.

“The Tesco?” Hermione supposed she’d heard Narcissa’s habit. “She refuses to call it ‘Tesco’ she says its-”

“Grammatically obtuse,” Hermione and Andy quoted in unison.

Narcissa looked a bit sulky at that, like she didn’t quite care for them ganging up on her, and Hermione offered a soft laugh, kissing her on the cheek as she assured, “I think it's really cute.” Andy snorted.

“As I am so known for, my _cuteness,”_ Narcissa drawled derisively, even as she looked pleased at Hermione’s amendment. She raised a hand to brush Hermione’s hair, gaze assessing for a moment. “Alright darling. We will eat, and then I will draw you a bath, if...if it would not cause you fear or discomfort after the spectacular failure it was to aid you the other night, I’m most certain my charm is safe to use in the absence of potion.”

Hermione nodded relaxing against the older Witch, “Yeah, that sounds amazing right now.”

There was a little _pop!_ of apparation as Jinsey appeared in their midst, one sleeve of Hermione’s sweatshirt having rolled all the way down to drag the floor while her other arm was high, up and rubbing sleep from her eye as she yawningly announced, much to the Witch’s amusement, “Jinsey is to be being a good mother and supporting baby’s dreams. Baby is being dreaming of having pancakes.”

Pancakes were a thing of perfection, Hermione was certain. Delicious and satisfying and leaving her feeling full and ready for a nap, all told, by the time Narcissa drew her close and magicked her upstairs. She’d nearly fallen asleep in the time it took the woman to prepare a bath but the aches in her body did a good job jostling her to consciousness. Narcissa had to take hold of her hands and pull her up off the bed, onto her feet, and she mighn’t be high on painkillers but...well pain was interesting in its own respect, she found if she could distract herself it helped and she was drawn to that, and Narcissa was entirely distracting. The older woman drawing her to her feet and nearer, releasing hold of one of Hermione’s hands to lead her to the bathroom had the younger Witch halting their progress there, wrapping her freed arm around Narcissa’s waist to pull her close, drawing a soft, surprised sound from the Witch. Her cheeks pinked as Hermione’s hand shifted in hers to hold it more appropriately for what she was about just now which was, apparently, the distraction of dancing, something in her aches felt more bearable if her focus was on the silly, warm feeling from the act of leading the older Witch to gently, musiclessly sway.

“Darling?” Narcissa questioned, a bit of laughter in her voice.

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

 _“We_ are dancing. You’ve heard of it I trust?” Hermione teased…huh, that sounded familiar now for some reason. Narcissa said something like that, while poking fun at her over...something? The woman averted her gaze, at her jesting.

“I believe I have, though there is usually more music involved and I’ve never had a trip to the bath interrupted to make dance.”

“ _Never?_ Really?”

“Oh, this is normal behavior?” Narcissa wondered wryly.

“Absolutely.”

Narcissa hummed her concession of that, allowing them to indulge a moment more, but eventually, “Hermione? I adore this...I adore you,” the woman said, smiling as she found she could say as much, adoring _her_ and not something about or around her. “But it is that adoration that makes it imperative that I insist you come bathe. Darling you must relax.”

“This is relaxing.”

“...it is distracting, but I can offer even better,” Narcis assured, “We’ve cast to cleanse you these past few days but your hair could do with a wash, your conditioning ritual. ...you always aid me with my own hair to bring me comfort, I wonder if you might allow me to do the same?”

Thus Hermione found herself near-dreaming, dozing in the bath, water charmed for warmth and relaxation, _Merlin_. The only thing keeping her awake were Narcissa's hand, but it felt as if even those wanted to make her fall asleep, massaging her scalp far longer than Hermione would have spent on the task but she definitely didn’t have any complaints.

"Darling…” Narcissa said as she finished rinsing out Hermione’s hair, “I don't mean to distress you, so I will broach the subject and if you don't feel you've the energy to tackle them they will be dropped. I preface this with everything is absolutely, as you say, going to be okay. It is nothing we cannot handle, and nothing need be done with it at present. Usually when I have failed, I am the last one to be forthright about it but in this instance I am…loathe that I am to admit it, I feel guilty. Perhaps it is entirely selfish, wishing to speak of this, confess so that I might feel better-"

"Failed?” Oh Merlin, had she taken it into her head Samhain was somehow her fault? “Cissa, no, my God, you definitely haven't _failed_ -"

“Samhain is not what I’ve in mind,” Narcissa nipped Hermione’s theory in the bud. “I've yet to confess my shortcomings."

Hermione nodded, and she pushed herself up on the edge of the tub to sit up more, arms crossed before her resting on the edge, chin on her crossed wrists as she looked to the woman seated on the bathroom floor. "Hey, talk to me."

"...my darling you- you must understand I- oh I was so very afraid I was going to lose you. And there was so much- your healing was rather violent and I...I spent the entirety of Samhain aiding Andromeda- what I mean to say is the night was long and I was sick with worry and stress and- and I did not guard my tongue when speaking with the Whitakers. I called to inform them you'd been injured, I felt wholly composed when I made the call but… oh the moment I began explaining my purpose for calling I lost my grip and I spoke your name, darling, Hermione not 'Stacie'. Violetta kept it between ourselves but I failed to clue Jinsey in, or Dobby for that matter, _my_ shortcoming, they are not to be blamed. They spoke your name before Sara. Violetta was _very_ understanding, my love, she is adamant your alias be used by all meant to know you by it until _you_ are prepared for them to know you as yourself once more. I- oh darling I am so sorry-"

“It was an _accident,”_ Hermione insisted. “It's not like...we had a fight or something and you thought 'oh I'll show her!' And went 'round telling them I'm lying about my identity hoping they'd hate me,” she’d started out strong but ended rather weakly, voice failing almost entirely around ‘hate me’ and her lungs felt a little constricted, like she couldn't quite draw air. It was fine! It would be fine, she’d handle it, but oh Merlin-

"They do not, could not," Narcissa insisted, a bit panicked as her hand went to rest on Hermione’s shoulder, one on her arm, squeezing assurance, “breathe, please, oh my love Violetta understood entirely darling, she's deduced she has been made to forget aspects of you, aspects she feels she should know because she loves you as if you are family, realizes it is strange to love you as such and not have asked about things like your family, your life outside of Whitakers. She’s unoffended, understands you weren’t acting out of malice but necessity, and she has insinuated that John will render a similar reaction. Sara is still greatly in the dark, curious why you use a false name but she'll not press until you are ready. They will not hate you, and you will not have to confirm that for yourself until you are absolutely prepared to do so and no matter what I will be right at your side.”

Narcissa let out a soft, sympathetic sound tinged in relief as Hermione rested her forehead against hers, focusing on breathing, it came easier now she just had to put a little more effort in. “I’m not upset with you, it’s not some shortcoming on your part this happened, it’s my casting that got me into this, I was always going to have to face the consequences that come with that, that’s on me, not you. I’ll have a talk with everyone soon.”

“When you are feeling better, and you feel it is best,” Narcissa insisted. “Are...are you alright Hermione? There is...one thing more, I'm uncertain if you realize yet. I only press because I am in tenous conversation with your present self and I...I cannot give her assurances unless you’ve given me permission to-”

“You never, _never_ need my _permission_ to say-”

“There is such a thing as respectful boundaries and confidentiality between loved ones, my darling. In this regard I felt it best to consult with you first and foremost. _You_ are my primary concern, Hermione, your present self can abide a few days more of suspense if you cannot speak on this now. Say the word, and the topic is dropped.”

“I need a safeword for this conversation?” Hermione mused. She felt like a full blown panic attack at this point might put her in the hospital so...maybe she did.

“Quidditch Cup,” Narcissa softly quipped, smiling when that pulled a grin from Hermione.

“Quidditch Cup, huh? I hate to break it to you, but Slytherin’s going down.”

“Against Gryffindor? Most undoubtedly,” Narcissa returned, how- why did that sound like she meant a specific Slytherin _going down on_ \- ...because that was entirely what she meant oh God. A panic attack might put her in the hospital but the rising _thump_ of her heart in her chest just _thinking_ about Narcissa going down on her definitely could, and if she _did_ take it into her head to try that out anytime soon, dear Merlin she was headed straight for the grave, and she wasn’t a bit upset about it. “I would always take the utmost care with you, darling, I do intend to be nothing less than incredibly gentle with you.”

Hermione rested her forehead on her arms, closing her eyes to rest them, “Oh my God I’m going to die.”

“Absolutely not, it is forbidden, you understand? Strictly prohibited,” Narcissa insisted, and Hermione heard her sigh, “Shall I proceed?

“I’m listening, honest,” Hermione assured, she felt nervous to look up again, and something about being curled up at the edge of the tub, arms and proximity to the tub wall making the space she could see in darker, felt a bit more safe than the exposure of sitting up.

“You began experiencing nightmares from your curse scar, do you recall?” Narcissa wondered, and Hermione nodded against her arms, the motion being registered as an affirmative to the older Witch. “Dobby and Jinsey made interference while it...sounded like you were dreaming from your magic, your memories from...the day we departed our time. Unfortunately there was a bit more to it than that. You...you were going to dream the memories of those...made victim of on Samhain, whose injury you shared.”

“So...I’ll dream like that again?” Hermione supposed she was saying.

“No- perhaps- darling that is not a symptom I foresaw. I only know of it because while you’d Jinsey and Dobby to interfere...your present self did not. She...she dreamed the memories both Bellatrix’s assault upon you, and her Samhain sacrifices, in full, and sought my Present self for comfort and guidance on the matter, having deduced that my sister is responsible for her recent magical suffering. Darling...you’ve come to the conclusion you face a future where you are tortured the way you bore witness to from your magic’s memory.”

“How is that a shortcoming of yours, my being an insufferable know it all?” Hermione went for light as she raised her head, resting her chin on her arm again before raising her gaze to meet the older Witch’s. Merlin, she felt tired.

Narcissa’s chin quivered, “I am sorry, I do wish I- I wish I’d been capable of guiding your present self away from such realization."

“It isn’t world-ending that I know I just...wanted to spare myself the whole, pre-panic thing. If it's going to still happen...no one can go getting themselves hurt or killed over it, I survived, I wasn’t lying there dying or anything, I was able to orchestrate a time jump and everything. It wasn’t...it was bad but as it stands, I can handle it. If somehow Bellatrix suddenly has some wild personality change in the coming year, experiences growth that makes her go ‘huh I think I’ll only _lightly_ traumatize this one’ when we cross paths again? Well all the worry over it will have been for nothing. I mean it’s all for nothing, you know, I _know_ that, the worrying not really changing anything once I’ve gotten to a point I’ve prepared all I can.”

“Your anxieties are understandable, I only wish I could spare you them.” Narcissa said, looking thoughtful. “You...you truly believe my sister capable of redemption?”

“Everyone is, aren’t they? At least on some level? You can’t undo the wrong things you’ve done but you also can’t undo the good, not really, even if people forget about it, in that moment you still choose what was right. And I mean, the one thing you can change is the potential wrongs of the future. That’s what we’re all about here, right?”

“...you have always been reticent, my wishes to disclose your injury to your present self, my own.”

“Well yeah, I mean that’s just torturing myself in advance.”

“But things can _change_ darling, that is why we’re here! Why believe it will still happen with such certainty?”

“Narcissa...I don’t know if it’s something you’ve got your heart set on but...it’s just like anything else our present selves learn. We don’t go screaming the future from the rooftops because if people in this timeline come to rely on our experiences we hope to change, time might let those instances fall through, they mightn’t exist anymore once the experiences where the information we share comes from don’t exist anymore. Telling myself is pointless if I lose the experience and therefore the ability to tell myself, that just means when we go to solidify the timeline? It still happens. My realization coming is more structurally sound time-wise but ultimately I’m pretty sure bears the same result, going into a timeline where the scar doesn’t exist takes away the knowledge of what happens.”

"Your present self coming to the realization it happens on her own makes her knowledge reliant on the timeline she comes from,” Narcissa conceded, “she'll carry it freshly to the next where she bears no scar, and may be capable of aiding _her_ Presents self in avoiding the assault through careful manipulation, from her own experience, to render it nonexistent once the timeline cements."

Yeah maybe. “I...I’m not getting my hopes up. This is,” Hermione swallowed, taking a moment to carefully consider. She was sure Narcissa had seen enough to know this already...but even if she didn’t, both of those possibilities shared the idea that Hermione didn’t want to hurt her feelings, make her feel guilty for something that wasn’t her fault. “It's hard. And it might seem stupid to dwell on a single instance in my life but there’s some days it's all I think about, how helpless and useless and worthless I felt, how scared I was, how scared I _am_ because it- to my mind its unavoidable. And I feel like if I let myself believe that it isn’t, if I...if I _try_ to make that work and it _fails?_ I don’t know how well I’ll survive that. _Especially_ if that failure comes from missing it this time, feeling secure in the certainty it won’t happen and then...when the timeline solidifies and it _still_ happened? That...feels like something that might break me. When the timeline is solidified the only certainty is that I still need to help Harry win this war. If my mind is useless mush because I can’t handle the whiplash of losing that experience only to regain it fresh, I might not be as helpful as I need to be, I might fail further and I can’t fail Harry or you or Draco or the war. For...for me, I have to accept it or I’ll lose my mind,” she rested her forehead against her arms again as tears welled in her eyes, sniffling as they dripped into the bath as she wept, “and I’m sorry if that lets you down or disappoints you, I- I know its hard for you to be optimistic about things, I’m sorry this isn’t something I can be there for you in-”

“Do not even be concerned of that. _Disappoint_ me?” Narcissa’s lips pressed to the crown of her head, and then she felt her elbow against her own as the woman rested her arms on the edge of the tub, head lying against them as she looked to Hermione. “That should be the least of your worries with this topic. I understand now why...it is difficult, to allow yourself to hope in this instance. So you needn’t, certainly not for me. Optimism does not come easily to me, but in this case, I will gladly hold it for you, if it is something you cannot bear. You accept it as you need, and allow me to keep the faith.”

Hermione sniffled, turning her head to meet Narcissa’s gaze, small smile tugging at her lips as she wondered, “Am I converting you to optimism, Narcissa Black?”

The older Witch shook her head, smiling fondly as she insisted, “Oh my darling, do perish the thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Canonically House Elves breed fast and quickly, so, I figure for a tiny tiny baby, three months is an appropriate baking time.  
> *I looked, but haven't found a solid "this is what Ted Tonks does career-wise" so, I have him being an Auror!  
> *So, when getting into this I went through and read through different character profiles and if you read a compilation of Lavender Brown's bio and personality? JKR sat down, wanted what she considers the 'anti-Hermione', thought of someone she dearly dislikes, and came up with Lavender. Who she came up with? A character with incredibly obvious symptoms of Autism when you read them all together compiled in a single article. Everything about her behavioral patterns: being blunt, saying seemingly awkward things, having clunky, extreme reactions to things in ways that seem odd, seeming focused only on what absolutely interests her and her current fixations, missing social cues, her single strong tie in Gryffindor being Parvati Patil, the statement in her personality description that says even as she tends to annoy or offend she never means to and her heart is in the right place (neurotypical people can react less than kindly when they encounter people who don't perfectly execute social norms, like a great many of Lavender's expressions of love for Ron like the big necklace she sent him for Christmas made him cringe when she probably saw it, got excited and thought it was perfect and genuinely believed he would love it) are all strong indicators that Lavender's personality is based on behaviors that can be exhibited by Autistic people. Whether that's intentional or not, we don't disrespect Lavender Brown in this fic.


	10. Mischief, Machinations, and Magic, oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mean to get to Christmas? Yes. Did I get there? No.  
> More day-to-day life for our recovering Time Travelers. Narcissa has a secret, Hermione has a mission, and Jinsey has a one-sided rivalry in the local weather man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Rated-Mitochondria content in this chapter, it's a bit more...*Rihanna's S&M plays lightly (just lightly) in the background*, so if that isn't what flies your broom, please feel free to drop on down to the first line break, to pick up with "And then Narcissa did draw her wand..." I promise, it's not a euphemism, you've just jumped back into bed once the party's over. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all the lovely Kudos and Comments and Marriage Proposals (looking at you, nastinik)—which I accept by the way, we wed at dawn, social distancing protocols are to be followed, no sketchy magical marriage vows allowed. Congratulations, I'm your problem now. 🖤
> 
> Shoutout to inkheart9459 for prereading and screaming and answering my questions when my bastard brain won't let me remember canon fact. She has her own Cissamione fics and beautiful works for other fandoms, so feel free to go love on her works too, she dearly deserves it! I just got the pleasure of watching her drunken adventures in writing "Heaven When We're Home", a Cissamione tattoo'd soulmates AU, it is a DELIGHT, oh my GOD.

Hermione wasn't certain what was more impressive. That it took all of three days for Narcissa to get exactly what she wanted. Or the fact that she survived the older Witch's machinations.

Andy had been sticking around most waking hours, left her patronus and monitoring spells at night, it was either that or _"We can continue our marvelous slumber parties,"_ she'd spoken like a threat. But Friday came and the woman didn't, she’d other patients to tend, appointments to keep and Hermione wasn't in a tenuous place anymore so Narcissa had assured her sister she could feel confident in casting to set her monitoring to cease whenever it sensed Narcissa herself was awake. Her body hadn't _appreciated_ having cuts and tears torn through her to reach her skin, but she was feeling better, head to toe aches turned to soreness, Friday she woke to sunlight, still tired but more rested, her energy still going to reviving her torn up magic and healing at large.

...she also woke to a lack of blankets over her body, a missing silvery lion, and the presence of weight at her hips, and she had to turn her head to face forward to look up at the Witch straddling her, still dressed in Hermione's big 'H' sweater she'd slept in last night. _"For Hesper?" Andy had sniped when she came to check in before heading home and saw what her sister was wearing for bed._

_"Hesper?" Hermione asked._

_Andy had only barely opened her mouth to respond when Narcissa leveled her wand at her sister, "Speak," Narcissa said, "and you die."_

_"You realize those aren't Slytherin colors? It's almost scandalous how well they suit you, sister-"_

_"Get out!"_

"Good morning?" Hermione questioned sleepily with a smile, met with a smirk from Narcissa.

"It is indeed, my darling," the woman assured. "How are you feeling?"

Uncertain what exactly was happening. But the older Witch had asked that an awful lot over the past few days, needing constant assurances, "I'm alright, Cissa, I promise. Little tired, little sore." 

Narcissa leaned forward, hands on either side of Hermione's head as she pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before resting her forehead against hers. "I've something in mind to aid you, but if it does more to hurt than to heal, my love, you must _absolutely_ tell me at once."

_…the very instant my sister is no longer monitoring you…_

Oh dear Merlin.

Well, Narcissa Black was nothing if not a woman of her word.

Hermione's brain went full silent as the older Witch closed her eyes and captured her lips in a sound, gentle kiss, only the barest bit of firmness, pressing for glancing seconds to return to a feather-light glide of lips just grazing her own in a way that had Hermione drawing in a gasp the first time lips returned to plying barely-there pressure that managed to send her warm from head to toe. 

Narcissa's eyes slipped open, "Darling?"

"Fine, I'm fine," this would probably kill her, it was fine!

"Hermione-"

"You aren't hurting me, I promise," and when the woman still looked worried, "Hey it's the French who call it the little death, they warned us."

"Oui?" ...and then somehow it was even worse when she continued on with her French accent to say in English, "I suppose you must be correct, Miss Granger."

Little death, uh huh yeah. Everything in moderation. There was nothing wrong at all with having a little death, as a treat.

Narcissa chuckled lowly, resuming her earlier ministrations, kissing her with sound-softness, slow, Hermione's brain finally functioned enough to process that she could move too, raising her hands that had been laying uselessly at her sides to slide up around Nacissa's hips, one gliding up and down her back as the other moved to caress the curve of her ass Hermione was pleased to feel the results of the woman's healthier eating habits of late. She'd felt painfully light the first time she fell asleep directly on top of Hermione all those months ago, now?

She pouted into their kiss when the woman, in an impressive feat of core strength, continued kissing her as her hands went back to confiscate Hermione's hold, raise the younger Witch's arms up to rest against the mattress by her head before Narcissa's hands smoothly glided, up over palms to lace their fingers together as she pinned Hermione there.

"Oi!" she complained between kisses, Narcissa smirking and halting the next so she could speak, "I was savoring the success of my plan!"

" _Your_ plan?" Narcissa wondered, gaze assessing. "Oh you mean your vile plot to fatten me up? Am I to be used for some feast once I've reached some ideal weight you've in mind?"

"There isn't an 'ideal' weight, not really, I'm not some sicko with a number in my head I expect my partner to adhere to. I just want you healthy and happy with yourself," Hermione intoned before going for lighter, "and I've made it perfectly clear I intend to eat you at every given opportunity until forever, as long as we're together you're on the menu, prefect for breakfast, lunch, dinner...tea...elevensies...second breakfast."

"There is no such thing."

"There is so, it's in a book and everything, look it up. Second breakfast is important to Hobbit culture."

"What the devil is a- Miss Granger!" Narcissa snapped in reprimand.

Hermione looked up at her, going for utter innocence as she questioned, "Yes, Professor?"

"You will cease interrupting _my_ plans, or you will _absolutely_ be punished."

The younger Witch grinned. "Oh, and I wouldn't want that now would I?" she giggled at the woman's frustrated growl. "And just what are your plans for me?"

Narcissa smirked, her gaze felt enough to pin her there without hands in hers but here she was duly trapped with zero complaints. "To worship you, my love."

That sent Hermione blushing, averting her gaze at the thought until Narcissa softly cleared her throat for her attention, blue eyes assessing, searching for something while Hermione basked in the timid, delicate relief that the woman still thought her something to delight in. She was still healing and a great many of her dermal injuries had healed, and most of them vanished...some of them hadn't, left pink-and-paling scars behind that made Hermione worry the lingering horizontal line at her cheekbone would remain once it healed, the way the little mark at the arch of her left brow, the right side of her bottom lip had. A thin line of nearly-healed skin snaked down from under her bicep to the top of her elbow on her right arm, a scarring mark at her opposite hip, things Narcissa had seen when she aided her in the bath and hadn't stressed, made no mention of. She wasn't _ugly_ and she didn’t think that, just…she was fine with it, her only bit of fear was…Narcissa was often so very harsh, held such a high standard for her _own_ beauty, thought _her_ scars should be shameful, and that had worried her she mightn't enjoy Hermione not being quite so pristine as she had been when they were first together like this.

Suddenly Narcissa was kissing her with almost bruising strength, hands squeezing hers tight to pin more firmly as she kissed the air from Hermione's lungs, only letting up at the small, confused sound Hermione loosed as a plea for explanation and air, before the woman moved on to-

She pressed a kiss to her forehead, and Hermione's heart twisted at the feeling of the older Witch's tears against her skin before she shifted just slightly to kiss the arch of Hermione's brow-

The line on her cheek. Kiss just under her lips to make it clear it was that small, scarred space she was loving on.

She kissed down the healing line that worked its way down and around Hermione's neck. Tugged on the collar of her sweatshirt to press the softest kiss to the bit of bruising still there from Andy's first attempts to draw Bella's knife's magic from Hermione's scar. When Narcissa had worked it it hadn't been painful, which was apparently an indication of its failure...ugh, Hermione hated Narcissa’s use of the word to describe her efforts, it hadn’t been her fault!

_“You aren’t allowed to hurt me!” Hermione had defended._

_The woman met her gaze, offering the softest smirk. “...not without your permission, no.” Oh dear Merlin. Andy had stared into space albeit like the exchange had horrified her to the point of disassociating from the world for a moment._

_“Well it’s my fault then,” Hermione shrugged. “It’s not like I said ‘oh please Narcissa won’t you activate my scar painfully in order to heal it’. I just said ‘okay’. And I probably have to have an idea of what the pain is going to be like, and genuinely mean it when I say I’m alright with it.”_

Which was not likely to happen because it was so not the sort of pain anyone would be into Merlin. _This will be painful, I apologize_ had been little warning for the tearing burn in her arm, the fire surging through her magic to burn away Bellatrix's hold on it that sent Hermione _screaming_ for a moment before she could get over the startle of it and compose herself, Merlin, she'd made it sound like a murder was happening. She'd pressed the back of her free hand against her mouth as she lay there while Andy cast though eventually Hermiome'd started convulsing and the woman had pressed down on her chest to keep her still as she worked to back out of her casting to call it quits for just then. They'd made progress at least and they'd attempt again next week, Hermione'd caught her breath and jokingly suggested maybe they should just tie her down next time, Andy had said that was sound and Narcissa had growled out that her sister was to do absolutely no such thing, and if Hermione truly _did_ need be restrained, _she_ would do so, _not_ the Healer, 'professional' though she was.

Narcissa drug an index finger down her sweatshirt then, from collar, down between Hermione's breasts to continue on all the way to its hem _just_ covering the apex of her thighs, the woman's hand slipping between their hips and she felt warm, building wetness at the thought the woman was about to move on to touching her but the moment her finger met the hem of her shirt, it vanished, spelled away wandlessly. She'd been casting like that more and more. Well, casting less, in a way. Hermione was still on something of a magical bedrest and the woman had started something of a show of solidarity, keeping her wand sheathed and going around casting as she could without it in hand. Which was impressive enough as it stood given she could still apparate and cast the magic she used to tend her garden's magical needs, only slightly outshined by how the woman went around dedicated to the more non magical methods of styling her hair or dressing herself, walking across rooms to flip light switches, their cooking lacking use of magic save for Jinsey or Andy's, the latter of the two wholly bemused at her sister's antics. _Mistress Andy will not be making fun of how Mistress is loving her Hermione!_ the former had snapped at Andy's teasing. 

Narcissa's teasing had Hermione's attention now, though, the woman sliding forward a bit to drop a kiss to the line on Hermione's right arm, before slipping back, low to kiss the mark on her opposite hip bone, now on her knees between Hermione’s legs, leaning and over her to grasp hold of her left hand again, lips grazing over the scar on her forearm, as if worried it might still be too painful to touch before pressing a firmer kiss to the underside of Hermione's wrist. 

“Ninety-five* days,” the woman whispered against her skin before twining their fingers again to pin both hands by Hermione’s head once more, sitting forward on her hips and staring directly into her eyes to reiterate. “Ninety and _five entire days_ I wanted you before I could have you. Thought of having you, craving it like the very air we breathe, I have wanted and had love of you for ninety-five days wherein you could not possibly be made to understand the sentiment in full. I will not tolerate further misunderstanding in this regard. Never, Miss Granger, do you understand me? I love you such that it is second only to my love of my son, and only just so, the barest of margins between them, where Merlin forbid I had to choose between making rescue of your life or-”

“Draco, a hundred percent,” it was harder for her but she could _never_ do that to Narcissa, see her outlive her son. Yeah, Merlin forbid something like that happened and she had to choose? “I'd say the same, roles reversed.” 

“You say such things, and what is more you mean them. You are genuine in your care for me, for my son, you would never see me stifled or restrained, you have loved me at my weakest, and you _want me_ strong and capable and of my own power. And even still you want nothing _from_ me, but _for_ me. Never have I encountered that, do you understand? Never. Not in my family, not of my friendships, and certainly not in my marriage. Those have all born selfish expectations and conditions.”

That was a little overwhelming, being the _only_ one. “Not even Jinsey?”

“Even Jinsey holds some expectations of me, ideals for what my role as her Mistress means, ideals I work to dispel of her and still, they persist. You hold no such issue, save for one. You expect for me not to love you. That I would be incapable of it. And even now as you understand that that is very much possible and true, you- you’re still so capable of believing I would gladly be rid of you somehow. That my love so fickle I would abscond of you over the barest- I do not even have a word for it, displeasure? Flaw? I struggle to bring myself to define it from your perspective with accuracy because the things you consider as much are nothing of the sort. The only despair I could possibly have with your appearance now is that you were injured. My darling these…these marks are only proof that you survived something many would have succumbed, that _you_ nearly succumbed to and that is only through your bravery, your undeniable strength.”

“I mean...Andy helped a little.”

“The most powerful, knowledgeable Healer in all the world is meaningless if their patient is not strong enough to endure and pull through. However many of these marks are here to stay, they are not a mar on your beauty. They only...in truth they only remind me how very blessed I am that you live, that I nearly lost you. That I love you and I cannot- it is unthinkable, unbearable, the very idea-”

“Hey, _hey,”_ Hermione breathed, pulling her hands free and threading one into Narcissa’s hand, the other cupping her cheek, thumb swiping at tears, “I’m _okay._ ” she promised. “I’m sorry I- you’re always so critical about your own appearance, I just got a little insecure…but I don’t- I don’t feel ugly or anything.”

“But you feel like _I_ might find you as such and that cannot be allowed to stand I- I would never desparraige your- I hold myself to a standard _set_ for _me_. There are some elements of those standards I enjoy while others…I'm finding letting them fall to the wayside suits me. They aren’t...you are never to feel pressured by them, if I’ve ever plied pressure in this way…do allow me to amend that now."

She was about to insist that Narcissa had done no such thing. And she was grateful that with legilimency, the woman was able to see the thought, the idea that it hadn’t been anything she’d done necessarily, she’d merely been hard on herself, it was Hermione that got in her own head about it. Because she lost all motivation to say anything that might dispute Narcissa’s need to amend that left her as the woman recaptured her lips, giving up on her endeavors to still Hermione as her hands went to caress up and down from rib cage to hip bone which was well and good, Hermione’s arms flopped back onto the mattress rather uselessly as a clever tongue teasing its way into her mouth to trace along the sensitive skin at the roof of mouth as a hand slipped beneath her to smooth over and squeeze the handful of ass Narcissa was caressing. Hermione raised her hands to do _something_ , she should be doing something right? And she felt a smirk against her lips, eyes widening as a jolt of excitement shot through her Narcissa giving the asscheek in hand a small, sharp _smack_. Nothing that truly hurt but uh...she could.

_“My darling,” Narcissa had spoken up last night, they’d been lying together after their baths, warm and dry and content Hermione dozing off in Narcissa’s hold, head on the older Witch’s chest as the woman stroked her hair and they lay in her night-light-lit darkness. “I believe it prudent to discuss permissions.”_

_“Permissions?”_

_“Well...we did just host emergency where I could not aid you in full because I am not allowed to lay harm on you, and you could not be roused and made coherent enough in the moment to truly consent to my aiding to cast in harm meant to heal.”_

_“Well yeah, um…do I need to be super specific? You’re allowed to hurt me.”_

_“Miss Granger,” Narcissa growled in warning._

_“...on the condition that your_ intent _is to help me.”_

_“Better. You aren’t- I do appreciate that you trust me so, darling, but you are never to rescind the security of our vows. Not while my mission persists or the War is on, if I’d free reign to bring you har-” Narcissa fell silent, cleared her throat, arms tightening their hold as the woman dropped a kiss to her hair, before she cleared her throat. “And what of...non-medicinally, darling?”_

_“...non-medicinally?”_

_“Recreationally.”_

_“Rec...oh,” she tilted her head to look up, at the woman’s face. She was definitely awake now, “I mean...what exactly do you want to do to me?”_

“We did have something of a series of distracting asides, Miss Granger so I will be forgiving in this instance and remind you that _you_ ,” Narcissa said now, voice silky smooth, hands shifting to grip tight at her hips...grip tight at her uninjured hip, the other Narcissa plied gentle pressure to, thumb smoothing over the mark there in a way that was tingly and ticklish, “are not to touch me,” she insisted, moving to kiss her neck, just below the corner of her jaw, warm kissed-wet lips soft against her skin before she nipped, gentle stinging pressure that grew sharper, a welcome sort of harshness as she worked, biting, licking to soothe before kissing once more and then resuming her teeth work, a semi-torturous cycle that left Hermione breathless. “Endeavor to touch me again, my darling, and you will most assuredly be punished,” she promised as she pulled away from a job well done to meet and hold Hermione’s gaze, her expression entirely pleasant even as there was something dangerous in her eyes. “Now, are you going to be a good girl for me, Miss Granger?” _Oh,_ so _that's_ where this was going.

Dear Merlin, help her. She could say no and that would be it, Narcissa would never press, but dear _God._

“Y-yes Mistress Black,” arms down at her sides.

Narcissa smiled. “Excellent,” she said, her hand slipping from hip to Hermione’s ass giving her a squeeze before slipping further down under her thigh do draw it up as the older Witch rewarded her with a kiss, short but sound and ending in a bit of theft, the woman being the one to nip at Hermione’s bottom lip as she drew her attention elsewhere, kissing a path down the younger Witch’s neck, smiling as she payed equal love to erect nipples she pressed a kiss to, left and right before grasping hold of her right in her free hand, tongue smoothing a circle around the left’s peak before taking it between her teeth for the barest moment.

“Narcissa,” was drawn from her lips, the woman chuckling against her skin, pleased when gentle pulls from fingers and teeth made Hermione whimper.

The woman continued her pathway down, trailing kisses down Hermione’s stomach, everything culminating in tensing near-painful desire building low. Sweet Merlin, oh, she couldn’t touch the older Witch, so her hands gripped tight at their bedsheets.

“Narcissa please, please...”

The woman paused for all of a second, smirking up at her, “Yes, my darling?”

“Touch me, Mistress, please.”

“Is that not precisely what I am doing?” she wondered, mischief in her eye. “Patience, my love, that is exactly my intent.”

And then the hand holding her left thigh up, lifted more to secure her knee over Narcissa’s shoulder, before the woman’s other hand slipped down, tracing a line along the side of her body with her fingernail as she brought it to lift Hermione’s other leg likewise oh Merlin help.

A piercing, whimpering cry escaped her as Narcissa’s tongue lapped, a test of taste against pooling wet at Hermione’s opening, and the low, breathy, “Shhhhh, good girl,” against her clit sent the younger Witch shivering, trembling in building anticipation and sensation. The woman smiled against her before taking a longer lick, from slit to clit, pulling a gasping,

“Mistress. Ahh!” as she heard, felt the vibrations of a long, appreciative moan between her thighs, oh dear God!

“Oh, my perfect girl, you...are absolutely delicious. Second breakfast may gain credibility yet,” Narcissa supposed. “Would you let me, my darling, if that was my will? To feast upon you night and day, leave you in a cycle of being a waken wanting mess, the only relief to be found in what I deign to offer as I take everything I desire from you?”

“Yes, Mistress. Y-you can have anything,” Hermione promised, almost pleading.

“You would be powerless to stop me, you understand in such a scenario?” she said before her tongue delved again, circling her clit, then down to tease lower, enter her just ever so slightly, Hermione’s hips writhing ever so, whimpering when her tongue was used to say, “I would have you tied, no disruption from my tasting to be tolerated.”

“Anything, Mistress. Y-you can have anything just- pl-please!”

Narcissa’s mouth stayed on her then, nipping and sucking against her clit, building the pressure she plied as Hermione writhed and cried out, encouraging her further. Merlin above, last week she’d not a clue what Hermione was about when she made to go down on the woman. Now she knew precisely what she was doing.

“I’m- M-Mistress I’m-”

“Shhh, yes, come for me my darling.”

Hermione cried out as her orgasm shuddered through her, her every muscle seizing and relaxing, before tensing again as Narcissa groaned against her, as wetness gushed from the younger Witch, for the woman to lap at, take into her mouth, vocalizing her appreciation before she swallowed and kept at it, unrelenting, shifting to continue licking at Hermione’s entrance before breaching it with her tongue, nose grazing the younger Witch’s clit as she entered her, Hermione letting out a desperate sob, for all she’d just had release the woman was working to driver her mad, leave her with little relief as she built tension again.

“Oh my darling,” Narcissa sighed, shaking her head as she sat up a bit, “you’re so very tense, tight,” she said as her hand came to palm Hermione’s center before a finger slipped inside, a testing probe before another and-

“Narcissa!” a third finger tested at the stretch of muscle.

“Relax my darling,” Narcissa crooned, plying pressure to her clit with her thumb, “you’re doing so well, such a good girl. You’re opening so well for me.”

Hermione’s arms crossed over her eyes, dear Merlin it was torture not to touch the other woman but she supposed that was the point! She had to remember to breathe. Focus on that as the woman stretched her slow and careful before her lips were on her again, and a small scream pulled from Hermione as the woman’s tongue joined her fingers as the younger Witch whimpered at the pleasant burn, the sensation of fullness as Narcissa’s fingers and tongue thrust in time together, endeavoring to venture deeper.

She forgot herself, a hand moving to thread in Narcissa’s hair twisting a bit to pull at her hair even as she pressed her head further, encouraging and aiding the woman in pressing deeper as Hermione writhed against her, crying out with the woman’s thrusts, building and building and-

A sob left her as the woman pulled away just short of bringing her to release, Hermione’s legs slipping from her shoulders as she sat up. “Mistress? Mistress please.”

“Hmm,” Narcissa considered, bringing a hand to overlay Hermione’s still in her hair, taking hold of it to bring around to her lips, pulling them away at the last second to them a tingling _smack_ made Hermione gasp softly while the woman soothed the sting with a kiss. “Oh my darling, you’ve not been a good girl, have you? Pulling my hair as I take you? Look what you’ve done, I’ve made the sheets a terrible sight,” she complained, thighs shining with wetness, a wet spot left on the sheets where she’d knelt. “I warned you, Miss Granger. If you cannot be a good girl, then you’re being a naughty one. Naughty girls are to be punished.”

Oh God, was she just not going to be allowed to- she’d just have to lay here like this, anguishing until her body finally calmed down? “Please Mistress, I- I’m sorry.”

“Oh I highly doubt that,” Narcissa was sure, prowling on hands and knee to her own side of the bed and for a moment Hermione thought the woman was just going to lie down and leave her to her misery but she sat on her knees, bottom resting against the heels of her feet before she offered a mischievous smile and threaded a hand in Hermione’s hair, pulling prompting the girl to allow herself to be guided to sit up and then pulled further still, stinging pain in her scalp as the woman guided her to rest on her stomach over Narcissa’s lap, pushing her head down into the mattress with her ass in the air, oh God.

“Mistress?”

“You’ve disobeyed my orders not to touch me. Now, you must touch yourself. Three fingers, Miss Granger, snuggly in and still unless I say so. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes Mistress!” Hermione promised, some relief found in the pressure of her own fingers entering herself at the woman’s order.

“And now you are to count, Miss Granger. I trust your Arithmancy won’t fail you in this instance? Ten strikes that I will dole out for your misdeeds,” she said, the hand in her hair tugging again.

“Yes Mistress.”

“Very good. Do keep it up and you may reclaim your former standing,” Narcissa supposed, even as she leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “But I’ll always know, won’t I? All else will see good girl Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl of Gryffindor, a vanguard and leader of the light, while I, and I alone know the truth, that you are nothing but a naughty, naughty girl, who needs her Mistress to correct her.”

Oh Merlin. “Please.”

Narcissa sat back, the warmth of her hand just a breath away from waiting skin, before it was gone, pulled back to harshen the _smack!_ against Hermione’s ass that sent her rocking forward, pressed against her fingers, sending them deeper without so much as moving her hand before the hand in her hair tugged to prompt her back. “One.”

“Very good,” Narcissa encouraged, hand smoothing over the curve of her stinging cheek before she pulled back and harder still, _smack_ , sending her further, deeper.

“Two.” _Smack!_ she whimpered as that sent her striking the perfect spot inside herself, “Th-three.” _Smack!_ Oh Merlin, “Four.” The harshest thus far coming with a _smack_ that felt like it had a bit of echo to it, sent Hermione crying out, tears stinging in her eyes, and the hand that struck lingered to caress the cheek it was working to bruise, seeking to soothe before, the hand in her hair pulled painfully and the one on her bottom doled out a double-smack, a demand for, “F-five Mis-Mistress, I’m s-sorry, that was five!” there was a pinch on her ass cheek before the woman intoned,

“Do not falter again.” _Smack!_

“Six,” Hermione whimpered into the mattress.

 _Smack!_ “Louder!” 

“Seven!” oh Merlin she was coiled tight, building pressure so great she was certain it might somehow kill her if there wasn’t some release and soon. _Smack!_ “Eight!” _Smack!_ “Nine!” she sobbed out, tension building as she awaited the final count, one that had Narcissa’s hand rearing back to strike with a _SMACK_ that cracked off the air around them, wards keeping their business contained to the bed and Hermione _screamed_ as she came, trembling on Narcissa’s lap as her orgasm rocked through her, leaving her a breathless, panting heap over the woman’s legs as she sought to catch her breath, “Ten...th-that was ten, Mistress.”

Narcissa traced a nail over the area bruising was certain to blossom soon, a lazy swirling pattern as she wondered, “Have we learned our lesson, Miss Granger?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“And what do we say to people gracious enough to correct us when we misbehave?”

“Th-Thank you, Mistress.”

“You’ll do well to remember this next time, won’t you?”

Oh, most definitely. If this was what a little bedroom belligerence got her? She could find all sorts of ways to test the woman’s patience, she was certain. “Yes Mistress.”

“Very good,” Narcissa said softly.

* * *

And then Narcissa did draw her wand, dropping it into her hand to cast to cleanse them, the bedding, a clean tee gliding over Hermione’s skin before the woman drew the younger Witch up and back, to rest against her, the pillows against the headboard as her wanded casting to resummon their blankets came into effect. She made certain one was draped over and around Hermione before holding her close, carding a hand through the younger Witch’s hair, “Are you alright, my darling? I did not take things too far?”

“I’m fine,” she promised. “I mean I’m dead, but I’ll survive,” she supposed, smiling tiredly as she snuggled against the older Witch who hummed appreciatively.

“How wonderful,” Narcissa said, a bit of laughter in her throat, “That was splendid, my love, you did so well. Now you’re to rest.”

“Already happening,” Hermione assured, just a note of complaint. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I-”

“Shhh,” Narcissa hushed her, “No my darling, today was not meant for you to reciprocate. It is a delightful example of one of your sentiments of ‘just because’. It is for nothing on my behalf save for the joy of bringing you pleasure and I was hardly unaffected, I reaped...a few benefits along the way. I do not wish for your attentions until you’ve absolutely recovered your strength,” she intoned. “Until then, I must absolutely take care of you. You’re to rest and eat and rehydrate, my love,” she said, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s temple before calling, “Jinsey darling, we would dearly appreciate our breakfast now.”

The House Elf appeared, a landing with a bit of bounce at the end of their bed, swaddled in a Slytherin green jumper with a silvery ‘D’ over her chest and the growing swell of her belly.

“Good morning Mistresses! Jinsey has been making bacon and pancakes and scones and there is being fresh melon! And water and tea!” the Elf announced cheerily, giggly with her excitement that she could come greet them for the day.

“Thank you my dear,” Narcissa said.

“Good morning Jinsey, yeah, thanks,” Hermione offered, wondering. “Isn’t that Draco’s?”

“Oh yes! Young Master is being so much kindness! Last night, Jinsey was being telling the present Hermione Granger and young Master that Jinsey is being with baby, and they is being so excited! Young Master was worried Jinsey is not having enough comfortable clothing, even though Mistresses has given her so much! But young Master hasn’t seen Jinsey much, so he might be thinking Jinsey only has a few dresses for being out in the day. He was being insisting Jinsey take his jumper because it is being warm and comfortable and making Jinsey feel loved!”

_“Is young Master being loving Jinsey?” the Elf had wondered wide eyed as Draco pressed the jumper insistently into her hand._

_“I don’t love- I mean- that’s a strong-” he growled a bit frustratedly. It sort of smacked him against his upbringing, being so emotionally connected to a House Elf but he reasoned, “Well I’ve only known you my whole life and you’ve always taken care of me and…been there for myself, my mother. S-so I guess yeah. I love you.”_

_“Jinsey is loving young Master with all of her heart!” Jinsey declared. “Mistress is calling, it is being time to make- oh. Oh Mistress has made dinner for_ Jinsey! _Jinsey has to be going and eating and thanking Mistress!” she declared before popping from the Room, they’d gathered there when Jinsey said she wished to speak to them alone._ Narcissa had told her she could take her time, just to check the kitchen for a warm plate when she got back. 

_And when Hermione giggled at his belligerence, the sour look on his face at having confessed such an ‘embarrassing’ emotion, he made a frustrated sound, glaring at her, “Oh shut up! Honestly, what the hell kind of timeline is your future self envisioning? Derail me off my future, having me declare my love for a House Elf! I swear I hate you.” Oh did he? Hermione bit her lip to reign in her smile as she casually raised a hand to rub at her shoulder and the boy’s glare dropped and he sat forward, concerned, “Oh shit, you're not still sore, are you? Do you need more charmed water? I could use it on the Prefects’ baths and make sure anyone else coming ‘round buggers off.” Yeah, he hated her big time._

That was nice. She hadn’t much kept up with recent memories, intense moments usually came to mind as they were happening of their own accord, and she kept in touch with Draco and Harry, checked her memories occasionally just...she wasn’t exactly having the best time just now, her present self. She’d gotten herself a little overly bent-out of shape falling behind on a day of class and having been mostly dead to the world for the weekend leaving her scrambling to catch up the following week, and too she…was just a little depressed and anxious, confused and processing the things she’d discovered recently. That the event that brought her and Narcissa together to team up and travel through time had been the older Witch standing watch over her being tortured. She was getting through it, just…a few panic attacks, a little crying herself to sleep over what she’d seen of Samhain, the fear she felt of the future. She was a little bit of a mess right now, with the realization she wouldn’t be able to take Dreamless Sleep every single instance of sleep for a week straight, especially not after knocking back so much Sunday to...basically sleep the day away, a mixture of that being her instructions, to take the weekend to rest, and the need to just not exist for a bit. Narcissa felt badly, that there was precious little to be done for it, her present self would be...pretty embarrassed, having Dobby or Jinsey come ‘round to try and do what they’d done to keep her future self from nightmares, embarrassed to request as much and too, it wasn’t like she had a room to herself, privacy wards could be placed but still. It just sort of made her feel pathetic, really. And as well as Narcissa’s formulation was coming along, she was close, she was certain, to where she would feel confident in Harry trying it, there were so many shared ingredients between sleeping potion, none of them would be advisable until she’d taken something of a break. But Jinsey coming to tell them some good news had cheered her up, it was one of her nicer memories from this week.

“Oh no!” Jinsey’s wail startled Hermione, Narcissa too for that matter, oh Merlin, what was the matter? “Mistress Hermione is being _injured!”_

…huh? “Jinsey? I’m fine now-”

She turned bright red when the Elf popped to her, tentatively raising a hand to ghost at developing bruising on Hermione’s neck. “How is Hermione Granger being injured? Was she being slipping in the bath?”

“...I-I-”

“Jinsey…it is not a matter of concern,” Narcissa assured. “No true harm has come to Hermione. You’ll only embarrass her if you press further.”

The Elf blinked a few times, processing. “Ohh…oh!” she announced, bouncing a bit, as she stroked a hand over her stomach. “Hermione Granger isn’t needing to be embarrassed! Jinsey is being understanding! She is being enjoying when Mister Dobby pulls on her ears!”

Hermione hid her face against Narcissa’s chest as the older Witch’s eyes went a bit wide at that...interesting bit of oversharing. Oh sweet Merlin, she didn’t want to laugh, not in front of the Elf.

“Well, so long as you enjoy yourself,” Narcissa supposed with some mirth.

  
  


_“How did you get it?” Bellatrix screamed in her face._

_“I didn’t take anything!”_

_A forest full of fire, Voldemort seated on a throne of vines, Nagini twisting around at his feet. “Eyes up Muddy,” a vice-like grip on their chin wrenching their face upward to stare into Bellatrix’s face, the woman manic in her glee, “you're going to scream for me, isn’t that nice?”_

She didn’t scream, but a startled cry broke from her lips as Hermione shot up in bed, sweat-soaked and gasping for breath. Merlin, had they left a window open? How was she sweating and freezing all at once?

“Darling?” Narcissa’s voice was soft with sleep as the woman shook herself, sitting up right to rub circles at Hermione’s back, “Hermione- oh gods you’re freezing, my darling breathe- Androm-”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Hermione cut her off, Merlin, she didn’t need to call a _Healer_ just because of a nightmare.

“You’re chilled and sweating and trembling, you- you’re experiencing some sort of shock or-”

“Just a nightmare, the-” she swallowed, “the manor, S-Samhain.”

She was folded into Narcissa’s arms in an instant, “Jinsey? If you are tired, you needn’t, but I would ask if you might put the kettle on? Hermione’s had something of a fright.”

“She doesn’t-”

“You need warmth and comfort and I’m not inclined to leave you needlessly.”

Jinsey appeared, ears drooping with either sleep or sadness as she stared at Hermione with tear-glittered eyes, a tray of tea floating in the air behind her. “Jinsey is here, she is sorry Hermione is being having night-scares. Jinsey is bringing tea and hugs,” she said, waddling forward to wrap slender arms around Hermione’s neck.

“I- I really am okay.”

She _was_ just...maybe not as much as she wanted to be. Her panic and sympathy felt double. Those poor people she’d been hurt with, oh _God_ some of them had been _Muggles._ One the wife to a Pureblood Wizard unbeknownst to her! She’d not a single clue about magic or the Witches and Wizards, he’d abandoned his magical life to take up a quiet, peaceable one with her, and then suddenly she was being tortured for sullying him somehow, restrained, made immobile by some woman pointing a stick at her and saying a weird word and then she had to watch as the woman, a ‘Witch’ turned on her husband and carved _Bloodtraitor-_

“Oh my darling, I’m so sorry,” Narcissa sought to soothe as Hermione wept against her shoulder, Jinsey making a distressed sound that turned into familiar humming. “You are safe, and no harm will come to you, not while I am-”

_“-here,” Professor Black said quietly, peering about the hall and waving her forward, into her quarters, “please do come in.”_

_Hermione sniffled around a soft sob as she entered the Professor's rooms, turning the moment she heard the door shut secure behind them to wrap her arms around the older Witch, burying her face against her as she wept, the woman hesitating only a moment as if assessing that this was a hug, and she returned it soundly, wrapping her arms around the girl and bowing her head to press a kiss to the top of her head before resting a cheek there, "You'd the nightmares again. Oh my darling, I'm so sorry."_

_"I'm sorry," Hermione let out, the words wrapped in a bit of a whining sound popping off the back of her throat, "I shouldn't- y-you've had a long week,"_ long week? _"and I shouldn't-"_

_"Never you mind that, I…I am glad, not for the circumstance but that you would come to me for comfort. Come, let me get you some tea. You'll find I've an addition to my parlour now," Narcissa invited, guiding her along to see she'd more than just the one lonely armchair placed before the fire. There was a matching one just across a small side table from it. Narcissa brought her to be seated in the one she stole the last time she was here._

“I’m okay,” Hermione promised, crying slowing, and she brought her hands up to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hands. “I think I just uh…it’s a bit much on its own, and my- my present self dreamt too.”

“Yes, I’m being duel comfort to you I hope,” Narcissa said.

“There is needing to be being two Jinseys!” Jinsey lamented the fact she couldn’t go to both Hermione’s at once. But she brightened at, “Oh! Does Mistresses wish for Dobby to bring tea and hugs? Whatever Jinsey is needing Dobby is doing!”

“We’re okay, but thanks Jinsey,” Hermione said, raising a hand to stroke the Elf’s head. “Sorry we woke you, I appreciate the tea, do you want any? Do you need anything at all.”

“Jinsey is being well,” she yawned into her hand, shaking herself a bit, “Is Mistresses needing anything else?”

“I believe we’re well at hand,” Narcissa said.

“Yeah, go get some rest, have sweet dreams,” Hermione wished her.

“Jinsey hopes Mistresses are having the sweetest dreams!” the Elf wished them before popping from the room.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked Narcissa as soon as they were alone.

“Of course darling."

"Sorry, I meant is your present self alright?" Hermione wondered. "I've just said something about you having a long week and you said not to worry about it."

"Well then that must be all there is to the matter," Narcissa supposed…uh-huh.

Thinking back on this week's memories… yeah, the few she had of Narcissa were her looking like she hadn't slept very well. Something more subdued about her actions, not in a way that was all that obvious, just a subtle shift she'd learned to spot in the future's Narcissa. "If something was wrong, you'd tell me, right?"

"Nothing is _wrong_ , there is no need to fret darling, my present self is well."

"But-"

"Everything is fine, Hermione. Do cease worrying yourself," Narcissa intoned, raising a hand to feel at Hermione's cheek, her forehead before pressing a kiss to the Witch's temple, "I'll run you a warm bath," she said, rising up off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Well then. Future Narcissa wasn't going to give her answers. Maybe her Present self would have more luck?

_"Here darling," Narcissa said, handing Hermione a tea cup laden saucer as she set a small plate with a few warm scones on the table at her side, already sliced open, topped with cream and jam. "I hope you enjoy cinnamon tea? I had to be cautious in my selection," she offered somewhat apologetically. Oh, it wouldn't be wise to drink tea made from ingredients found in sleeping potion when the whole point of this nonsense was she had to take a break from it. Chamomile, lavender, those were out of the question._

_"Cinnamon's great, thanks," she said, sipping gingerly. Merlin, that felt better, warmth spreading through her chest as she swallowed._

_"Do please help yourself," Narcissa invited, gesturing to the plate as she took a seat across from Hermione. “You barely touched your dinner.”_

_“Stalking me, Professor Black?”_

_“Observing from within a realm of care.”_

_Hermione shrugged. “Can’t say I don’t do the same…is anything the matter?” she wondered. “I know your mission is stressful, um…I mean has something happened, or…is it just getting to you more lately? Do you need more help with Jinsey not around? I know you must miss her.”_

_“I do miss her, but only in the sense of her companionship, I can manage well enough on my own, I…have never_ been _on my own, I went from my parents home to that of my husbands. I find I’m enjoying my agency.” Gosh, yeah. Hermione was relieved for the woman, for Draco, Merlin he’d been so happy, excited for his mother on Halloween, quietly celebrating her divorce. “I don’t find that I often want for company, with my current schedule, between classes and faculty meetings and the majority of my meals being with others…though I must say I do rather miss our detentions.”_

 _Hermione’s stomach sank at that, hesitating at her next sip of tea, she immediately lowered her cup to question, “You…you’ve been so down lately because we’ve not needed more lessons? I didn’t mean- I didn’t realize- I mean we’re friends and I love our lessons and dinners together I just...I’m so sorry I didn’t realize you were_ lonely _, oh gosh that- that hasn’t been why you’ve been so upset lately, has it?”_

_“No darling, I’m not upset, my distress of late...I suppose perhaps my work is, as you say ‘getting to’ me. It is nothing of concern, put it from your mind.”_

…that was of a similar enough nature to ‘everything is fine’ and ‘do cease worrying yourself’, delivered in that same tone of voice where…when Narcissa offered sincere assurance, that’s what it sounded like, warm and genuine. Here, in these instances she sounded casual, which mightn’t seem that odd but…no, something was up, the woman was lying. Which was her right as a Slytherin, Hermione supposed, but not about her well being, she’d made it more than clear that wasn’t allowed, if she needed help, or comfort, or even a kidney, she was supposed to speak up and let Hermione know!

_“So...you don’t want to talk about it?” Hermione checked._

_“Not particularly, it’s nothing. I do appreciate your concern,” Narcissa said. “Do you...wish to speak? It was you who came seeking comfort. What can I do for you that might help, my darling?”_

_Hermione blushed. “You’ve already done a lot I...I am sorry, I just woke up and it felt like I couldn’t breathe in the Tower and I didn’t want to scare my dorm mates by having them wake to me pacing around the room like mad. I’m just glad I cast privacy wards before falling asleep,” she shook herself, “I...I don’t know. You’re the only person who knows about it, I haven’t talked to anyone about…I don’t want to scare them, Harry or Ron or Draco, give them nightmares of their own, I mean they have enough as it is, really.”_

_“...Draco suffers nightmares often?”_

_Hermione shook her head, “No. I mean when he first showed up at the Burrow, yeah, but…I mean you’re his mum but still, I promised to keep his confidence, but we’ve something of an open-door policy,” she shrugged. “He lets me know, talks about them with me if he’s had a bad night. Or Harry, and he keeps me in the loop because...well, he’s Harry, he...he really does love Draco, he gets nervous he hasn’t said the right thing or comforted him enough so, he double checks with me. I’m pretty well up to date on the matter. He’s not had any recently...I mean, nothing he’s needed to talk about to feel better over.” at least she didn’t think? He’d brushed it off a few days ago, when he showed up to breakfast looking like he’d not slept well at all. Harry had been quiet about it, just assured that Draco had talked it out, then suggested she go see if he wanted to have a go at some Wizard Chess, that might cheer him up, having a game with her._

Oh, Harry had written Tuesday morning, asking if she’d make a point of checking in with Draco and assuring her she was fine...oh God, she really should have been paying better attention to her memories this week, she hadn’t...if she’d seen, she might have put two and two together then, that he was...having nightmares about Halloween? It had been pretty jarring, one minute everything being fine and fun and having a great time with friends, and then suddenly there’s all the screaming and yelling and scrambling to get her to the Hospital Wing.

_“He is rather open to you, I do appreciate it, that you...give him someone he feels safe to confide in, even things he has been raised to perceive as weakness.”_

_“...that doesn’t sound like a ‘you’ thing.”_

_“I assure you, it wasn’t.”_

_“Lucius...what? Made fun of Draco for having nightmares? Even when he was little?”_

_“Demoralized him,” Narcissa corrected, “instilled in him the idea that it is shameful and weak to have or seek comfort from such things. He only ever sought such comfort from us once, in the night when he was younger,” she looked a bit forlorn about it even now. “I was always of a mind to allow him to join us, if it would make him feel safer, at comfort having those who would protect him at his side. Lucius always forbade it.” Oh, there was almost something like a smirk tugging at her lips._

_“You figured a way around it,” Hermione said, and the woman smiled at her observation._

_“I did, a small victory but an important one, for me. Draco was not permitted in our bed, but I set wards to alert me if ever Draco was under distress while in his bedchamber, I would feel pulling on my magic and would go do his side. I had to be quiet about it, but if Lucius was asleep,” she shrugged._

_“I know it couldn’t feel great, not being able to always be there for Draco in ways that weren’t approved but that’s...that’s really clever, you’re a good mother.”_

_“I do pray so,” the woman swallowed, clearing her throat, “what presses now is that I be a good...loved one, to you. I know it is the weekend, you’ve no strict schedule but it wouldn’t do for you to derail your sleeping hours, you must rest, you cannot stay awake the whole of your break from potion.” The hell she couldn’t, she’d hardly slept a handful of hours the week of her OWLS. A weekend with little sleep wasn’t going to kill her._

_“I’m okay, I just needed to...just saying it happened, having a cry with someone who understands was all I really needed. I feel better I...I should probably leave you to get some sleep.”_

_“You feel confident in returning to sleep?”_

_“I’ll go back to bed,” she said. She would. She just...might brush up on her Arithmancy, get ahead on her study plans for this weekend. Oh, she hadn’t done the Quibbler’s Rune’s puzzle yet, Draco had asked her about it, if she’d done it yet or not, he’d sounded suspicious about it honestly and that struck her as odd._ Well, her future self had, just the other day. Oh he _had_ asked! Once he read her reply about her time! That jerk thought she cheated, that she beat Blaise’s time because her present self had already completed it, giving her all the answers! The absolute nerve!

_“Darling, your Occlusion is spot on, but you’ve...a very Slytherin tendency for semantics. The assurance you’ll return to bed may well be true, but it does little to verify you intend to sleep. You still won’t abide Dobby endeavoring to aid in putting pleasant dreams to your magic?” Hermione shook her head, insistent. She’d pretty much rather crawl in a hole than be babied like that, there wasn’t anything shameful necessarily but it was still embarrassing, she’d feel that enough just having the Elf do so, if he was caught by one of her dormmates? Merlin. No thank you. “...well...what of myself?”_

_“...pardon?” that- that wasn’t...it wouldn’t be so much embarrassing as scandalizing for the others to wake and find Professor Black in her bed, but Merlin, just what was the woman on?_

_The woman was blushing, shy as she spoke through the thought process of, “You needn’t return to the Tower. If you feel it would be of comfort I...our magic has interacted before, between our future selves, and in our Occlusion lessons, it...has a pleasant relationship. If you remained here...it would be nothing untoward, I assure you, some contact is required but a comfortable chair will suit me, you could take my bed and I would hold your hand.”_

_Oh… “You did that...not the magic stuff but…holding my hand, I was pretty sure it was you, anyway, when I was in the Hospital Wing?”_

_“Ahh. I was concealed from view but yes, I...I did. I was worried for you.”_

_“I appreciate it, I ...I was a little out of it, confused, it helped, knowing you were with me,” Hermione softly confessed. “I...appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to put you out of your bed though, keep you up tonight, comfortable or not, a chair isn’t great for sleeping in, not really.”_

_“ If I could be made comfortable would you agree?”_

_“I...I am tired. And yeah, I can’t stay up all weekend I guess. I don’t think...I don’t feel uncomfortable um...I assume your bed isn’t tiny, there isn’t anything wrong, I don’t think if we each took a side and um…”_

_“Hold hands.”_

_“Yeah, that. I mean if you want-”_

_“Darling, I’m the one who has offered. You needn’t be perplexed. It is just sleep, an act of comfort to guard you from further torment.”_

_Well...yeah, she didn’t feel uncomfortable with the idea, maybe...a bit too comfortable. She didn’t feel unsafe and if it kept her from seeing Death Eater torture rituals, she was rather well all for it. No one would much question her absence come morning, she was usually the first one up on the weekends anyway and she didn’t feel like calling on Dobby for nightmare duty but he’d have no problem getting her a change of clothes, it would just look like a normal Saturday to anyone at the Tower._

_“If you’re sure it's alright with you.”_

_“Absolutely,” Narcissa assured, and with quick assessment of her empty tea cup and the single half-scone left on the plate, “do you wish for more tea, or shall we retire?”_

“Narcissa, your present self is trying to kill me,” Hermione informed the woman as she emerged from the bathroom to pull her to her feet and lead her to the bath.

“Is she? A pity as it is my understanding she does so wish to be of comfort.”

“I’m worried she isn’t letting me be of comfort to her,” Hermione said, reaching to pull up on her jumper to pull it overhead but Narcissa beat her to it. Herminoe’s hands stilled when the older Witch’s hands went to her waist, pulling her close and caressing her hips as they made their way to the hem of her jumper before dragging it up, hands against her skin blazing pleasant warmth through the younger Witch as Narcissa pushed the jumper up smirking as she met Hermione’s gaze,

“Arms up darling.”

Oh yeah. Arms, she had those. Up they went and the woman aided her in pulling the jumper overhead and then down off her arms once she lowered them again and…

“Narcissa-” she didn’t get to distract her from helping-

The woman’s arms were around her then, capturing her lips in a kiss as a hand slipped low to cup her bruised bottom, “Come my love, I’ve drawn us a bath.”

“...us?”

There was a kiss to her neck then, over the mark the Witch left there earlier. “Of course,” she said, kissing lower, “does that not sound agreeable?” lower still, another kiss that ended in a nip of teeth against her skin.

“It- it's fine with me I- you-” Hermione shook herself, raising her hands to rest on Narcissa’s shoulders to guide her back, off of her a bit, meeting her gaze. “You don’t- don’t-...I’ll drop it. I don’t like that you’re keeping something from me but don’t...do stuff with me just to distract me from talking about something you don’t want to, I don’t want...I never want you to do something you wouldn’t want to, just to placate me.”

Well, it had been a while since the last time Narcissa stared at her, the way she did when the younger Witch...she realized it came whenever she set a new standard for how the older Witch could expect to be treated. “...you feel it would be an abuse, to let me do so solely to distract from the topic.”

“I don’t _feel_ it would be, it is. Sex shouldn’t be a weapon, I wouldn’t ever want you doing something for any other reason than purly just feeling like-”

Mirror glass was cold against her backside as she staggered back a few steps, Narcissa’s weight thrown against her as the woman kissed her silent. “Do yes please drop the topic I am avoiding and join me in the bath.” Then, “Nothing is badly wrong, I am not in danger or facing anything terribly daunting, it is a topic my present self does not wish to broach with you, I’m merely respecting my own wishes as we’re well in one acord in this regard.”

Hermione woke in time with her present self, she wasn’t certain if it was a coincidence, that she hoped to wake around the same time, having taken a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep so she got some more rest without necessarily alerting Narcissa when she woke up. Either way it suited. She laid in bed, paying careful attention to her developing memories.

_It was confusing to wake and not see her canopy overhead, she would have shot up in her initial startle but there was weight around her shoulders, her waist, arms she felt safe in- oh God! The woman had just offered to hold her hand, not asked Hermione to please climb all over her in her sleep! Crap! Oh Merlin, the woman was stirring!_

_“Good morning darling, I do hope you slept well?” the woman questioned, voice soft with sleep, speaking as if there was nothing at all unusual at hand._

_“S-sorry, yeah I slept- I didn’t have more nightmares, I-”_

_Narcissa studied her a moment, releasing her hold. “I’m glad. There is nothing to apologize for. I’m pleased to have helped you, we…” she considered something a moment. “Are you hungry? I could arrange breakfast?”_

_“I should probably head to breakfast with everyone, Draco will be up, I’m usually the only one awake to eat with during the weekend,” Hermione rushed out, it was true! And she’d already well overstayed her welcome._

_“There is something we should discuss,” Narcissa said as Hermione rose to her feet._

_“R-right now?”_

_“...if you’re at discomfort to speak now, perhaps dinner would better suit?”_

_Oh. Maybe it was about whatever she’d glossed over last night. Hermione turned to look at her, “Is it...something you’re upset about? I can stay if you’re ready to talk.”_

_“No darling, it is not a topic I find at all upsetting. It is a conversation I’m most eager to have, I’ve just not wished to broach it, while you were recovering, and so busy with your week. Join me here, tonight at dinner hour, won’t you?”_

_“Alright, yeah, I can do that.”_

_“Splendid.”_

It would be even more splendid if her present self could get it together! Call Dobby, get changed, get gone! There was only one conversation Hermione was concerned with. She occupied herself with dressing, slipping out into the hall to check in on Jinsey. The Elf wasn’t anywhere in sight, though sometimes it was hard to tell, the bed hadn’t been much altered save for height, brought lower to the ground so Jinsey needn’t use magic to climb into bed herself, it was still the same size which, while not ideal for two Witch’s was plenty of room for the Elf…. _Elves_ , occasionally, she could easily get lost, indistinguishable from her blankets and the many pillows they’d collected to make certain she could sleep comfortably. Most of Hermione’s odds and ends, unnecessary things had been moved to the attic, or placed in Narcissa’s...their room? Her Hogwarts letter had a home on the nightstand there now, and so did most of her clothes, the ones she wore most often anyway, she’d left other things behind in her closet for storage sake and too, Jinsey occasionally found something she liked to wear.

She found the Elf in the living room, sitting on the window seat, sipping at a cup of tea and quietly watching the neighborhood start to wake. Their windows were charmed for privacy, no one much knew who was in the house, let alone a House Elf that might appear a touch abnormal to the non-magical population, that’s what Narcissa had been saying as of late, ‘non-magical’, it shouldn’t have surprised her so much, the woman coming to the conclusion that the term ‘Muggle’ might sound insulting, it wasn’t the prettiest-sounding word, Hermione...had been tentative about it, she never used the word much around her parents, she didn’t like the idea of labeling them as different people from her, but yeah, she got it, Narcissa got it a lot quicker though.

“Jinsey?” Hermione softly announced her presence, not wishing to startle the Elf who brightened at her voice.

“Oh! Good morning to Hermione! Jinsey is hoping she has been sleeping well? No more night-scares?”

“No, no more night-scares. Jinsey...there’s something I need to do. Your present Mistress needs me but...I need you to distract her future self, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mistress Hermione wishes Jinsey to be sneaky for her? Against...Mistress?” Jinsey questioned, brow creased. “Jinsey...has only ever been sneaky _for_ Mistress. But she would be doing anything for Hermione Granger and...Hermione is loving Mistress. This is because Hermione is loving Mistress?”

“Yes, it isn’t to hurt her, it’s just...to keep her from stopping me from helping her? I wouldn’t want her to wake and realize I’m helping her present self and try to intervene somehow, I feel like she might and I can’t risk that.”

Jinsey nodded. “Jinsey will be helping Hermione, yes yes yes! Whatever she is wishing, Jinsey will be doing!”

“Can you know when Narcissa wakes?”

“Oh yes, Jinsey can be being knowing.”

“Good, if she wakes up before I get back, try to keep her occupied and if...er...when she realizes I’m not around just say uh…”

“Jinsey is knowing what will distract Mistress. If Hermione can be returning with potion from present Mistress? There is tonic made from Red Raspberry leaves and Garcinia Kola.”

“Oh...I just dashed off to ask her to make...something?” she wasn’t familiar with those ingredients. “That’ll make...er...sense, that I’d do that when she’s just right upstairs?”

“Oh yes, Jinsey is knowing, now Hermione Granger can be going!” Jinsey assured.

“Alright, no problem. Thanks for this,” and...yes, good, Dobby had brought her present self clothing, she’d changed and left Narcissa’s quarters just a few seconds ago, so, the woman was alone. “I’ll ask Dobby to bring me there and back if that’s alright? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Jinsey will be tattling when Hermione Granger is successful, she will not do unkindness to her Mistress.”

Oh, “Yeah, of course, I wouldn’t ask you to keep something from her permanently.”

“Good. Dobby!” Jinsey called.

“Dobby is here!” the Elf announced as he appeared on the window seat, standing though he knelt at Jinsey’s side, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Dobby is so much happiness to see his beautiful Jinsey!”

“Hermione is needing Dobby to be taking her to present Mistress,” Jinsey said.

“Dobby can be doing this!” the Elf, ever helpful, readily agreed, jumping up and coming to the edge of the seat to hold out his arms. “Hermione Granger must hold on tight tight tight, for Dobby to bring her from here and through Hogwarts’s Wards! Is she ready?”

Hermione nodded, coming forward and hugging the Elf back when he wrapped his arms around her neck. There was a dizzying whirl of swirling darkness and then she felt almost like she’d been swallowed, and vomited up by Hogwarts’s Wards as she and Dobby appeared in Narcissa’s quarters to the sound of a teapot crashing to shatter against the floor as the Professor startled and cried out,

“Miss Granger!” rushing to meet her, Dobby disappeared from her arms and reappeared at her feet, they appeared in the middle of the living room and she’d caught herself on the back of an armchair, Narcissa joining her, bracing her free arm by the elbow, “What’s happened? Were you attacked? Why is your clothing dif-” she was catching up now, Hermione was just a bit taller than her Present self, and there were more noticeable differences in her features now as the woman stared into her face, raising a hand to her cheek, thumb smoothing along the healing line on her cheekbone, the woman studying her for all of a moment before wrapping her arms around her neck, pulling her to her chest. “Oh my darling, I’m so relieved you’re alright!”

Hermione chuckled, hugging her back, “We’ve been writing all week, I’ve told you I’m fine.”

“Writing and seeing are two entirely different things I- I- oh gods above I was so scared for you,” the woman insisted, Merlin she was shaking a bit. Hermione rubbed a path up and down the older Witch’s upper back, grateful to hear the soft _pop!_ of Dobby leaving them.

“I’m okay, it was rough but you got me through it.”

She felt Narcissa nod before the woman pulled away, looking her over, “You’re truly well?” she hoped, though her eyes landed on something below her jaw and she gasped, “A week and you are still so badly bruised?! How did she even…” oh, Hermione’d worn a high-necked sweater but apparently, not _quite_ high enough, just a bit of the bruising on her neck peeked out from under her collar, and Narcissa’s cheeks pinked as she realized perhaps maybe her future self had put it there...and then her entire face went a bit red as Hermione had the thought that no, Bellatrix certainly hadn’t been the one smacking her ass until she screamed. The woman’s present self cleared her throat, endeavoring to focus on the moment at hand, “Is something the matter?”

“Apparently. So spill it.” 

“...spill?”

Hermione took hold of the woman’s hands, squeezing gently. “ _You_ are upset about something. Both of you and I’m _worried_ , Narcissa. Neither of you will tell either of me, and I want to help. What’s going on? Whatever it is, you can tell me, I swear, I would never judge or make you feel badly or invalidated...whatever you’re going through, let me _help_ you.” She’d a million terrifying possibilities rattling around in her head, from Lucius harassing her somehow through this ‘good guy’ gambit, was he contacting her? Trying to angle a meeting with her out of the Order? He’d not mentioned her at all, Harry said...they’d met Wednesday evening in Grimmauld Place, or the bermuda triangle for all Lucius knew. He’d been cast upon to be blinded temporarily, wand confiscated, searched thoroughly for a spare but he’d not had one, not on him at least. The man hadn’t even brought his cane, just appeared in Dumbledore’s office, and handed the Headmaster his snake-head hilted wand, before the elder Wizard cast to steal his sight temporarily, with the promise of permanency if anything went amiss, before his guards came and took him...several places, apparently, apparating him at random in an effort to confuse any sense of direction he might have when apparating and then brought him to Grimmauld, stuck him to a chair, and from there, Harry had been advised against speaking to him, the man had to go on literally blind faith that Harry was truly there when Tonks told him to start talking and keep it short, no funny business.

...there hadn’t been, that Hermione knew of. Harry wrote her about the existence of Horcruxes, in even greater detail than what they knew in their time. Tom Riddle’s Diary; which was already destroyed, some bloke named Gaunt’s Ring, Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup; located in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault, which Lucius now had control over, he would see it in Order hands as soon as possible, they need only let him know. Salazar Slytherin’s locket, Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem, and...in an unfortunate turn of events for Voldemort’s dear pet snake, Nagini _._ They could only be destroyed by Basilisk venom...or the sword of Gryffindor, also (to his knowledge, anyway) located in Bellatrix’s vault, as the Sword had been imbued with the power of Basilisk venom when Harry used it to slay the one Tom Riddle set loose on the school in Second Year, that’s why Bellatrix sought to guard it. Maybe…

Oh God, did Voldemort know? Maybe he hadn’t sent Lucius after all, maybe the man did come of his own accord. To give the Order details of Narcissa’s mission, his Master’s greatest weaknesses, all to pin the blame on the woman, maybe Voldemort knew they knew, but Narcissa would be dead, wouldn’t she? If Voldemort thought she betrayed him? And he’d not entrusted her with knowledge of his Horcruxes, Lucius would have had to tell her, and that would only land him in just as much trouble, sharing such information with his wife. Still! Something was wrong, what if Voldemort did suspect someone in his midst was a spy? And what if Narcissa was being called into questioning? That was a thing, a tactic, the Dark Lord might have been calling her to his side all week...but Hermione hadn’t noticed Narcissa reacting to a Call. The woman usually flinched, and on the rare occasion her Mark was visible at the time it darkened in color, had almost a burning glow to it, and she had to sit and resist the tear on her magic until her Present self could go to the Dark Lord and the Call would cease, that hadn’t happened very often lately, but what if that was what she was hiding? She might be in pain, feeling Voldemort calling her nightly for horrible questioning, remembering torture her present self was enduri-

“Oh, darling, _stop!”_ the Present Narcissa pled, freeing her hands and shaking Hermione’s shoulder’s a bit, “Surely my future self doesn’t realize how deeply you fear- gods and stars, I promise you it is nothing so horrific as what you fear I-” her expression crumbled, tears filling her eyes. “It- it will seem rather silly, it’s foolishness, a stupid mistake on my part and a foolish thing to lament.”

“Making mistakes doesn’t make someone stupid, least of all you. And if you feel something is important enough to lament over, it isn’t foolish, what you care about matters,” Hermione intoned. “Tell me. Come on Cissa, please?”

The woman stared at her a moment, blinking slowly before she averted her gaze, chin quivering. “I...I neglected to…” she raised her hands to cover her eyes, “I neglected to pack my light-stone! It lies abandoned in the back of my nightstand in the Manor and I- I did not remember to grab it! I charmed it so it cannot be interfered with, the magic that is in place, it can’t be put out or banished, but neither can it be summoned for fear Lucius would cast to do so, he- he did once, in an upset, summoned it to his hand and threatened to break it.. I laid protection on it when it was returned to me once I apologized for my transgression. When I summoned everything from my drawers to my luggage, it did not come along and I should have _remembered_ that it wouldn’t. It was foolish of me, and now I- I can’t-”

Oh God, yeah, Hermione had wondered at the lack of magical light in the room, the door left ajar so light from the hall filtered in as her present self slept in Narcissa’s bed, the Witch holding her hand and falling asleep to the sound of the woman whispering of pleasant times, funny stories from her First Years endeavors in potions making, and the occasional anecdote from Draco’s youth. She ended up dreaming about a picnic Narcissa had set the scene for, a warm summery day sheltered in the shade of a great oak tree, Witch and her child cuddled together on a blanket laid over cushion-charmed earth, the woman’s back resting against a tree, five year old Draco resting against her, making play with the end of the braid that hung over her shoulder while her hand gently scratched at the back of his scalp as the other held a book she...wasn’t actually reading to him. It was a tome on the Dark Lord’s first rise that Lucius had replaced the little storybook Narcissa had intended to bring, a more than passive-aggressive move she met with ease, Draco was none the wiser, lazing safe in his mother’s arms, belly full of Jinsey’s cooking, as he listened to Narcissa soothingly recite his favored story flawlessly from memory. Oh, Merlin, the stone! Draco made that, it was- Narcissa had called it her most treasured possession!

“Crap. You’re not allowed back into the manor I take it? Narcissa?” oh no, what was happening? The woman was shaking, tremors working through her head to toe, Hermione raised her hands to support the woman by her elbows, drew her into her arms, Narcissa’s hands grasping at her shoulders, drawing in a panicky breath.

“I-I- th-there is a grace period, a m-month in which I was allowed to arrange my affairs and move out but I- I’d already living arrangements, and Lucius did not forbid my packing before we left to leave for the ministry, my things were sent on before we even signed the papers I-” tears spilled from her eyes, “I hoped to n-never return, I-I-I can’t, I- every time I think to, even as I know he shouldn’t be in I f-fear he’ll sense my arrival, have wards set up to detect me, c-come and- I- oh gods, I thought the moment I was free of him he would have no power over me but he- at Samhain ritual he laid hands on me for the barest moment and I _froze_ , utterly paralized with fear, if he’d sought to harm me I could not have thought of a spell to defend myself let alone assault him in return.”

“He laid hands on you?! Were you hurt? _Are_ you hurt?”

“No darling he- he took hold of me to stop me from interrupting B- my sister. When I discovered she wasn’t using her wand at ritual, but her knife I realized your silence that evening might be derived from darker circumstance, of which I was correct. I was going to stop her but I’d orders to guard the perimeter, I was not to lay eyes on ceremony at all, on the word of the Dark Lord and Lucius...he insisted I stay at my post lest I be punished.”

The air was knocked from Hermione’s lungs, she wasn’t sure how the hell she managed to rasp out, “You were _punished?”_ Stopping Bella, saving her? Merlin, she wasn’t sure what might have happened if Andromeda had had even more injury to deal with, she might have been left with permanent scars on her magic if that were the case. She had the thought she’d deal with magical disability for the rest of her life if it meant Narcissa hadn’t been harmed.

Narcissa’s expression melted, warming as she raised a hand to Hermione’s cheek, resting her forehead against hers, closing her eyes. “No my darling, I was not harmed. He went in my stead.” Was it wrong it almost felt gross, the idea Lucius Malfoy had a single thing to do with stopping Bellatrix? Somehow it made her feel slimy, like she’d rather accept a hand-up from falling on her ass from the Dark Lord himself before owing a single ounce of gratitude toward his right-foot boot-licker. Narcissa’s lips quirked in a soft smirk, “His Dark Immanence often goes about bare of feet, if that is any consolation.”

“Gross,” Hermione giggled, and then she sighed. Narcissa felt a bit calmer now, she wasn’t shaking anymore. Still, Hermione closed her eyes and Occluded for good measure, just a moment as she thought over how to handle the issue at hand, banishing her faux wall and exiting her library as she opened her eyes keeping her gaze averted to ask, “wards to detect you...are they tied to your permission to enter the home, or tied to you in your person?”

“They’re tied to my magical signature crossing the wards, so...my person, yes.”

Hermione nodded, still paying close attention to the swirly vine-esque embroidery bordering the edges of Narcissa’s Slytherin green silk robe, not meeting the woman’s eye, “It’s Saturday morning…”

The woman sighed, a somewhat disgusted sound. “His office at the Ministry, there’ll be a Board meeting this morning he’ll be preparing for.”

“Cool...Jinsey’s distracting your future self right now, she’s been keeping quiet about all of this…” Hermione knew exactly why, now, and that was just tough-toenails. “So I’m supposed to bring back some kind of tonic made with Red Raspberry Leaves and something called Garcinia Kola?”

Narcissa’s eyes went wide with panic, “Jinsey needs- darling why did you not say sooner?!”

“Narcissa, it’s just a _distraction_. Jinsey’s _fine_ , I just needed your future self to be completely focused on her present instead of yours, Jinsey said to bring this back as cover.” …she also said she planned to tattle on Hermione when she returned. So why did she need cover exactly? 

“A precaution, a wise one. I haven’t thought of such a recipe myself in years, but I do know the potion of which she speaks, it would be good to have on hand in the event of an emergency,” Narcissa said, relaxing if only just. “We are lucky my position affords me clearance and expedition. I’ve connections to secure...Garcinia Kola, for this potion to work as intended with _absolute guarantee_ , is best prepared from the magically grown and raised variation as opposed to that found in the wild, which makes it costly,” she caught herself grimacing, “I hold no qualm with the price for myself it- I just wish it were more readily available to all who might need it, even poorer Witches or Wizards who find themselves in such circumstance, or...” at Hermione’s questioning stare, “I would not speak of her t-”

“Something about Bellatrix? She needs something like this?”

“...she did, once upon a time. Her husband forbade it, said if it was her own body’s weakness she should suffer for it, he’d not pay hand over fist to secure the life of something weak,” and then realizing she’d not explained. “Tonic of red raspberry leaves and Garcinia Kola is used to aid in the instance of miscarriage. If there is still even a glimmer of magic in the babe, even that of their own parent’s seeking to aid them, it can be used to rekindle their life and secure their parent’s womb.”

“She- Bellatrix- her husband just- there’s _potion_ for that and he just-” she thought Lucius was a monster. He _was,_ but Merlin, oh God, she felt sick. Even more when she realized if Narcissa woke up before she got back Jinsey was going to occupy her with feigning ill, saying Hermione just left to get this, yeah, it was definitely something to have on hand if they could. Crap! When she asked Jinsey for a distraction, she meant...start a small fire or something not scare Narcissa to death! The only thing that kept her from...in the split second after she had the thought, she realized it was an entirely dumbassed instinct, to try and apparate from inside Hogwarts on her own power, but the only thing that kept her from disapparating straight home was the fact that this needed handled and _now_ while the woman was completely distracted, it was better than the woman breaking time to stop her, and if she just went home and tried again some other time...well there wouldn’t be another chance for this, there was no way Narcissa would let Hermione out of her sight once she realized she was aware her treasured possession was still locked away in Malfoy Manor and only Hermione could get it out. The Future’s Narcissa had every opportunity to grab it for herself, and she hadn’t, likely out of fear that yeah, Lucius might come, and he definitely might realize she wasn’t the present’s Narcissa…more than that, her stomach sank at the thought that the woman might be just as scared of him as her present self. She could kill him, she almost hoped he might be home. Maybe having a lazy Saturday morning lie in, she could just make him wake up dead! How, she wasn’t sure, she probably couldn’t cast Unforgivables...no, no for Narcissa she could. Probably. She’d _try!_

“You wished the whole of my future self’s attention on her own present, that is precisely how to secure just that, if she knows you are off at task she’ll be keeping watch over Jinsey and prepared to call for aid. Wait right here, I will be no more than an hour, and it will be prepared, I will return posthaste, do make yourself at home,” she invited distractedly, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek before heading for the Floo.

...she wasn’t certain how to handle the woman fleeing into the dungeons in her silk robe? She was pretty sure it went directly to her office and lab, it was the weekend so no students would perish from the woman incidentally making ‘drop-dead gorgeous’ a literal saying. Hermione had probably less than an hour to do what she needed to do. Which sorted, she didn’t need more than ten minutes tops. “Dobby!”

“Dobby returns!” the Elf gleefully announced, looking about, “Where is Mistress?”

“Brewing potion for me, would you mind doing me something of a favor? I need to go to the Apparation boundary. I can call you from there when I get back, right?”

“Dobby can be doing this, but Dobby can also be taking Hermione Granger anywhere she is being wanting to go!”

...this particular ‘anywhere’ wasn’t anywhere Dobby would be interested in going, he might flat out refuse out of hatred of the place, or fear of her going, he mightn’t even be capable of entering the Manor via apparation any longer, but things might work differently for House Elves...it didn’t much matter, she’d never make him go back. “This is more of a solo-trip. In and out,” she shrugged.

Dobby held out his hand and she took hold before he snapped his fingers and they whirled their way to appear at the Apparation boundary. “Hermione Granger is to be safe!” he intoned.

“I will be,” she would, it was.

...it was not. Hermione Granger was conceding her title as ‘Brightest Witch of an Age’. She failed the Wizarding World at large by letting Harry fall into Death Eater hands at the height of the Second War, failed to realize for 95 days that Narcissa Black was entirely in love with her, and failed to remember, marvelous as she was at apparation…

She was capable of doing so without her wand. And she had.

Because her wand was at home. Under care of Narcissa. Because she was supposed to be resting her magic, and she very much felt _why_ once she crash-landed on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s bedroom in a heap of limbs, thankfully all still attached and in one piece but ouch! She’d not been splinched but stone still hurt skin! And muscle and bones. Nothing broken though, that was good. Still, what struck her harder than stone was the realization she’d apparated into what was now entirely enemy territory without her wand. It was fine, it was fine. The divorce had made Lucius and Narcissa incapable of adjusting the warding on their homes to permit or deny access to anyone, feuding couples couldn’t deny access to loved ones or their children or something in some gambit to frustrate or manipulate their soon-to-be-ex, nor could they permit somone...like a new lover to stir the pot, or a hitman or something to take them out. Anyway, between Draco’s defecting causing Voldemort to reconsider moving forward with making Malfoy Manor his base of operations, and being incapable of doing so until the divorce was finalized…’grace period’, she doubted the wards could be tampered with full-stop until it was over? She...she hoped that was what it meant, anyway.

It didn’t much matter, she realized as she rose up to her feet. A Death Eater was already here.

...a lone Death Eater, dead to the world in his bed in the midst of his darkened room, even as his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling overhead. And as much as Hermione had been absolutely certain she would murder the man on sight when next she saw him, timeline and moral compass be damned...she came to the realization she wouldn’t, not like this, not even if she did have her wand and her magic didn’t feel like it was sending her hateful jabs of resentment for dragging herself from Hogwarts to God damned _Wiltshire_. 

Because lying in bed, atop rumpled, filthy sheets was Lucius Malfoy, wan and pale, dead-eyed staring upward, he didn’t even raise himself to see who had entered...maybe he hadn’t heard her. She...for a moment she almost thought the man _was_ dead, but there was a subtle rise and fall to his chest. She wasn’t a medical professional but breathing usually meant living.

This...didn’t exactly look like living. The room was dark, curtains drawn shut with only the barest light breaking through,dust danced in the light streaking in between curtain cracks, and covered just about every available surface to some degree. The gleam of golden light glinted off _several_ empty bottles of varying sizes all over the large bed, a few had fallen onto the floor, smaller bottles with just a few drops a familiar purple potion, far too many doses of Dreamless Sleep than what could be healthy of...well this place couldn’t have been like this for more than the past week. There were empty bottles of wine, a red stain on the wall where one had been hurled at it, it looked like, shards of green glass on the floor, and most immediately around the Wizard now, was a ring of empty bottles of FIre Whiskey, save for a partially full one lying open, neck cradled in Lucius’s hand. The place was...wine stained and glass scattered, one...maybe two changes of clothing on the floor? The man was lying in plain linen sleep pants that had certainly seen better days...they were supposed to be white or cream or something but they were dingy and greying, wrinkled and just sort of looked like the only thing the man was regularly wearing...without cleansing them. Nothing was clean, good God the place smelled like dust and booze and sweat, moldy like perhaps some of the unwashed bedding or maybe the towles on the floor were beginning to, and the man...didn’t look like he’d actually cleansed himself, his hair was greasier than Snapes usually was, if he had showered or bathed or something it had been to just...rinse off? Let the water hit him? 

“...it is as you left it. I can leave.” his voice croaked hollowly from the bed, dull and deadened. “I had avoided...I left this chamber empty when I found it, so you might re...retrieve it without...I can leave.”

Well _Hell_ . She had to think. What was she supposed to do?! She couldn’t apparate, not...not immediately, she was pretty sure she’d land on the Malfoy’s lawn in a heap of literal limbs then, splinched all to hell. He wasn’t looking at her so maybe...could she pull off a Bella impression? _Greetings ex brother in law, oh yes I see you too also enjoy suffering?_ Just who did he think he was speaking to?

The man sighed wearily, slowly drawing himself up, “I will go-” and then he stared at the Witch standing in the middle of his darkened bedroom, bloodshot, bruise-lidded eyes peering at her as he spoke softly, tones incredulous, “Narcissa?”

“Of course I’m not Narcissa, why on _earth_ would she ever want to come back _here_ ever again?” Hermione snapped. She was fucked, she was fucked, she was so fucked, she was here, without a wand, without even properly working magic to boot, so she might as well go out telling Lucius Abraxas Malfoy he could go fuck himself. “This place is a shithole, and that was before whatever the hell has happened this week.”

“That was your magic crossing the Wards-” he looked confused, assessing like he was trying to sort out if Narcissa had polyjuiced herself or something but the way she was speaking...even in disguise Hermione didn’t think the present Narcissa could talk back to Lucius in that way, and neither did he, apparently. “Her magic…” he squinted at her as if uncertain who she was before, “You are Hermione Granger. Albus sent you I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Apologies, I wasn’t expecting...well I did not expect he would send you. Whatever possessed you to enter my home this way? How? The Headmaster can send whomever he wishes through the Kitchen Floo but...”

“I’ll enter your home any damn way I please. What are you on about, kitchen floo?”

He stared at her momentarily, as if suspicious. 

“When did the Dark Lord truly return?”

“You mean despite popular belief? He endeavored to once, through Quirrel but I suppose you mean Fourth Year. Spring of 95.”

“What were your OWL marks?”

“Ten O’s and _one_ E.” Bloody Defense against the Dark Arts.

Lucius nodded, and then he swallowed, eyes glittering with tears before he bowed his head to question “...how fares my son?”

“That’s no business of yours.”

His hands clenched in the bedsheets at his side. “No...no one will tell me...h-his article, that was so dangerous and then I’d rumor he was in the Hospital Wing ju-just pl...please, Miss Granger.”

“He wasn’t _in_ the Hospital Wing. I was,” Present her, but still. “I got hurt, he carried me there and stayed with me, any rumor you heard just meant that’s where he chose to spend his weekend. He’s safe,” she said. This was the arsehole who did nothing but belittle him his whole precious life and then cast him aside, wanted _death_ on him the moment he stopped cowing to his will! “He’s safe and he’s happy and he’s _amazing_ , he is _brilliant_ and _strong_ and _brave,_ the most brilliant _Wizard_ of his age, that’s for damn sure, and that is absolutely no thanks to _you.”_

“It is in spite of me...yes,” he said slowly. His voice was strange, off, tearing from his throat like he’d screamed it raw and he was...cohesive enough but everything came off a bit like rambling. “Thank you Miss Granger. You...you’re here to inspect the Wards?”

“...and if I am?” she wondered. Would they be different somehow? “You can’t change them until the end of the month.”

He huffed as if impressed. “Very good Miss Granger, yes, should any Death Eater make question, well I certainly hope for your sake, no such thing befalls you,” he offered softly, shrinking back when Hermione scoffed at the idea because yeah right, he hoped no such thing. He pressed on to say, “but that is precisely what I’ve said.”

“What you’ve said?” meaning a lie? Shocking. Genuinely if it was a lie to the Dark Lord.

Lucius looked up, blinked at her momentarily, and it...oh Merlin it was the first time he’d properly sat up really, hair falling back out of his face as he raised it to her. He’d...stopped Bellatrix, Narcissa had said, got her to quit using her knife on Samhain but not...not before she used it on him. God there was a slash slanting down toward his chin on his left cheek. “I may be speaking out of turn to the Headmaster’s wishes if he’s not shared such detail with you but...well if he’s entrusted you with this task, you’re free to know, too you’ve access to my home and that- you mustn’t- you must not return, Miss Granger. Never. I will be opening my home to the Dark Lord shortly, he had planned to months ago but...well there have been a great many things halting such a plan, he reconsidered after...August, and then of course with the Ministry poking about when we began our divorce proceedings I had to remove all Death Eater ties from their purview of our wards, and I’ve stilled him further, telling him I’ve no control over the wards until the end of the month, it is _then_ I _must_ allow the followers he wishes to reside with him full access to my home,” just in time for Christmas, how festive. “In truth the only alteration that cannot be made is that in regard to Narcissa’s access. I’ve added the Headmaster, your key Order members. I do not recall adding you but…” his eyes went to the watch on her wrist, peeking out from under her sleeve. It clicked then for her, she carried Narcissa’s magical signature with her everywhere, when she wore her watch, that’s what tripped his wards. For him the watch somehow brought him to the conclusion, “You...are friends with my...with Narcissa. She’s permitted you, of course, she...Albus said she has been working with...” he cleared his throat, “You’re free to check as you please, verify for yourself. If Narcissa has given you similar access, you will be capable of seeing what another could not.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, and when she hesitated her heart leapt into her throat because fuck her he raised his wand...but he cast at the air overhead, revealing weaving lines of warding lacing the house.

There were two lines, ebony black weaving a snaking pattern through the room, Narcissa and Lucius. But off of them glittered silvery tendrils of light, a single one wrapped around Narcissa’s line... _Hermione Granger_ in ghostly silver letters coasting along the line. Surrounding Lucius’s were several lines swirled together as they wrapped around, the names of _Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Kingsly Shacklebot, Alastor Moody, Arthur Weasley, William Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks…_ the line with Tonks’s name had deep scratches in it, it was unbroken, but it...looked like someone who wasn’t Lucius had endeavored to edit it. The Wards _had_ been checked by the Order already then, Merlin Tonks really did hate her name but if he swore allegiance to ‘Nymphadora’ there was no changing that, neither would it have worked without using her actual name, barmy woman. He’d said something about not being around a lot, earlier in the week or something? She must have come ‘round when he was out. This was...Merlin he’d sworn them access to anywhere he resided, like Narcissa had with her, attaching their permissions to enter the home to _his_ . Because if anyone who _wasn’t_ keyed into the warding in such a way looked at them, they would see Lucius and Narcissa’s lines alone...Lucius’s alone, when the month was up. Lucius was a member of the household and he couldn’t see Hermione’s name over Narcissa’s line, that’s how secure it was. Come December? Voldemort would have a line of magic woven through the house permitting him access, and he’d be none the wiser to the over half-dozen Order Members permitted access as well, he could stare at these wards until he was blue in the face, but unless he was given access the exact same way and became a sub-line in their warding, he’d never see anything more than the dark lines that would represent himself and his followers, no vows exchanged, mere permission granted, visible to any and all.

“The Kitchen Floo?” she questioned again.

“It is connected to the Headmasters office now. No one...I will be entertaining would much venture into the kitchens proper, it is the least likely of Floos in this home for any to examine who...who shouldn’t,” he swallowed. “You may examine it, leave from there if you wish.” She might have to, Merlin. How exactly would that go over with the Headmaster if he was in his office?...he’d probably look at her, know exactly what was going on without anyone having actually explained to him their time-traveling plot, offer a _Very good, Miss Granger_ and a sherbert lemon and send her on her way. But first she needed- “You...are acquainted with Narcissa. There is something she left, I... I thought she might return for it, but it was still here when…when I returned.”

“You take a nice little solo vacation?” Hermione supposed.

He shook his head. “I kept from the home, and when I was in residence it was in a guest room in another wing. If she came for it I...well I did not think it best she see me, and I- I could have sent it but I feared any form of contact might put her to discomfort. She should not...I needn’t exist to her mind outside the realm of instances our paths must cross for the Dark Lord,” he cleared his throat, raising a wobbly hand to point to the nightstand on the right-hand side of the bed. “Her...her light-stone, she...she must have it, pl-please. Gods, it has been...what day is it?”

“...Saturday. The 9th.” He looked like he might be sick at that...and she wasn’t certain if it was the realization he’d wasted a week, was missing a Govenor’s meeting, or...or that Narcissa had spent an entire week at Hogwarts, alone, without her light to bring her comfort. Hardly, it wasn’t like she had that comfort often when she lived here, _he_ made her keep the stone locked away in the nightstand whenever he came to bed! The whole _point_ of it was the security of knowing that she could see in the darkness if she woke in the night! Hermione’s fists clenched as she bitingly assured, “I’ll take it to her.”

“Good, good. She must…she must have it,” his entire expression broke and he fell backward into his bed...and cried, the only bit of shame at the act showed in his raising his arms to cover his eyes. “...she’s so afraid of the dark.”

Merlin the man was drunk, wasn’t he? How he managed to articulate while drunk on so much Fire Whiskey was beyond her he...God, he’d not drank nearly the whole bottle just this morning, had he? The near-empty bottle that had been in his hand, laid loose at his side had to be from last night, surely.

It didn’t matter, he- none of this mattered! He was a literal monster and if he was so very upset over having driven away every last good thing in his life, good! She cautiously moved to the nightstand, giving the bed as wide a berth as possible, opening the nightstand to find a small shining stone no larger than the center of her palm. It shone brightly enough that the stone couldn’t be seen but if she ran her thumb over it shakey scrawly script could be felt, the impression of ‘ _Mother’_ etched into the stone in a smaller Draco’s hand, something that felt like a heart shape. God, that was sweet.

She took the stone and carefully tucked it away in her skirt pocket. “I’ll just examine the floo connection then and be on my way.” Lucius made no response to that as she headed for the door, stepping around the mess of the place.

She had no clue where the kitchens were, she realized upon leaving the bedroom, but an Elf would tell her. Or spit at her maybe, she wasn’t sure, some Pureblood’s Elves could be nasty, she doubted all in the Malfoy Household were like Dobby and Jinsey.

...if...if there _were_ any in the Malfoy Household.

The hall was just as dark and dusty as the bedroom, she withdrew the stone just to navigate the place, the long hall hadn’t windows, and as she ventured further through there were random places where furniture, old, _old_ antiques and portraits and a grandfather clock had been blasted, smashed and blown apart by magic. Merlin, where…

Where was everyone?

“Hello?” what was that one fellow’s name, a friend of Jinsey’s...“Slingy?” she called. That did nothing.

There was...no one. The bedroom, the house, it was all such a sight because there was not a single House Elf in the whole of the Manor, at least not in any of the parts she searched for wherever the hell the kitchen was. The only room she didn’t check was...well one she wouldn’t care to return to, not until it was time. She felt a bit ill, panicky just passing through the vaguely familiar hall that she knew now led from that room, from when Narcissa had brought her back to take her to she and Lucius’s room so she could apparate straight into the place when her Present self needed. But she was decently sure their House Elf staff weren’t gathered in a single parlour of the manor.

She wasn’t turning around because Lucius Bastard Malfoy was drunk out of his mind, overdosing on Dreamless Sleep, and had not a soul around to help. She just couldn’t find the kitchen! That was all!

“Lucius. Hey!” she stood at the end of the bed where the man laid as she left him, arms over his eyes. She leaned forward to press her hands into the mattress and shake it a bit to attempt jostling the man. “Wake up. Where the hell is everyone and how do I get to the kitchens?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

“Freed.”

“...freed,” she repeated carefully.

“Yes Miss Granger. Fired. Freed when they would not leave.”

She wasn’t certain if it was the stress of being in this house finally getting to her or hysterics or the sheer hilarity of the fact he thought such a statement was even close to anything resembling believable, but Hermione stared at him for all of a moment before throwing her head back and laughing. Probably louder and longer than what was appropriate, but Merlin. “ _Freed? You_ freed _all_ of your House Elves?”

“Malfoy Elves, they...they were my father’s things, I want nothing of him h-here,” he rasped out, Merlin, tremors worked through him momentarily. Somehow that brought to mind all of the broken furniture, destruction strewn throughout the house. 

“House Elves aren’t things.”

The man didn’t look at her but his face twisted in a sneer like that was utter nonsense, before he swallowed and said, “Down the hall...into the next corridor, and three flights down. That is the main level of the entry hall. If you proceed toward the back of the house, until you are nearly to the back gardens…”

He fell silent, expression going lax, as did his hands hanging over his arms, had...had he just passed out? “Lucius? Lucius?!” she raised her voice and he jolted awake, raising his arms a bit to peer at her. “Back gardens?”

“The door to the servant stairs is to the east,” great. She needed a bloody map and a compass to navigate this horrible house. Who needed this much space? “Down them, to the sublevel of the home is where the kitchens are kept.”

This was stupid, this whole thing was foolish. He wasn’t supposed to be here and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was...all more than a little strange and she didn’t trust it, and she didn’t trust him. She hated him, for the way he treated Narcissa, abused her, their _son._ But if they lost him...this felt gross and wrong, relying on him but he’d offered the truth on Voldemort’s Horcruxes, and he...he had to _mean it_ when he vowed allegiance to let Order members have access to his home. There was just...something that wasn’t right about all of this and…

Her magic still tingled but it wasn’t bad, and she could _accio_ things wandlessly, small things at least. Larger things if it was summoned with a tag, because tags were small- that wasn’t the point. She hoped they had some, she did _not_ want to figure out how the hell to go about getting...or Merlin forbid making the stuff herself, she didn’t have time. ‘Ten minutes in and out’ had expanded well into thirty. _“Accio_ Sober-Up!” There was clattering in the bathroom just off the bedroom, the sound of a glass cabinet opening and closing before the door swung inward and out came potion. “Here. I’m not asking, sit up, and drink this, now. I haven’t got all day.”

The Wizard sluggishly raised himself, accepting the potion and staring at it, and she raised her brow at him expectantly before he clumsily attempted to pull the cork. Oh Merlin, honestly.

Hermione sighed, taking the bottle back and unstoppering it before passing it off again. “Drink.” Though, “And maybe cut back on the,” she gestured to the room, “drinking.” The man didn’t say anything to that, he just downed potion before dropping the empty vial into his lap, staring downward, shoulders slumped. Hermione turned on her heel and stepped into the bathroom, through the open door. Merlin it was...large and luxurious and it was precious little wonder what with all the gold and marble and what looked like magical taps for different splendid sorts of baths, that Narcissa had some struggle getting used to fiberglass, felt better with the meager stone overlay Hermione could offer. She looked around for anything resembling a clean drinking receptacle. There was a silver goblet on the floor by the tub, sticky with wine, but a good rinse in the sink left it usable enough, she filled it with water and...bathroom. That seemed like a safe place for Narcissa, someplace she could slip into out of view of others which meant…oh Merlin, she hoped her light-stone wasn’t the only thing the woman had abandoned because she’d made it unsummonable.

She felt underneath the edge of the marble counter, and came back with one of Narcissa Black’s spare wands. A slender, plain black thing, the same wood as her new wand, but it didn’t exactly make her magic _sing_. It still hummed nicely enough, and she tested with a bit of scourgify all around the bathroom which was a poorer sight than even the bedroom but it didn’t smell like a pit of despair once she was through with it, just to make certain this wand would cooperate with her.

She returned to the bedroom where the man had remained as she’d left him. “Here,” she said, holding out the goblet of water. “It’s charmed to refill again once you’ve emptied it,” silver was nifty like that, easily charmed. “Go on.”

He took the goblet in hand, sipping carefully and she...well she wasn’t leaving without securing some things, the man obviously couldn’t be trusted, with anything, not even himself apparently. She was going to clear away the bottles anyway so...a little scourgify around to clear the dust and grime and yuck from everything wasn’t that big of a deal. She banished shattered glass and bottles and once she assessed there wasn’t a liquor cabinet just right in the room or the bathroom, she placed wards Molly Weasley had placed on her sons rooms to keep them from sneaking drink after Charlie, in the summer after his Fourth Year snuck a bottle of Fire Whiskey up to his room and then he, experienced drinker that he was, downed half of before sicking up terribly, poisoning himself to the point they nearly had to send for a medi witch or haul him to St. Mungos, it had been a stupid mistake on his part, he hadn’t realized how strong the drink was until he’d had far too much. He wouldn’t be able to bring or summon booze to his bed, lay around drinking all day. She finished with casting to send cleansed clothing to wherever it usually stayed in this room, and robes and button ups and trousers rose up to float to the armoire and wrap themselves around empty hangers, socks and...ugh, undergarments, flung themselves into a chest of drawers that probably cost more than her car.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but get it together. _You_ treated your family worse than _garbage._ And _you_ filed for divorce. This is all _your_ _own_ doing.”

His chin quivered, oh please, honestly. “You are correct, this...this is my own doing. I...I deserve worse than death, the things that have come to pass because of my foolishness, s-seeking to please…” he shook himself, as if his head was clearing and he spared her a glancing look before continuing to stare into his goblet. “...thank you, Miss Granger. I do...I do not deserve your kindness.”

“This isn't kind! It's basic human decency not to leave someone to suffocate on their own vomit!" she snapped at him. "And it’s not _for_ you. It's...I don’t trust you. In fact I hate you, I hate you so much I could-” she sighed sharply, not the point. “But you’re doing something important and worthwhile, or at least you’re pretending to. And if that’s all this is Lucius Malfoy, if you’re just _pretending_ , I will make sure you regret it, I swear to God. You will rue the damn day you ever fucking heard of me, if you hurt Harry or Draco or Narcissa. But if it isn’t…”

“It isn’t, I…” the goblet trembled with his hand and he tightened his hold around it to still himself. “I’ve done so much...I can never undo what I have done. My son, he makes...he’s made this decision and he stands by it, speaks to his conviction…” he raised a hollow stare to look at her, meet her gaze. “If the Dark Lord has his way, Draco and everyone he has come to love, dies. Narcissa...like any who will be discovered to have aided the side of Light, will die,” he dropped his gaze again, head bowed as he vowed, “I will either stop his madness...or die with them. There is no other choice.”

“Well then get over yourself, killing yourself before you can be of actual use isn’t doing them any favors. That’s what you’re doing here, Lucius. If you mean any of that whatsoever, you’re going to sleep this off, and then you’re going to get out of bed, clean yourself up, and act like a damn Wizard. Learn to pick up after yourself, stop drinking the day away, and for the love of _God,_ Lucius, _scourgify!_ It’s three syllables! Use it! Hire your own House Elf to help keep things tidy if you must, better yet, a personal assistant, help you keep your shit together since you apparently can’t take care of yourself worth a damn. You’ve been married to a potions genius for nearly two decades,” in his time, anyway, “so maybe, I don’t know. Act like it? You should know better than anyone chugging any kind of potion constantly tells your magic its not working and it stops wasting energy activating the ingredients you put into your system! Is Dreamless Sleep even still _working_ for you at this point? I didn’t think so. Take a break. A week, at the very least. Drink a nice cuppa and think some happy thoughts about Death Eater sadism or whatever gets you giddy, and see if that helps in the interim!”

There was a pull on her magic, soft, Narcissa’s voice husked with sleep, _“...Hermione? Darling?”_ crap! The woman was awake! She checked her watch...oh thank Merlin. Okay, she hadn’t meant to waste fifty minutes of her life on the likes of Lucius Malfoy but hopefully she could intercept Jinsey, get potion back to her and calm the future Narcissa down. Oh God, she hoped the woman understood.

“I’m taking this,” Hermione said, waving the wand she had in hand. “I’m not navigating your overcompensatory manor for your dungeon kitchens.”

“...thank you, Miss Granger-”

She needed to go and she wasn’t exactly keen on being polite. Her magic wasn’t pleased with her but she managed it, somehow all her littler casting had helped, it felt like, like warming up a muscle before putting it to task. Her return trip to the apparation boundary was a good bit more graceful, landing much more softly, catching herself on her hands and knees...though she shot up just a bit too quickly and went falling onto her ass which was _ouch_ but that was also her own fault. How she messed up going to help Narcissa so spectacularly she would never know, honestly. This was all such a mess! “Dobby!”

“Dobby-” the Elf stopped as he looked her over, “Hermione Granger! She was supposed to be being safe! Why does she look like she has not been being safe?!”

What did she look like? A sight, she was sure. “I’m fine Dobby, we need to hurry if that’s alright. I really appreciate you helping me get around.”

“Dobby is pleased to be helping Hermione Granger,” he looked curiously at the wand in her hand. “Why does Hermione Granger have Mistress’s spare wand?”

She slipped it into the band of her skirt to sit secure at the back of her left hip, shrugging, “Borrowing it. Mine’s at home. Shall we?”

They whirled into Narcissa’s quarters, and almost directly into Narcissa herself, the woman letting out a startled “Oh!” as she caught Hermione against her. “Darling, where did you go? You- gods, whatever have you been-” Hermione immediately started Occluding, faux-wall throwing up a memory from this morning, her concern with wanting to help Narcissa, but not before the Present Narcissa caught a glimpse of a familiarly darkened room...thankfully the blip of memory from just before Hermione realized its owner had been home. “You...whatever possessed you to- how badly are you injured?”

“I’m not!”

“You are pale and disheveled, dust and dirt all over you, oh your poor knees!” oh. Okay so she looked a little concerning, her knees were scraped and caked in mud from her second crash-ish landing, and the first was definitely leaving bruises, Merlin.

“I’m fine, I just...probably overdid it a little with my magic too soon, that’s all. But look!” Hermione said, hoping...oh God, she just hoped this was all worth it. She withdrew the light-stone from her pocket. “See? Back safe and sound.”

Narcissa drew in a wavering breath as she stared at the stone, eyes welling with tears. “You…you made rescue of my Dragon’s stone,” she breathed.

“Of course I did-” she was a bit winded then, nearly dropped the stone she had to clutch in hand as the older Witch launched herself, hugging her fiercely.

“That was so dangerous!” the woman worried.

“Well, Harry calls me Granger-Danger, I come with a warning label.”

“Your magic-”

“Is fine, this was a good test of my current limits and I gave it some much needed use. I haven’t cast all _week,_ it was kind of going barmy.” 

“If Lucius had discovered you-”

Well he had, and yet, “Cissa, I’m _fine_.”

“B-but you…" there were tears on her skin seeping through her sweater as the woman buried her face further against her neck. "You were _tortured_ in that horrible place.”

“And I’ve also had a lovely dinner conspiring with you, in your bedroom. Which was where I went looking for this,” she said, pulling back and offering the stone to her again, the woman accepting it, carefully cradling it in the palm of her hand before holding it to her heart. “Nothing’s ever all bad.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” she assured. And then, “I don’t mean to rush but your future self is definitely awake.”

“Oh!” Narcissa reached into the pocket of her robes to pull out a small-ish black velvet sachet, dropping a look to Dobby as she handed it off to Hermione. Oh. Yeah, definitely didn’t want to worry the father-to-be unless there was _truly_ an emergency at hand, he might recognize the potion, House Elves usually did have knowledge of obscure things meant to help care for their Masters and Mistresses. Narcissa pressed a lingering kiss to Hermione’s cheek before intoning, “Go now, do be safe. You’ll write me, later?”

“Definitely. Dobby? Back garden, if you wouldn’t mind?” probably best to not apparate directly into the house where Narcissa might be anywhere, fretting over Jinsey and plotting to burn the world down if a single thing happened to her.

“And then darling, I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I’ve rather an important meal this evening I need to plan,” Narcissa spoke up, looking to Dobby as she offered reason for the Elf to not dawdle and risk getting caught up in the tail-end of Jinsey distracting Narcissa. “I would appreciate it if you would return post-haste? Assist in my planning? I understand if it would put you to discomfort-”

“Oh no no no! Dobby is _honored_ Mistress is asking! Dobby loved helping his Mistress plan her parties, they was being so much fun and Mistress has always been kindness, letting Dobby sit with her at table and have tea and biscuits and being reading to him seating charts and invitations and menus. And teaching him clock-marks so he is being understanding the timing for their plans!”

Awe, Narcissa beamed at that, almost hugging herself, warm and happy as she smiled and said, “I did so enjoy those times as well. I’m pleased you understood even if I could not outright speak to my candor with you. You were always so diligent and careful with my Dragon in his youth, I’ve always adored you for your care of him. You’ll make a most splendid father,” she assured. “Do hurry back, and I will see to it there is tea and biscuits, shall I?”

“Yes yes yes! Dobby will be returning in two ticks of timepiece!"

Oh, she nearly forgot but something ticked away in the back of her mind, something she’d thought to make certain was handled before leaving...the crash, when she first arrived in Narcissa’s quarters, her teapot, the woman had been so startled by their unexpected appearance that she’d dropped it, there had been sharp shards of porcelain on the floor in the kitchens and Hermione withdrew the spare wand to cast but she found the pot repaired and whole, resting on the counter. Oh, duh, Dobby returned and righted things for his Mistress. Still, she offered the wand to Narcissa, “Here. I um...I know you keep backups around just in case and I figured they wouldn’t be summonable so you might’ve left them behind. I only found the one but,” she shrugged.

“Oh darling, excellent, thank you for thinking of it, I...” Narcissa said, accepting the wand in her other hand, wrists crossed over her chest as she held her rescued possessions there. Was it blasphemous to think she looked almost like a religious figure? Hair cascading down her back in loose soft waves, a veil of pallid gold, silken emerald green robe cinched tight at her waist, hands bearing an orb of light and an ebony wand crossed to frame her heart as she looked to her with so much warmth she felt every syllable of, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Hermione returned, and then nodding to Dobby, the House Elf popped to appear in her arms, hugging her around her neck to hold her secure as they would pass through the wards to go someplace so far-flung. “See you in a minute,” she supposed with a wink, the woman smiling brighter at the bit of silliness that yes, Hermione was leaving her to go be with...her.

“Two ticks of timepiece!” Dobby promised the Witch as he snapped his fingers and pop to the garden they went! Dobby truly spared no more than a second making certain Hermione was safely on her feet in the midst of the garden before he disappeared again.

“Narcissa? Jinsey, I’m back!” Hermione called as she entered their home, dashing through the house and up the stairs, peeking into Jinsey’s room as she passed in case that was where Narcissa had taken the Elf, before moving to the bedroom, heart hammering in her chest, oh God, she felt just awful, Narcissa was going to be so worried-

...Narcissa was the picture of calm collection as she sat in her negligee, silvery reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, back against the headboard with a book in one hand and Jinsey resting against her side, peering up at the page and reading along while the woman stroked the Elf’s head idly. No Andy, no monitoring magic, no freaking out, Jinsey didn’t look like she was pretending much of anything just lying content and reading with her Mistress, hand rubbing lazy circles at her stomach.

“I’m back,” Hermione said tentatively, sachet of potion in hand, “I brought potion.”

Narcissa’s eyes remained on the page just a moment more, as if finishing the paragraph she was on before she lowered her book to look up at the younger Witch standing in the doorway. “And so you have.”

...this didn’t feel like what should be happening? “Yeah um...I hope you’re not upset, it’s- it’s a good thing, Jinsey...she’s okay...you are okay right?” she double checked with the Elf.

“Oh Jinsey is being right as rain, reading with her Mistress and baby,” she looked up at Narcissa, “Is baby being understanding what Jinsey reads in thoughts?”

“I don’t believe so but perhaps," Narcissa supposed, "I feel Draco dearly enjoyed the sound of my voice when I would read aloud while carrying him. He mightn’t understand the words but that he was loved and safe certainly came across, I’m certain your own child would be much the same.”

“Jinsey will be reading to baby then!” Jinsey decided cheerily. “She is gratitude Hermione Granger returns with potion for just in case.”

Hermione breathed a little sigh of relief, part of her had been worried maybe Jinsey had requested it, really wanted her to return with it because she felt something was wrong. “Of course. I’m...really glad it's for just in case.” and...Narcissa was having zero reaction to this. No anger that there wasn’t truly an emergency...no relief either just...serene silence that put a pit in Hermione’s stomach as she stepped forward to hand the little black bag to Jinsey.

“Many thanks to Present Mistress and Hermione Granger. Baby is safe but Jinsey is being having night-scares.” That did have Narcissa’s brow furrowing as she looked to her Elf and Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, reaching to lay her hand over Jinsey’s.

“Night-scares?” Hermione asked, “Jinsey, if you’ve been sleeping badly, woken afraid or sad you know you can come to us, right? Please do, your room’s charmed to tell me if you call, I’ll come right to you.”

“It is being alright, Jinsey isn’t being waking very scared. She is just...they aren’t make-pretend night-scares. Jinsey is being remembering when she was very small, too little to leave mother. Wizard Master from Mother’s house, he was being angry, he kicked and cursed Mother’s friend who was being with her own baby. Jinsey was being in Mother’s arms when she sat with friend while she cramped and bled…” she shook herself. “Baby was being fine. Wizard Master was wanting Mother’s friend to be making her baby for his Mistress...other Mistress,” oh. Some woman he was sleeping with on the side? “She was wanting another and was wanting same parents for them because the first born was so good. So Master Wizard brought potion. Jinsey is knowing she is being safe here but dreaming is making her scared it is warning, not that Jinsey is being in danger, but that baby will need potion.”

Hermione squeezed her hand, “I’m really sorry you have a memory like that. You’re safe here, Narcissa and I would always protect you, always take care of you."

Jinsey looked a bit overwhelmed at that. "Always? E-even when Jinsey is too weak to carry tea tray?" Merlin the Blacks were...something. Elves were long lived but assurances never hurt.

"Even when you're old enough you can't carry even a tea tray. Then it'll be my job to carry you," Hermione promised. Narcissa turned her face away a moment, like perhaps she had to collect and resteel herself. Maybe she mightn't be so upset? "If you ever don’t feel well, or you get scared, or you just need some reassurance, we’re always right here. If I came downstairs this morning and all I asked was if you wanted breakfast, and you had this worry on your mind? I would have wanted you to ask me to get what you needed to feel better, even if this is never necessary, I would want you to have it, just to feel safe. Never hesitate to say what you want or need from us. I’m happy to help, anything you need.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said...almost like a drawl. “You’re always so very helpful, aren’t you?”

Oh God. She gotten played, hadn’t she?

Jinsey’s eyes welled up with tears, “Jinsey was being fibbing with Hermione Granger when she was being leaving for Present Mistress! She would never make worry or trickery for Mistress, Jinsey was being tattling on Hermione Granger when Mistress woke,” she sniffled, a bit miserable with herself, “She is so very sorry she has been tricking Hermione Granger, when she is being so much kindness! Jinsey should never want to make trickery of either of her Mistresses!”

“No, Jinsey, I’m sorry, please don’t be upset with yourself. I shouldn’t have...I didn’t want to worry Narcissa and I didn’t want her stopping me, I was worried she’d attempt to come to me at Hogwarts while I was with her Present self, to stop me or, you know, once I realized what the problem was, I was afraid she’d push herself to go to the manor on her own. It was wrong of me to get you involved and I’m sorry I asked you to do something you aren’t comfortable with, if I made you feel like you had to, I apologize.”

“Hermione isn’t being upset with Jinsey for fibbing?” Jinsey tentatively checked.

Hermione leaned to hug the Elf who readily moved into her hold, snuggling against the Witch as she sniffled. “No, everything’s okay, I’m never going to be upset with you for doing what you feel is right, especially for love of Narcissa. I love you a lot. Are you upset with me?”

“No no no! Jinsey isn’t being upset,” JInsey promised, looking to Narcissa who returned her stare for all of a moment before rolling her eyes.

“It will be fine darling,” Narcissa cooly assured. “If you would not mind, I would appreciate a moment with Miss Granger.”

“Jinsey will be doing as Mistress is asking and leaving her with Hermione Granger who loves Mistress with all of her heart,” Jinsey said as if reminding Narcissa.

“I am well aware, Jinsey. Thank you.”

Jinsey nodded, giving Hermione a sympathetic look before vanishing from the bed.

It was tensely silent for all of a moment, Hermione looking to Narcissa and waiting. Jinsey...hadn’t pretended to be unwell, Narcissa hadn’t been awake very long, she wasn’t sure how much the woman knew about what had transpired today but um...she seemed basically caught up, reviewed her morning memories of Hermione’s arrival and return to her quarters in Hogwarts. So...was she mad?

“Are you hurt?” the woman asked quietly.

“I’m al-”

“Hermione,” Narcissa’s voice heated ever so slightly with warning, “I swear to the very gods.”

“A little bruised, a few scrapes from apparating a little clumsily. I probably shouldn’t cast anything else today.”

“Yes. Apparating from Scotland to Wiltshire and back is rather the strenuous journey to break bedrested magic with,” Narcissa bit out, withdrawing her wand, and Hermione flinched when Narcissa’s magic coasted along her skin, nothing painful, but there was a bit of harshness to the woman’s casting to cleanse her of dirt and dust, the blood and mud from her knees. A bottle flew into the room, a small vial of potion with a dropper lid. The woman crooked an index finger to beckon her forward so Hermione drew her knees up, scooting to sit before the woman who swiftly twisted the dropper up and out to drip potion onto broken skin, to disinfect and aid it in healing, bandaging appearing at the tip of her wand as she cast to cover them. “Is there anything else?” Hermione shook her head. “Good.” and then she cast for privacy, to secure their voices to the room as she leveled Hermione a fearsome glare. “What on _earth_ were you thinking?!”

“I was _thinking,_ you’ve been upset all week and you haven’t said! Again! This is something we’ve talked about! Your present self was _devastated_ at having forgotten Draco’s Light-stone! And don’t pretend for even a moment you’re any less affected. You _love_ that thing, and you should! It’s precious and you should have it! What’s more, your Present self needs it, she’s finally able to actually use it and- Narcissa you deserve to have anything you need to feel safe in your own home!”

“It was my own foolishness, I should have handled it-”

“But you didn’t, and of course not!” Hermione insisted. “Narcissa _you_ wouldn’t even set foot in the manor again, you can’t expect your present self to be capable of returning there after everything, especially after finally being freed from it! Narcissa, little more than a week ago you-” her stomach twisted painfully a lump in her throat, “you were violated in that room, that’s what that was. It isn’t foolishness to be so eager to get out you forgot something, neither is it weakness to not be able to handle going back.”

“I did not want you to get involved!”

“Well then what was your solution then?! Just call it a loss?”

“Yes!” Narcissa yelled. “Better it, than you! Gods _damn_ it, Hermione, when I think what might have _happened!”_ her voice rose fiercely as she did, the woman shot to her feet, pacing a rageful path back and forth before the window. “You could have been _killed!_ Your injuries apparating so soon, so _far_ could have been so much _worse!_ I was _asleep!_ And my Present Self dedicated to potion, I believed you to be waiting in my quarters, or in bed at my side! If your magic had failed?! If you had been splinched and injured in the countryside while I wasn’t even aware you might be in danger- gods _above_ Hermione! That was foolish, wrong! You should not have done such a thing, not to yourself, and not to me! If Lucius had discovered you, or the Dark Lord, his followers- do you think they would have hesitated to dispose of you?! To tortoure and- and to- _violate_ , as you say, murder you!”

Hermione rose up and grasped for Narcissa’s hand, the woman pulling it away but stopping her pacing, and Hermione rested her hands at her sides. Okay, no touching right now, got that. “The Dark Lord and his lackeys aren’t moving in until the end of the month, the grace period’s end. And _if_ something had happened...the Order has serious access to the manor now.”

Narcissa stared at her. “What do you mean?” and then frustrated, “Why are you-” she sighed sharply. “I understand your mind is your own but I must say it is frustrating you would choose _now_ to occlude.”

“The wards, they’re different now and- and-” Hermione swallowed, nervous enough she felt sick, she still...she was still confused about everything that had happened, and she wasn’t sure how exactly to handle this, she knew the Present Narcissa would be wholly incapable of dealing with anything Hermione had seen, it would have been horrible and painful and confusing, but she should _know_ , Hermione shouldn’t keep it from her, especially not the future’s Narcissa.

 _“What?”_ Narcissa snapped bitingly. And then, a touch gentler, “Hermione?” before reaching out, drawing the younger Witch to her as she searched her face, “Darling, what is it?”

“I...I can show you but I- oh God I’m not even sure what happened and I was _there_.”

“Show me. What happened? Was it...were you discovered? Did you find something?”

“I need you to bear in mind that I’m safe and fine, I wasn’t hurt, I...I don’t even think I was in danger really, crazy as that sounds…” she shook herself, meeting Narcissa’s gaze, faux wall still in place as she said, “Lucius was there. He was in the bedroom when I arrived. He um...he thought I was there for the Order, to check and make sure his vows secured their members to the wards, and he...he asked me to bring you your light-stone.”

“He did no such thing!” Narcissa snapped.

“I wouldn’t lie to you-”

“Oh wouldn’t you now?!”

“No, Narcissa- if-” the woman pulled away from her, pacing again. “I just- I wanted to tell you first before showing you in case you...I just wanted to prepare you for seeing. Make sure you have some idea of what you’ll see before just throwing you into it-”

“I’m- you- I cannot _believe_ you would- you should have left the _moment_ you realized he was there!”

“I couldn’t! I...my magic, I- I was _trapped-"_

“Precisely why you should not have gone! It was foolish and dangerous and I- I- I cannot abide speaking of this a moment more, I _can’t_ . I feel ill of this, honestly,” Narcissa spat. “I am so _angry_ with you for your recklessness I could _scream._ Get out!”

“...out?”

“Yes! _Out!_ Down stairs, down the street, I do not _care_ so long as you are safe and out of my _sight!”_ Narcissa snapped, sighing, “I...I need to think. And I...am already aware I will regret a great many things I have said,” she took a bracing breath, “You have relinquished to me the ability to say anything I care to, while I’ve the freedom, I do not wish to say more.”

 _“You’ve permission to say whatever you like, even if it might hurt me...even if it’s_ meant _to hurt me-”_

_“Hermione-”_

_“If I realized sooner our vows were going to actually restrain you from something like_ speaking _, I would have done so sooner. You’ve spent twenty years with your words strangled, I won’t do that to you now, no matter what. Whatever you have to say? Even if it hurts, I want you able to say it.”_

Hermione nodded. “I understand, you’re angry, you should be-”

_“Out!”_

Hermione flinched at her tone, nodding again before she stepped past the woman and made her way to the door, closing it shut behind her.

“Mistress is anger with Hermione Granger?” Jinsey wondered, standing in the middle of the hall as if waiting to see how it went.

“Yeah. Mistress is anger.” she cleared her throat, “But it’s okay, she’s right to be and...I’m really sorry I got you involved. She isn’t angry with you, not at all, I promise. Everything’s okay. Are you? Do you need anything?”

“Jinsey and Mistress had breakfast together while Hermione Granger was gone. Jinsey can be making Hermione breakfast,” she offered. Oh yeah, breakfast was a thing.

“I’m not very hungry, I think I’m going to um...go lie down for a bit.”

Jinsey nodded, closing her eyes and pressing her head into Hermione’s hand when the Witch passed and patted her, before heading downstairs and collapsing onto the couch, groaning a bit miserably. Merlin, she hadn’t realized how tired she was though, not until she was horizontal, but she was sore and sad and her magic felt wrung out. She was already drifting off when just a moment later a small body laid down, squeezing into the space beside her. “Jinsey will stay with Hermione Granger.”

And Hermione whispered a soft, “Thanks…” eyes drifting closed.

There was a tired sigh, a hand in her hair brushing it back before she felt a warm blanket settling over her.

She woke to pulling on her magic, Narcissa’s planner. Thankfully it was on the coffee table, she’d written her last night after dinner when she and Narcissa had settled on the couch for a while. Jinsey had a strange fascination with the news channel, she enjoyed watching the weather man be proven wrong...she likewise cheered his victories when his predictions were correct, but she savored his failures for some reason, it was entirely amusing, _“The Telly-box’s Weather Oracle says we is to be expecting snowing,”_ she’d said the other day, squinting at the surprisingly clear sky overhead their garden, claiming him, _“dumb-dumb Weather Oracle.”_

_Good evening Miss Granger. I hope all is well?_

_I’m home safe. In the dog-house, my father would call it, I’ve been banished to the couch I think, you’re just a touch upset with me for this morning._

_I’m upset with you? To the point you have been evicted from your quarters?_

_Our room, your room. I mean I sleep there now. It’s ours but you haven’t really had a space that’s just yours, a place you can make sanctuary at-will. So I consider it more your space, it’s mine when you say it is, and the moment that doesn’t work for you, I can find somewhere else, it isn’t a major deal to me._ She wasn’t having fun, it didn’t feel amazing but, _I want you to feel safe, have control over your domain. If you don’t want someone around, even if that someone is me, it should be so._

 _I would never evict you from my quarters,_ the Present Narcissa insisted.

_Me and the crick in my neck can assure you you will. I didn’t handle this morning very well, you’ve every right to be upset._

_Darling, if my Future self isn’t going to relish in your company, would you care to join me here? I would like to see you again, if that suits you._

_Do you need me?_

_It is not a dire emergency but there is something I need to discuss. Your help, on a matter of importance to me._

There was clattering in the kitchen, Jinsey humming so Hermione popped in to check with her, “Hey-”

“Hermione Granger! What can Jinsey be making her? Baby is wanting fried pickles and cream!” she announced...almost like an offer, if enticed. Fried pickles she said, but not battered, the Elf was standing atop a stool before the stove, spatula in hand pushing lengths of pickle quarters in a sauce pan around, a sealed jar floating in the air at her side shaking rapid-fire, thickening cream she supposed.

“Narcissa needs me at school, um...I’m sure she knows, but if she asks, that’s where I went? I promise, just there and back as soon as I’ve finished helping-”

“Hermione is to be eating! She was sleeping through lunch! It is nearly dinner!”

“I will, don’t worry.”

“Jinsey is a free Elf! Do not be telling her what to be doing!” the Elf snapped at her, shaking her spatula at Hermione.

“... _please_ don’t worry?”

“That is being better!” the Elf groused her supposal. “Dobby! Hermione Granger is needing Hogwarts again! And she is to be eating or Jinsey will be being displeased at her for not being eating all day! She will be crying and yelling and very angry!”

Dobby materialized in their kitchen, utterly determined that, “Hermione Granger will not be displeasing Jinsey!” he informed her, pointing a spindly finger in accusation before vanishing to pop into the air by Jinsey’s stool to press a kiss to the other Elf’s cheek before disappearing to appear in Hermione’s arms as the Elf popped to exist just before her and she caught him against herself.

Narcissa’s quarters were a little dark, the fireplace was roaring away and there were little orbs of lumos about, soft candle light as she and Dobby appeared. Narcissa sat in her chair by the fire, rising up and setting aside her planner as she smiled for all of a moment before she was rushing to meet them, “Darling?!”

Hermione’s knees had given out on her, she’d held Dobby tight to make sure she didn’t drop him or something, Merlin. The Elf pulled back to stand at her side while Narcissa knelt before her. “Sorry, wards are a little rough to come through.”

“Jinsey is saying Hermione Granger isn’t being eating all day!” Dobby snitched! Where was Harry when she needed him? Oh Merlin that was a lame train of thought, yeah. She needed to eat for the brain power alone.

“...Dobby, do please arrange for a meal for Miss Granger,” Narcissa requested, sending the Elf off. “Can you stand, Hermione?” she questioned gently.

She nodded, smiling assurance, “I’m alright, just a little dizzy.”

Narcissa was a tense sort of silent as she helped Hermione to her feet and led her to sit before the fireplace as a tray of small sandwiches and a bowl of tomato soup appeared on the side table, a mug of warm black tea. The older Witch nodded for Hermione to proceed, watching as she took a bite of sandwich, the next she took after swiping it through her soup. She was on her second when the woman finally asked, as if very, very afraid of the answer, “Does my future self...does she starve you when we are in disagreement?’

Hermione nearly choked on the bread at the back of her throat, had to swallow harshly and sip at her tea to regain the ability to speak, insisting, “No! Oh my God, _Narcissa,_ of _course_ not! She would never — _you_ would never!” Merlin this woman and her...trust issues with herself! “I just...I came here first thing this morning, and then everything happened, you know? And you’re...you’re really upset with me, and I was tired, all the passing through wards and long-distance apparation on my own, being...being in the manor, it left me wiped. I’ve been asleep, I only woke because you wrote. _It_ , like _most_ of today, was my fault.”

“Fault? You- you _saved_ my light-stone! Lucius would have thrown it away if he’d found it, I would have never recovered it!” Hermione had to start carefully Occluding again, because he hadn’t but if that was hard to handle for the future Narcissa? Merlin, she’d hate to see the confusion and terror at what the man might be trying to do would invoke in the present’s. She looked down at her dinner as she shrugged. “I understand she must be upset with Jinsey’s trickery, but I saw your mind, you’d no clue that was what Jinsey was of the mind to do, you would never have requested she aid you if you had known that was how she was going to go about it-”

“She didn’t. Jinsey didn’t trick you, she was honest from the moment you woke up.”

That took Narcissa aback even further, “Then what in heaven's name is she upset with you for?! Am I entirely obtuse in the future?!”

“No, trust me, I’m the obtuse one. You know you’ve written me that you love me every single day in my lunch for weeks and it took a nosey co-worker to figure out the code? Capital letters spelling out what you weren’t free to write with your vows.”

“...I send you letters at lunch?”

“I’m usually at work, you started packing me lunch every day. You put little notes in my lunch box and I...well I saved them. It’s sweet, and comforting and you put a lot of work into them,” Hermione informed. “I really...I know you’re grateful, but I really messed up this morning. I don’t regret helping you, I just regret that I could have gone about it better. Should have.” She wasn’t sure _how_ but she felt just awful about it all. She knew she’d bungled the job all to hell, caused grief for Narcissa.

The Present’s Narcissa was staring at her very intensely. “If you were mine I would never...I can’t think of a thing for which I would ever be displeased with you for. Not anything you would ever take to mind to do.”

“I _am_ yours,” Hermione reminded her teasingly. “And you _are_ displeased. And that’s okay. It isn’t some character flaw to get angry or upset, even with a loved one, even when they tried their best at doing something to help you with something. She’s _right_ to be angry with me, she would be right even if there wasn’t a reason for her to be upset—no one can much help what they _feel_ . It’s our actions we have to be accountable for. In this instance, my actions were...less than ideal. I was really reckless and I could have...I didn’t think it through as much as I thought I had. I was so caught up in how urgent I felt it was, I didn’t stop to…” oh God, she’d really messed up. She _could_ have gotten hurt so much worse over all of this, could have even been killed, and she would be she would be just as upset with Narcissa if roles were reversed, if she’d taken it into her head to go off blindly into danger on her behalf for something certainly not more important than Narcissa’s life, just for the opportunity to make Hermione happy or improve her life in some non-vital way.

“I do not know what _damage_ my future self has endured, I suppose my marriage withstood in your timeline. Perhaps there was greater suffering awaiting me with the Dark Lord taking refuge in my home, but- but she must be an utter fool, to look upon your retrieving what I thought to be lost as a thing to invoke outrage. I _anguished_ over this—which means _she_ has _anguished_ over this, lied awake every night even as I’d light from the hall, because I could not- I just went back and forth in my mind, fighting myself over...I’ve felt rather pathetic being incapable of saving something so precious to me for fear of one man. Tonight I will sleep at peace for what you have done.”

“I’m glad for that. You finally have a good life here, I want you to be comfortable and able to enjoy it as much as you can.”

Narcissa nodded, sighing a bit. “I am trying...and while I’m not displeased with your present self, I find myself perplexed.”

“Perplexed?”

“I invited her to dinner this evening, in the hopes we might discuss our relationship. She has...neglected to show,” her lips twisted a bit in a frown, “I do understand. She has...it has not been easy, the things she’s learned of the future. I will be patient, I just wish I had some insight on how best to conduct myself in this regard, thus I sought to consult you.”

“Me?”

“I understand if it might put you to discomfort but I was hoping you might shed light on what specifically kept you from breaking your word to join me this evening.” ...oh. A smile tugged at Hermione’s lips, a giggle escaping her that sent Narcissa smiling fondly, wondering, “Whatever is it, my darling?”

“I’m such a _loser!”_ Hermione laughed at herself, her present self! What a dork! “Narcissa, I’m not standing you up. I’m _asleep_ . I’ve passed out in the library while-” she had a little fit of giggles over it, shaking her head, “you talked about missing our dinners and such, missing me and...well _I’m_ a little better with the Protean charm used to make our communication journals, than my present self is. She’s brushing up, been researching how to improve and expound on her variation of it, trying to work her way to mine which is good, we’ll need it obviously but...well she’s doing it because she’s making a journal set for you.”

“...for me?”

Hermione nodded. “So you and my Present Self can talk during the day, write one another whenever you miss her, to either quell that with a bit of a chat, or you can just tell her to get detention or sneak down here or whatever.”

“...she’s exhausted herself in the library?” Narcissa questioned, a bit wistful, something utterly tender in her gaze over it all.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah. I really do want to join you for dinner tonight...I still can if someone wakes me. I’ve been wanting to talk to you too.” And when the woman looked conflicted at that, Hermione reached out and Narcissa gasped softly, a bit of excitement in her expression as she slipped her hand into Hermione’s blushing as the younger Witch squeezed, rubbing the back of her hand with her thumb. “If you need help preparing, I’m relatively close to the source, I’ll finish my meal and then you can go, you know. Arrange for my present self to see to dinner. Sound good?”

Narcissa nodded, mostly just holding Hermione’s hand and allowing her to eat, asking the occasional question. How she felt her present self was doing as of late, the state of mind she was in, if now mightn’t be the time to address something of importance. If she...if she still trusted Narcissa, truly, after experiencing magic-wrought memories of the woman standing watch while she was interrogated.

“Of course. Everything’s a little...hard, right now. But things are getting better. Yesterday...my present self, I...I almost didn’t get out of bed. I truly thought I wasn’t going to, I just laid and cried just...I think it got to me, the sense of fear, worrying _when_ what I saw will happen, when the next horrible ramification of it might rear its ugly head. I don’t do fear well, being afraid...if I can’t be brave in the face of it? I just feel worthless, pathetic over it,” a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Lavender got me out of my little slump actually,” she remembered now. _Her chest ached, throat sore from quieting cries, head stuffed full of snot from her weeping. God, how pathetic can she get? Breakfast held no appeal and her body just felt like lead, weighted down to the bed, a permanent fixture. Part of her worried, she shouldn’t miss class. Another said bugger class, what did it matter anyway? What did anything matter? Everything was fear, or waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. Happiness was a temporary commodity she didn’t have the proper currency to make purchase of. Something to hold and examine, but ultimately leave abandoned. Mer_ lin, she’d gotten a bit angsty about it all, hadn’t she?

_A weight settled on the bed, the barest dip at her side as someone knelt at her bedside uninvited, arms resting on the edge of her mattress, head lying atop them, face a bare inch from hers as blue eyes peered into Hermione’s face. “You’re sad,” Lavender said, in tones that could be perceived as accusation, like calling her sad, but Hermione understood it to be observation. The Witch took the end of a loose curl hanging over Hermione’s forehead and gave it a testing tug to see how it sprung back into shape. “Your hair isn’t so funny today. I like it.” A smile tugged at Hermione’s lips._

_“Lav,” Pavarti gently prompted as she worked with straightening her own tie in a mirror, “personal space.”_

_Lavender sat back to look at the other Witch, “I asked!” she insisted and then caught herself, “Wait, I forgot. But she’s sad! So I found something nice_ and _I said it,” she returned her attention to Hermione, making sure, “...it...it was nice, right? Liking your hair?”_

_“Yeah,” Hermione rasped, nodding. “It’s nice, thanks.”_

_“You sound like a toad with a cold. You shouldn’t talk unless that’s what you’re going for. You know you’re so snotty because you’re crying out your nose?”_

_“...out my nose?”_

_Lavender nodded. “When we cry, if we cry enough our tear ducts drain both ways, inside and out. When it happens inside tears go down our nasal tract and pull mucus along with them, run out or noses. It's gross,” she informed before popping up off her knees and skipping over to Parvarti, the Indian Witch chuckling softly as she raised her hands to adjust Lavender's tie, to the girl’s argument that, “I did it!”_

_“Then why’ve I got to fix it?” Parvarti wondered with a soft smile. “No worries Lav,” she winked, smiling wider when the other Witch copied the action. “Always here to help.”_

Hermione looked to Narcissa, “So...bad days. But those have been off and on this week, that was just the whole of the week catching up the morning of the first I knew I’d have to skip out on potion. This morning was better. I know I felt better after we talked, and…” she shrugged. “I know I felt safe here, with you. I was a little embarrassed I’d climbed on you in my sleep but that’s par for the course, I’ve always worried about overstepping my bounds, I could never dream you actually like me, could feel the way I feel, and I’d never want to make you uncomfortable over it, my stupid crush.”

“I would never term your feelings ‘stupid’,” Narcissa defended.

“No, you wouldn’t. And you’re very good at correcting me about it,” Hermione assured, smiling as the woman blushed. “So...I’ll leave you to your talk then? I...should probably go have one of my own.” She considered it a moment, “Narcissa we’ve...altered our vows, between ourselves, I don’t know if it will affect you and my Present Self but if you find yourself capable of saying nasty things about me, well, that’s why. Which...if you can’t maybe you two should consider altering them in that way? It wouldn’t do to have you restrained if you have to talk trash about Harry Potter’s Pet,” she tapped her left sleeve twice to offer the last part of that lovely nickname for her.

“Oh. I wasn’t aware, I’ve not noticed but I...I would never want to say anything unkind about you, let alone to you-”

Hermione chuckled, smile warm as she assured, “You might someday. It’s okay, Narcissa, for people to be upset with one another. You should always be free to speak your mind, bottling up mean things...I’d rather they come out and be dealt with than bottled up and kept inside to fester and become your way of thinking of me. I’m not going to stop loving you because you’ve hurt my feelings or something, it would have to be quite the doozy of an argument, about what we’re arguing _about_ to...make us part ways or something, even then I’d probably...I can’t imagine not loving you even if we got to a place we didn’t necessarily like each other,” she shook her head, not the point she was getting to. “Why I mention all this is so, well, you’re not caught off guard by a change in speech, or you can adjust your vows if need be, and...well I can say whatever I care to in return but…”

“But?”

“I never want to...make you feel unsafe or in danger or...put you back in your old relationship in some way. Trauma can make triggers that send our minds right back, make us feel like we’re right in the middle of what made them, and I’d hate to touch yours, verbal or otherwise,” and at Narcissa’s look, something that said that was utterly strange, “I’ve triggers you avoid. You’re always careful about my wrists, because yeah it might be fine, but it might also make me literally see Bellatrix, feel like...what happened is happening in real time. I’d hate to do something that did that to you. I never want to say or do something that would cause real damage because of an argument. If you don’t want to talk about it I totally understand just- I know...your future self is really mad at me, and I don’t know that she’d sit down and talk through this before going on with our argument, and by then I might’ve already done something I shouldn’t have without realizing it.”

“You wish to know my weaknesses so you can be armed to avoid them, not use them against me?” Narcissa summed it up a bit incredulously, shaking her head, “Darling that makes me utterly certain you argue nothing like my ‘old relationship’.” And then she sighed. “Being given free reign to speak is...quite the step in what I suppose is a right direction. Even what I could be capable of saying,” she shuddered, and Hermione squeezed her hand before letting go, not breaking contact just raising up on her fingers to trace patterns on the woman’s palm, ticklish and light to offer a bit of distraction that looked to be of comfort as she spoke through, “If I wasn’t punished for speaking out of turn I was often interrupted. Could never get a word of argument in edgewise.”

“I’d certainly never punish you. No interrupting though, got it.”

“Terms of endearment...I do adore that you on occasion call me ‘Cissa’, but I- I mightn’t handle that very well in an argument. He...he would often shift to tenderness mid-disagreement just,” she swallowed, “suddenly so calm and gentle, speak to me with kindness, address me with endearment before…it always preceded the worst.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, for trusting me with that. I might- God I might have never thought that would upset you. _Thank you_. I know this is hard to talk about.”

Narcissa nodded, staring into her lap before raising her face to say, “It is not...it would not ‘trigger me’ in the way you are concerned of but...if you ever thought to disparage or speak ill of my son in argument, I don’t know that I would find that forgivable.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’d never even think to do that,” Hermoine warmly assured. “I love him, Draco, a lot. I’d never say anything, I don’t believe I’d even think to. But yeah, I promise, no trash talk about him to hurt your feelings in an argument.”

Narcissa shook her head, “I cannot believe...I find it unfathomable we are having one because I am upset with you.”

“Well I promise we are...honestly, hearing you talk, I’m kind of _glad_ we are,” the woman’s brow furrowed at that. “It means you trust me, Narcissa. You feel safe. To yell and snap and speak your mind, demand space from me when I’ve upset you. You’re...still really fresh from it all, and you haven’t been living the same way your future self has, you’ll probably have your own adjustment period just...I love you, and that doesn’t stop because we’ve had a row.”

A pull on her magic. Soft, sniffle-surrounded, _“Hermione?”_ in her ear.

“Darling? I-I- I love you likewise I was about to reciprocate I do promise-” she fell silent when Hermione held her hand proper again.

“Hey, it’s okay, that look wasn’t me being upset or sad with- you don’t have to jump to say anything just to placate me, I know how you feel, I was offering assurance for when you might not know how I feel. Your future self needs me right now...and my present self is definitely going to be sore beyond belief if you leave me to keep snoozing away in the library. Have a nice dinner, thanks for everything.”

Narcissa nodded tentatively, reluctant to see her go, but, “Very well. Yes," she said, rising to her feet with Hermione, eyes shining with some trepidation, like she was steeling herself for something, "Dobby will return you…" she said, drawing nearer and raising her hands to rest on Hermiome's shoulders looking into her face for a moment, staring intently and Hermione waited, wondering, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist. And then Narcissa leaned forward, eyes slipping closed as she pressed her lips to Hermione's, gentle and testing, something that sent Hermione's heart fluttering in her chest as the woman relaxed against her, drawing her face away to meet her gaze once more, cheeks pink and eyes alight as she said, "do be safe, my darling.”

Hermione smiled, and the woman let out a happy hum as the younger Witch held her tighter and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You too.”

“Dobby is getting to be hugging Hermione Granger so much today!” Dobby cheerily noted as he appeared again, legs at her waist as she stepped away from Narcissa, caught him and he looped arms around her neck.

“I hope it isn’t too much? Sorry, it isn’t your job to lug me around everywhere.”

“How else would Hermione Granger be getting where she is going? Dobby is loving hugging Hermione Granger!” he insisted, his cheek pressing against hers as he exemplified, hugging her tight. “She isn’t having parents with her, Dobby is being knowing this because Jinsey is being knowing. But we was being taking care of her, feeding and casting clean and telling stories and holding Hermione Granger while she was sick-sleep! Like Jinsey’s and Dobby’s own baby!”

Her brow shot up at that, “You’ve adopted me, huh?” she asked, amused but something sweet tearing at her heart over it.

“Yes, yes yes yes! Whenever Hermione Granger is needing mother and father, until her parents can be safely returned, she is to be calling on Jinsey and Dobby!”

That shouldn’t have hit her so hard, she didn’t think, it was unbearably sweet, kind, but she didn’t...she didn’t _need_ parents, her parents of course, she needed them but because she loved them. ...well, for her present self, that was part of why everything was so rough, she felt so alone and she wanted to just go home and cry to her mum, her dad, let them hold her and tell her everything was going to be alright, but she couldn’t even write them. They didn’t even know she existed, if she was tortured, if she died...well, at least if _that_ happened, they didn’t know they’d a daughter to mourn. Still, it was scary, made her sad, left her feeling utterly alone. She sniffled, hugging the Elf in her arms a bit tighter. “Thanks Dobby.”

The house was quiet when they returned, appearing in the living room with _pop_ that rang in her ears a moment, she only just caught the tail end of Dobby announcing he was going to check on his Jinsey. She nodded, nearly heading for the stairs but subtle movement in her peripheral drew her attention to the garden doors, moonlight casting its glow through pallid locks that swayed a bit as their owner shifted on feet a bit, her back to the house, staring up into the star-lit sky.

Hermione was nervous to approach but, “Hey,” she greeted softly as the door clicked closed behind her, shivering a bit in the November chill as she crossed the patio to step into the warmth of the garden, coming to stand alongside the woman. “You called for me?” she was a little worried, now that she was here, maybe Narcissa hadn’t meant to call for her. The older Witch continued staring into the sky, but neither did she tell Hermione to leave, her voice was soft as she said,

“The stars are out in good form tonight.”

Oh, yeah. Hermione looked up. “They are. The sky’s nice and clear.”

“Hmm, yes,” Narcissa agreed, voice cresting gently over her lips as she informed her conversationally, “I used to stand out here and take the air every evening, my first week in your home, one of the first of many freedoms I dared relish in. The sky never held quite so many stars on those evenings.”

“Light pollution, it’s not quite so bad around here but,” she shrugged, “magic usually has a way of making things a little better.”

“...your wards on the garden do something to abate the effects of ‘light’ pollution?”

Hermione blushed a bit. “When the pretty Witch living down the hall enjoys spending her evening looking up at the stars, you figure she might enjoy a clearer view.”

Her gaze flicked to Narcissa as the woman shook her head. “You’ve precious little idea just how truly maddening it is to be upset with you,” she complained, just a bit of heat to the words but nothing terribly biting. “I understand your need to assist me, infuriating as it is. I am not...ungrateful, that you retrieved the stone. I would have felt its loss, as my Present Self did, perhaps I could put it off in the interim, but once we are returned to time...yes, facing the loss of such a precious thing from Draco’s youth would have been something I mourned. But that is mourning I am far more capable of handling, Hermione. You broke your word to me, that you would not go off to the manor so recklessly.”

“I did consult with you...present you. I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known Lucius would be there.”

“You hardly consulted with her. Yes, you verified her understanding of Lucius’s schedule, but you concealed your mind with the intent of hiding your will to go to the manor and make rescue of the stone. Neither version of myself knew where you truly were or what you were endeavoring to do. You should have _told me,_ Hermione. Spoken to your plan, and seen what that wrought. I understand you did not wish to be _stopped_ but you should have been aided. Any number of things could have benefited such an arrangement, my Present Self, Dobby, either could have taken you from the Apparation Boundary to the outer edge of the property, keeping your magic whole, giving you the much gentler trip to the bedroom, and you would have had aid to call upon when you discovered Lucius.”

“The last thing I would have done is called you in-”

She seemed to lose some limit with her, turning to face Hermione as she seethed, “I don’t give a damn if the Dark Lord himself had been holding congress with demons from the very pits of hell within my former bedchamber. I would not leave you to face them alone. No version of myself is quite so fragile that I would leave you to such harm!” 

“Narcissa! You- your present self is...it's all very fresh for her. She trembled just talking about seeing him again, said she _froze_ when they crossed paths on Samhain-”

“I would not freeze when coming to defend you! You should have had aid, Hermione, you should have taken every precaution! You went blindly, and defenseless into enemy territory without so much as your _wand_ , in a time your magical health is just this side of tenuous!”

“You’re right.”

“You left yourself open to such devastating possibil-” she stopped, staring at her a moment. “ ...pardon?”

“You’re right, Narcissa. I didn’t think you weren’t. I know it was stupid, I _know_ it was dangerous, I-” she looked down, studying the grass underfoot when her chin quiviered, “I was scared, petrified when I realized I was tr-trapped in the manor again, no one knowing where I was, no magic. I thought I was- I was pretty sure I was done for. I got a touch brazen over it, in the moment but I was...God I was scared.”

Arms wrapped around her to draw her to Narcissa’s chest, the woman holding her close and pressing her lips to the top of Hermione’s head. “You? Brazen in the face of danger? Why I would never have dreamed,” she softly jested, stroking a hand through the younger Witch’s hair. “I...did not realize you appreciated the danger you were in, darling. A great deal of my upset relied upon the thought that you didn’t.”

“...does the rest of your upset rely on whether or not I promise to never go off without letting you know?” Hermione wondered with some hope.

“...it might.”

Hermione pulled back a bit, to meet Narcissa’s gaze. “I really did think that asking your present self, confirming Lucius wasn’t supposed to be there was enough. But it wasn’t and I’m sorry, and I promise to actually tell you when I’m planning going off on my own into potential danger. The Manor, Forbidden Forest, good sale at the Tesco.”

Narcissa sighed, raising a hand to twist a curl around a finger before tucking it behind Hermione’s ear, “I suppose that will do.” And then,as her arms slipped away, down to take hold of Hermione’s hands, “I am apologetic, that I accused you of lying, of your encounter with Lucius. What you said makes no sense whatsoever but neither do I believe you would-” she sighed a bit more sharply. “Neither do I believe you would say such a thing to hurt me, even before your conversation with my present self. But I…”

“I can show you, if you want? The only reason I occluded was to, you know. Make sure you were prepared before springing it on you.”

“Prepared...kind of you as it is, is unfortunately not what I feel, at present,” Narcissa said. “I believe you, for belief of you. But I find myself...I feel ill at even the concept of- I just,” she looked to their hands, as if hiding her face as she confessed, “I do not feel...strong enough to bear witness to whatever game Lucius is playing, whatever moral complex he may or may not truly be facing. He- he cannot be trusted and he can be so very convincing and I cannot endure the maddening conflict of the prudence of distrusting and the hope he might have some semblance of kindness in him. I have lived twenty years in that conflict and I- I cannot-”

They weren’t arguing anymore, and Hermione made certain that thought was first and foremost in her mind as she raised a hand to gently guide Narcissa to meet her gaze, before interrupting her struggling sentence, an idea she’d gotten the gist of. “I get it, I do. I won’t think about it. I mean I can’t promise to _never_ think about it, but I can promise I won’t do so around you, when you might see. If you’re not reassured by that I can occlude and...I practiced earlier with your present self, I can occlude and make up my ‘faux-wall’ with real thoughts I’m having at the time. I mean I think a lot, keeping only one thing back isn’t going to leave much of a gap in there. Whenever you’re ready...if you’re ever ready,” Hermione squeezed her hands, “I’ll show you. And I’ll be there for you. You won’t face it alone. That’s...kind of the whole point of today, wanting to help? There’s nothing you ever have to face alone.”

Narcissa’s expression melted at that as she raised a hand to cup the side of Hermione’s face. “Oh my darling…I am grateful,” she assured, though, “that is almost nearly enough to render you fully from my wrath.”

...wait. “You’re still upset with me?”

“You can hardly expect me to be otherwise, with your going about behind my back to kiss other women.”

Other… “Narcissa! _You!_ She’s _you_ and _you_ kissed _me!”_

“And you readily accepted it!”

“Yeah...because she’s yo- you’re- you’re ridiculous Narcissa Black! I swear to God, between the two of you, how I’ll keep my sanity is beyond me.”

“Oh, between the two of us-?”

“We are _not-_ I don’t like either train of thought that can follow. That you’re either about to level some inane accusation of me having some nonsensical ‘affair’ _with you_ , _or_ you’re about to suggest we risk breaking time itself for some sort of sordid threeway-”

“Well if we were to remain blindfolded…” the woman supposed with some amusement. Mostly kidding, but that meant a small bit of ‘not kidding’.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened a bit comically as she looked about as if trying to seek something creeping up from behind, “I’m sorry darling, have you spotted a stray boggart?”

“I must be looking right at one becuase Merlin preserve me, you could very well be my worst nightmare.”

The woman smirked, drawing her against her again, capturing her lips in a kiss Hermione readily returned…absolutely certain the woman was endeavoring to out-do her present self. Which was inane, it had been a sweet little kiss from _Narcissa!_ Though, insanity aside, Hermione was hardly about to complain. When Narcissa finally let her up for air, she felt smooth magic coasting through her, prepping to pull for apparation.

“Come, you’ve had quite the day. Let us bathe and retire early, shall we?”

Hermione no more than nodded, then found herself pulled to appear in their bedroom, lit only by the glow of stone-light as she felt soft mattress at her back, Narcissa’s weight atop her, a smile pulling at the younger Witch’s lips.

“I thought you said something about a bath and calling it a night?” she questioned softly, amused.

“Well darling I did say you’d quite the day, and it wouldn’t do to not ensure you’re truly well and whole. I must insist upon a thorough examination of your person,” Narcissa’s voice was silky smooth, tugging a bit on her sweater to draw her collar down, “I’ve already found bruising from some dastardly Witch,” the woman tsked as she leaned down to kiss at Hermione’s neck, the younger Witch giggling as she turned her head to offer the woman proper room to work with, though the lips at her neck stopped when Hermione loosed a startled gasp and a somewhat concerned questioning,

“Narcissa?”

“Darling? What is it?”

Hermione’s gaze was trained on the nightstand. “Look.”

The woman sat up and did just that, mouth dropping open in soft surprise.

Resting on the nightstand, alongside the orb of light that held Narcissa’s constellation, sat her cherished light-stone.

* * *

The halls of Hogwarts were still and silent save the steady click of Narcissa's footfalls. The host of their student body, in majority anyway, would be gathered together in the Great Hall, dining and chatting and making mischief. She could have Floo'd directly into Hogwarts Library, though technically that connection was established more for the swift exchange of texts and tomes her work might require, but as it stood she thought walking suited best. It allowed her to move toward her purpose while stalling, to some degree, gather her thoughts and offer Miss Granger both a bit more rest and an articulate conversation on matters most important.

Too, it afforded her the opportunity to assess if Miss Parkinson was maintaining watch of her for the Dark Lord. A thing which had been occurring…less and less over the past week. A promising thing, Narcissa hoped, the girl had been withdrawn, shell-shocked when they made their return from Samhain ritual, and since then their encounters even at distance had been few and far between, no more was she ever in her peripheral, she instead caught sight of her at the occasional mealtime, seated silently, and in class? Barely a word. She'd not once approached Narcissa in regard to their mission, save to insist she was busy this weekend, she'd a great deal of school work, and it wouldn’t do to fall behind, it was the second weekend of November after all. She would be well occupied with supporting her House in the first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, even if their team this year was rather well composed of Traitors, she’d sneered, it was _Gryffindor_ , so she simply couldn’t _abstain_ from rooting against them. Narcissa had...arrived late in the game, it had taken a great deal of steeling herself, before she decided even as she couldn’t look as if she were showing support, it would not be fair to miss it in its entirety, not to her son, to sweet Harry who left question for her in his potions essay, handing it to her with quite the smile for all he was passing in homework. _Draco and I have our first match of the season this weekend, I hope you can come. I know Quidditch scares you but I promise we’ll be safe. Draco’s brilliant and I can look out for him and the Snitch no problem. Please come? We’ll save you a seat._

By that apparently, the young man meant Minerva was saving her a seat, the woman waved her on the moment she appeared in the stands and Narcissa...oh she didn’t think she could ever _watch_ a Quidditch match her son was hurling himself through, but she had been afforded opportunity to listen, their announcer was broadcast on Wizard Radio, Lucius listened to every Slytherin match, lips twisted in a smirk or scowl while Narcissa sat a nervous mess, fists clenched atop her knees, head bowed as she listened for anything that sounded dire for her son.

_“Draco Malfoy going for the Snitch! Ohh!” Lee Jordan’s voice sounded with something like triumph mixed sympathy, a little laugh on the tail-end of his cry. “Clipped by a Bludger, fobs the grab to roll...the Snitch is still in play! Ha, looking more like a bat than a snake hanging upside down like that. What? I’m just teasing Professor, it’s entertaining commentary.”_

_“Clipped?” that- like a clipping of wings? Had he fallen? Or had he been struck...who were Bludgers again? He was hanging upside down, “Wh- they aren’t calling a timeout!” Oh Merlin, how did one right themselves on their broom? Surely someone must help him up!_

_“Why the devil would they?” Lucius groused, scowling fiercely, “Fool boy, he should have grasped the Snitch, if he maintained hold this would be over.”_

_“He is doing his best, there was a Bludger, he could have been pushed from his broom!”_

_Lucius squinted at her momentarily as if deciphering something. “Gods above you are a stupid thing, aren’t you? A Bludger doesn’t push, they are not a pl-” he growled as he spoke over the next call, missing whatever the Jordan boy had said. Silver eyes glared at her as her husband decided. “_ You _will be_ silent _.”_

She wasn’t certain if it was cruelty or forgetfulness that left her indeterminate silence in place for nearly a week.

It had been a touch more terrifying to sit in the stands and hear just how loud the zipping of children flying through the air on brooms with bodies and projectiles hurtling at great speeds all around them, but it was...no, at first she believed perhaps being able to look up when she heard something concerning would make her feel better, more at ease being able to lay eyes on her son, but he was difficult to catch clear sight of he was moving so quickly and oh Merlin it just made her stomach turn. Minerva, acerbic as the woman could be at times, saw Narcissa’s averted gaze, the barest tremble in her hands as she clenched her fists in her lap, and the Deputy Headmistress casually slipped her hand over Narcissa’s, patting it before she held on. Too...it had been rather a distraction, of a most endearing sort when she heard something of a _scream_ in a voice most familiar, her eyes darting upward to look across the stands in search of its source because the sound had startled her at first before she realized it was _cheering_ . A long excited scream that ended in, _“Go Draco! Go go go!”_ Hermione Granger in the Gryffindor section surrounded by incredulous teens...who did nothing to criticize the girl for her wayward allegiances under the cold stare of Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe who were hovering nearby, armed with those little bat things they used to swat at...something. One of the types of projectiles. To what end, Narcissa wasn’t certain, but that was the purpose of their position. Draco had been going for the Snitch apparently, somewhere across the Pitch, but Hermione’s cheers swiveled to, _“Oh! Oh you almost had it!”_ she encouraged, _“Go Harry!_ ” she placed the tips of a middle finger and thumb in her mouth to loose a long, high-pitching whistle, bouncing in place as she clapped and cheered, smiling wide and rosy cheeked in Autumn chill, so very proud of both of her friends as Mister Potter took the lead in pursuit of the Snitch that had flittered its way from Draco’s grasp.

It was quite the contrast, in comparison to how she was just a few hours later, in the quiet of the Library. Narcissa found her at a table before the fireplace, her back to roaring flames as she sat forward in a small wooden chair, head and chest resting on the table top, atop a large open tome, surrounded by open books... _four_ leather bound journals, two bearing 'H' on the spine, one silver one gold, and the others bearing a silver 'D' and golden 'N', closed and stacked atop one another off to the side. Her wand was loose in her grasp as she slumbered, a mess of ink and parchment and books and curls. She was more than relieved that if the girl was here alone, she was wholly alone, Merlin, she shuddered to think what might happen if someone untoward had discovered a sight that sent Narcissa’s heart melting straight to her shoes, that might do little more than inspire the opportunity for violence in an enemy. Oh, she was not entirely alone, her familiar was perched atop the table at her side, staring at his Witch with something that looked as if the cat were judging his mistress’s life choices...that he thought no better of Narcissa’s as he turned his gaze on her. Though he did raise his fat little body up to draw nearer as the woman approached, reaching out with the back of her hand for the creature to sniff before licking at her skin and mewing at her before rubbing his forehead against her hand and then stepping further still to drop off the edge of the table and...flounce away, that was the only way to describe the creature’s gait, flouncing. What a strange thing.

She traced the back of her index finger along the sleeping Witch’s forehead to brush aside curls that might impede her from feeling at the skin there for fever, usually dinner hour held an exuberant Hermione Granger chatting a mile a minute catching up with everyone’s day and launching into whatever topic set her magic aglow with excitement, new things she’d studied. Her skin was warm under Narcissa’s hand, but nothing that spoke to fever as the girl roused at the contact, eyes blinking open. And then she startled a bit, stretching with a muted groan as she worked to wake, shaking herself a bit and yawning before she looked about, assessing before she looked up at Narcissa.

“Professor?” she questioned sleepily, taking in the light of the library, seeing the darkness surrounding the glow of candles that spoke to a lack of sunlight and she gasped, looking at her watch and then up to Narcissa again, whispering with urgency, “Dinner! Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I- I was reading and I- gosh, it’s not like this is boring or anything I just...I guess I was really tired.”

“I understand if you wish to retire early this evening but you should eat,” Narcissa softly intoned.

“Are...are we still on for dinner? I’m really sorry I fell asleep.”

“Of course we are, there’s nothing to be sorry for, my darling,” she warmly assured, indulging in stroking a hand through the girl’s hair. _How_ was she to ever find upset with her? Had Lucius’s cruelty grown that much greater in the brunt of war, under the influence of the Dark Lord so constantly at hand, left her broken in a way she was incapable of gratitude toward the Witch’s kindness, ill equipped to accept such love? Hermione...future and present loved Narcissa in such a way if she considered its depths she could lose her breath. Never had she known such tenderness or compassion, not directed at her. She craved it, found it reliant and unrelenting and healing, soothed her every worry, her hearts every ache if she bore them to the younger Witch.

“Harry lent me his cloak, if you give me a minute to clean up,” Hermione gestured to her gathered research, blushing softly as if embarrassed to be discovered surrounded by so much of it, evidence of her brilliant mind at work, “I’ll come down.”

“Will you be keeping any of these texts?” Narcissa wondered.

“Hmm...I’ve checked out this one and...this one,” she said as she gathered up two thick tomes that had been lying open off to the side on the desk, she rested them atop her journals and moved to close the massive tome she’d fallen asleep upon, examining the page as if to ensure she’d not drooled upon it in her sleep before closing it shut. Narcissa raised her wand and cast, a mere flick sending the texts afloat to fly back to their designated places in the library all at once. The younger Witch’s eyes were alight as she looked up at her, “You have to teach me that.”

“It is, alas, a spell that requires permissions, extended only from Madam Prince to Hogwarts Professors…so I may cast to call books of any topic needed directly to me, and return them without hassle.”

Oh it was delightful how dazed the girl looked at the very thought of having such swift ability to find any book she wished in this place. She began stowing away her inkwell and quill, her books into her leather satchel, giggling as she supposed, “Well then, we’ll simply have to work out a way to have library dates.” Then, “Not _dates_ but, you know…” she blushed deeper as she averted her gaze.

“Hmm, you needn’t Mister Potter’s cloak just yet, I would like to show you something that may well make such dates possible,” Narcissa returned, offering her hand. “Will you come with me, my darling?”

Hermione nodded, accepting her hand pulling her bag strap onto her shoulder as Narcissa led her to the library fireplace, casting one last look about before summoning Floo powder into her available hand, using the other to draw Hermione near, the younger Witch readily wrapping an arm around Narcissa’s middle as the woman wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “Do hold tight,” securing the Witch to her side before dropping powder and primly announcing, “Professor Black’s Quarters,” as she and Hermione stepped into the fireplace, emerging into her own parlor.

“Your Floo connects to the libra- oh!” Hermione chirped, realizing “You can sit right here and summon any book you care to, can’t you? Just open your floo connection and poof!”

“My Professorship does bear a great many advantages,” Narcissa supposed, relieved to be in the security of her quarters now, “Do be seated, make yourself comfortable, dinner will be along shortly.” _Ten ticks of timepiece!_ Dobby had assured would be all the time it would take for their meals to appear once they returned to her quarters. Hermione'd a mischievous look about her as she laid claim to her chair, even as Narcissa had relented it, made purchase of another, it was delightful, the bit of fun to having 'stolen' the seat from the older Witch. Though her smile grew as she took her seat, felt lingering warmth from the last body that had sat in it as she accused,

"Narcissa Black, have you been sitting in my chair when I'm not here?"

"Of course not darling," Narcissa assured as she took her own seat, "I'd a guest." Plates of food popped into existence on the side table, salads to start with, glasses of fresh water, goblets of wine.

"...guest?" she questioned...worriedly, not jealously, like she was afraid the woman had to invite one of her more unpleasant acquaintances into her home.

"None in my less reputable circles of association are capable of entering the castle through the Floo, and Apparating in is out of the question, obviously." She'd hosted Anathema Zabini for dinner Tuesday evening, a pleasant enough affair for all the woman had found her quarters 'quaint' she'd found her divorce and entering the workforce to be both 'plebeian but inspired Cissy, honestly', casually making mention that Narcissa could have kept the host of her married wealth if she'd simply let her dear friend _know_ she'd wished to abscond of Lucius. Little did the woman know Narcissa _had,_ in the past, endeavored to uncover the details behind the mysteries of Lady Zabini's luck in widowdome, but for her vows.

 _"Blaise won't pen a_ word _of his liaison with the Weasley boy, so I_ know _he's entirely smitten. I'm hoping to catch at least a glimpse of him before I leave here-...I'm sorry, Narcissa am I boring you? You've more association with my mimo these days, yet you fail to jump to enlighten me on the subject." Anathema complained, tines of her fork tapping impatiently against her plate as she stared expectantly at Narcissa who startled slightly. She'd...perhaps been a bit distracted. Just that morning had been the first she'd heard from the Future's Hermione since before Samhain, and then...oh she was so relieved to hear from her, grateful she'd endeavored to check in with her as soon as possible but she'd been so poorly, worry twisted anticipation in her stomach as she awaited the girl's next message. She willed Hermione to write her so that her magic was beginning to play tricks on her, feel phantom tugs that emulated that which she felt when she'd a new communication from the younger Witch, she wasn't certain if it was some cruelty on her magics behalf or some attempt to comfort her, trying to give her the sensation she wanted to feel from her without understanding it was the_ message _she craved, not the notification alone._

_"I apologize, Anathema. I await word from…" she found herself caught up on how best to term it before someone who shouldn't know a great deal about it, given the secrecy involved. "an associate."_

_"An_ associate _?" Anathema parroted back with a wicked smirk. And then in tones of delighted accusation, "Narcissa Black you wanton_ wench. _The ink's barely dried and you've gone and taken yourself a lover, haven't you? Oh 'I love only my husband', 'Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is the only Wizard who can satisfy me', 'I'll never want for another' my shapely ass! I knew such talk was nonsense!" Such talk was vow-induced compulsion invoked at Anathema's every belligerent insistence that Narcissa had every right to take a lover if Lucius was going to slag about with his Ministry Assistant. “Who is he? What is his name?”_

 _Narcissa blushed furiously, indulging in the bit of fun as she decided there was little harm in disclosing, “_ She _is none of your business, and her name is a thing of beauty I do not care to share at this time.”_

One would have thought she’d cast torture upon Anathema Zabini, the way she screamed at the top of her voice for the stand of thirty seconds, absolutely _elated_ and deliciously scandalized, truly tormented then when Narcissa would speak no more on the subject.

“Actually, it was your Future Self whom I hosted,” Narcissa decided to confess to the girl to see...well, she felt a great deal of jealousy over her own future self, and she wondered if she was the same. The Future’s Hermione always seemed confounded over it. “I wished to see her again after...well she came to me this morning after you left, seeking to console over what has been troubling me this week. I confessed to her my issue and she went to great lengths to resolve it. When you did not show this evening, I feared perhaps I’d done something to put you to discomfort, I sought her counsel further, to see how I might rectify the situation and she was giddy to inform me you’d merely fallen asleep whilst working on a project in the library.”

“Oh, that’s how you knew where I was,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “I’m glad you weren’t looking all over for me, I’m really sorry again, I think double duty cheering might’ve taken it out of me,” she supposed with a giggle. “I’m really glad you could make it. Oh! And that you’re feeling better? My Future Self was able to help you?” and when Narcissa nodded, another sigh of relief heaved from her chest, smile at her lips as she said, “Good, I’m glad. I was really worried about you, you seemed so sad, I was excited to see you happier at the game...well, you looked a little nervous but,” she shrugged. “Happier. So...my visiting helped?” she wondered as she speared another bite of salad.

“A great deal, I do delight in your company. I...in my haste to leave my marriage home I abandoned a cherished possession. A stone my Dragon charmed in his youth to light my bedchambers so I needn’t fear the dark.”

“Awe,” Hermione cooed at that, “Yeah, I’ve seen that I think. My future self helped you figure out how to get it back from Lucius?”

“Our vows allow your access to any place I am allowed, your future self went in my stead as I…”

Hermione’s hand laid over her own, smiling gently. “Good. It’s okay, not wanting to go back there. I would have gone for you if I’d known...oh. That wouldn’t have worked, would it? I’ve never been there, to the manor, I wouldn’t have been able to apparate in without you taking me and that would have defeated the purpose. So that worked out then,” though she slumped a bit, “oh…”

“Oh?” Narcissa questioned. “Darling?”

“N-nothing!” Hermione insisted, blushing fiercely as she focused on her meal. “It’s nothing, sorry.”

“You are to absolutely tell me whatever has just troubled you,” Narcissa insisted.

The girl grimmanced. “I just feel badly, a little dumb I guess. Which is me, making me feel that way, not you. I just…” she worried at her lip, “it seems pretty self centered now that I think about it. I thought I was...I wanted to help you feel better and I…”

“Yes?”

“I thought...you were so upset because, you know. It has to be kind of lonely, relying on secret meetings to see people you care about, like Draco and um…”

“You.”

The younger Witch blushed further, shrinking in on herself as she nodded. “Yeah. So…I- I kind of holed up in the library trying to improve my Protean charm s-so I could um…make us journals. That way we could have a way to casually chat, whenever you wanted to, and you could just write us whenever you want us to work out a way to see each other or sneak down.”

Narcissa already had some idea, having seen the journals, but, “...us?” 

“Journals for me and you to communicate, and you and Draco.”

“And this is self centered?”

“Well I mean it’s pretty egotistical to believe you would really be so upset because you miss me or something.”

“That was the only discomfort I deigned to bring to your attention. I was ashamed to speak to my discomfort, my fear in risking a return to my former home. That does hearten me tremendously, the idea we might be able to communicate with greater ease you-” she swallowed. “You thought to provide as much for us and my son?”

“Well he misses you. Things have to be the way that they are but that doesn’t make it easier, I thought...this might? So...it’ll help?” she asked...wondered.

“Absolutely. Oh my darling, nothing would make me happier. You...you despaired because you felt unhelpful?”

“Well the point was to help you so yeah, I’d feel silly if I’d done something unnecessary,” she seemed to consider it a moment, shaking her head. “Of course you’d still like having the journals, even if that wasn’t your specific problem. Sorry, I don’t know why I jumped to the conclusion it was pointless.”

That was worrisome, “You must be kinder to yourself. Your motivation was kind and it is prudent you develop your abilities with Protean charms.”

She shied at that, “Well...I mean I sort of got caught up in a tangent once I got to this formula that’s similar to something I…well I haven’t thought of it in a while, but seeing the formula and thinking of you made me think it might help with your potions organizing. So I got side tracked.”

“If it captured your focus I would be delighted to hear of it. What brilliance have I inspired?” Narcissa wondered warmly.

“You didn’t-” the girl blushed furiously, “it’s an idea I’ve had a while, being Muggleborn I used a lot of technology at home that doesn’t necessarily react well to being cast upon. I’ve kicked around an idea how to make unsummonable things summonable, but then I thought what if it could help you, Madam Pomfrey? It’s like this…”

A ‘Tag’ system, the girl called it. Instead of needing to label every last vial of potion for each and every individual student and store it away to be summoned...it could be dangerous to allow medicinal potion to be summonable, just as much as it was _vital_ for potion to be summoned at a moment’s notice. Making specific variations for each student’s needs meant...someone _could accio_ Harry Potter’s headache draught, taint it, and await the poor boy’s next such ailment. With this Tag system, their bottles could be secured against summoning, and instead of calling on the bottles, they would be summoned by their tags which could be imbued with identity via anything, from a passphrase to a series of numbers that only Madam Pomfrey, hospital Wing staff would know, too Tags had to be imbued with their owner’s magic to work for them, a further safeguard. It would make safe their potions supply and once the tags were prepared, they were easily summoned for use, applied, and there would be no need to label every vial that crossed her workstation, she would summon, stick, and send into storage.

Narcissa realized she might be staring at the younger Witch the way Hermione had her, when she’d realized the woman could bend Hogwarts Library to her will. _Merlin_ _that_ would be a thing of _brilliance_.

Their plates vanished to be replaced by a main course of filets of salmon, asparagus, a mound of chive-laced mashed potatoes that had the younger Witch’s dear approval. They moved on to discuss their earlier Quidditch match, Hermione in a bit more detail as she’d actually watched in its entirety.

“Draco really is amazing, he knows what he’s doing,” she assured, “and Harry’s...well they’re still competitive but he’s definitely...protective. He almost got a foul called on him for knocking Draco to roll with him, I don’t know how they kept astride their brooms but they did, to dodge a Bludger.”

“A Bludger endeavored to hit them? Who?”

“I didn’t see who hit it, but either Jimmy or Ritche?”

“...I thought they were...the other ‘B’ position.”

“Beaters,” Hermione nodded, and then she looked at Narcissa as if deciphering something and then she smiled warmly, “Oh! Beaters beat Bludgers, Bludgers are the brown balls, almost like cannon balls that fly through the air during the match. It’s a lot to keep track of, I’m six years in to cheering on Harry and I still struggle to keep up.”

Narcissa felt her face flame. Right, of course, _that_ was her misunderstanding. “I detest the subject, I always get so nervous for Draco whenever I’ve endeavored to learn about it, that I can’t much pursue the study. I find it's rather lost on me. I want to be present for him, so he knows...well...I wish to support him even if it terrifies me.”

“Well...I’ll be at all of Draco’s games, we can figure out how best to sit together using the cloak and then he’ll always have you there and you’ll have a hand to hold,” and here she offered a solution once more.

“Mister Potter won’t mind?”

Hermione shook her head, “Of course not. Your safety comes first. We know you can’t openly associate with us, but there’s also the level that, you know... _you_ need to associate with us.”

“I...cannot be openly vocal at these affairs, not even if I could openly cheer for my son, I don’t think I could offer the exuberance you do. Perhaps...I could not-watch under the cloak.”

“And Ron, Harry and I’ll sit with you, cheer Draco on and he’ll know you’re with us. I’ll cheer extra for you,” the girl warmly assured with a little wink. “I know it’s terrifying but I find I do better with things that scare me if I have more understanding of it. It’s okay not to know about Quidditch, but if you have any questions, I’m always ready to be an insufferable little know-it-all about any given topic,” she teased.

...she...she offered as much without making Narcissa feel weak, or pathetic, stupid for her lack of knowledge of the topic. She had to swallow an unexpected lump in her throat, just...Merlin this Witch was…

“Darling, I must confess there is a reason I wished to have dinner tonight. A matter of importance I wished to discuss.”

“Oh! I...thought you were just going to tell me what was upsetting you?”

“No, my love,” the younger Witch’s poor cheeks wouldn’t know a moment’s peace today, would they? She’d the ridiculous notion perhaps the Witch might permanently blush and even her future self would entertain as much because of it. “the topic is not a matter of upset, not in the slightest I hope.” She cleared her throat softly. “To preface this...I would not wish to be untoward, or put you to discomfort. If you find it thus, it will be dropped and I will hold no contempt, no issue whatsoever with your feelings on the matter, I understand it is...delicate. You are of Age, but you are also my student. So you must absolutely tell me if you are uncomfortable.”

“I’m pretty comfy,” the girl assured, settling back in her seat as their empty dishes vanished, even more so apparently when a saucer appeared before her bearing a delicate crystal bowl of what Narcissa knew now to be her favored ice cream, according to her Future Self’s preparations for Hermione’s birthday. “Mmm, yum.” She smiled when Narcissa cast to set chill over their dessert, a promise it would be preserved while offering the indication their conversation was to take precedence.

“Comfortable as you may be, I am right to worry,” Narcissa said, steeling herself as she gathered her thoughts and then she raised her gaze to Hermione’s. “I love you.”

Hermione nodded. “I know, I love you too,” she replied, just the barest tinge of sadness to the confession.

“No my darling, you do not fully understand, I _love you,_ I am _in love_ with you.”

The younger Witch’s mouth worked momentarily, “I-in...in love with…”

“To the point I have been _physically incapable_ of saying as much because my marriage vows forbade my loving another in such a way,” Narcissa swallowed, reaching for the girl’s hand and Hermione obliged, “I love you, Hermione, and I would have you in any way you would let me, be it romantic or...otherwise.” if she was not ready for any such thing, Narcissa could...she could wait. She would have her eventually, she knew this.

“...you’re my professor…”

“And that puts you to discomfort,” Narcissa understood.

“No! Y-yes I-” she shook her head, “I’m sorry, _you_ love _me?_ Are you _sure?”_

“What a question, of course I am- darling, why ever would you think otherwise?”

“B-because you’re _you_ , you’re amazing and beautiful and brave and brilliant and compassionate and you say the funniest things sometimes and you’re so generous and -”

“Are you listing our similar attributes in alphabetical order, my darling? Of course you are.”

“I’m- I’m just me.”

“Yes, and in your case ‘me’ encapsulates the whole of all you have said of myself, and then some.”

“...I love you too, Narcissa. But...I don’t know.”

“I find that hard to imagine there is something you don’t know,” Narcissa gently prompted.

“I...I feel safe with you but...part of me worries that being my professor might...complicate things too much. I wouldn’t...want either role to interfere with the other. And yeah I’m of Age but the last thing I want is the Ministry investigating that, I mean I’d sit down and chug veritaserum and spill everything about Time Travel if you were ever called to question over this, but...avoiding that is probably best.”

Narcissa nodded. That was perfectly reasonable, though her heart did ache. The younger Witch knew she loved her now, and their future selves, they were together, they would...they would be able to be together eventually. “Understandable,” and then her, “We will wait,” overlapped Hermione’s immediate, determinedly decided,

“I’ll drop out-”

“You will do no such thing!” Narcissa immediately argued, oh good heavens-

“Of potions!” Hermione was swift to clarify, hands splayed before her in defense. “I’ll drop out of _potions!_ Well...I want my N.E.W.T., I’ve worked my ass off for it but…” she worried her lip, thinking it over. “That’s...it’s customary to take them at the end of Seventh Year…but I’m not terribly traditional,” her head worked side to side. “So...my schedule’s pretty full. I mean to a point...I only have one Free Period during the week and that’s dedicated to about five different things between tutoring prep and homework and projects and our time travel mission and your Hogwarts mission and all of my free time is...well. I’ve been busy and...maybe my afternoon nap wasn’t wholly unwarranted I...with everything going on, my first real break was Halloween, and, you know. That ended in a Hospital Wing sanctioned break. And I’ve been scrambling to catch up and…”

Narcissa took hold of her hands, they’d been shaking, “Darling, breathe.”

The younger Witch did just that, taking in a deep breath through her nose to exhale through her mouth. “If...I could challenge the class? Take my end of the year exam say...at the end of this term?”

“December?”

“Uh-huh. Then I wouldn’t be in your class for the rest of the year. And, you know...if you felt like tutoring me, helping me prepare for my N.E.W.T.s…”

Pained as it made her the girl didn’t have a home, not truly, to go to in her breaks from school...Narcissa confessed she had some pleasure at the idea that perhaps, circumstances permitting the girl could spend the summer with her, making study and...well study in various forms. To prepare for her N.E.W.T.s! “You could challenge your Seventh Year of potions at the start of term next year.”

Hermione nodded. “Pass them, and boom, the Ministry* handles N.E.W.T.s so...after this December, you’d never be my Professor again. You wouldn’t be directly in control of my grades, and you aren’t a Head of House or anything so...you're just an adult who works here, I’m an adult that studies here, we’ve no overlap. We have to keep things private anyway because, you know… ‘opposite’ sides of the War, but this...would make me feel better about it, there wouldn’t be any worries for either of us, the conflict of interest, and if it _did_ come to light, your job won’t be in danger. And I…” she slumped a bit, “oh _God_ I could use the four extra free periods a week, completely to myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love Harry and Ron and Draco but they can be distracting and I’m...”

“Always keeping them to task, or seeking to aid in their work,” Narcissa nodded, thumbs smoothing a path along the back of Hermione’s hands. “You have been stretched rather thin.”

“I’m tempted to ask for the Time Turner already. I mean...I know I have it in the future, but I haven’t...come to the point I should ask for it, I don’t think, whatever prompted it before hasn’t happened yet and I have a feeling the arrangement is more of a one-and-done deal. My schedule’s so intense because of the ramifications of the things we’ve done. I have more new people that I probably didn’t have before, in my study groups, and the work with you, and working with your future self on-” she drew to a halt as it suddenly dawned upon her to wonder, “oh my God does _future you_ love me?!”

“I- I should think so?”

The girl jumped in her seat almost like something had bitten her. “Ah! Okay okay okay!” she called in submission, hands slipping from Narcissa’s as she turned in her seat, knees on the cushion as she moved to bend over the arm of her chair to reach where she’d rested her satchel out of the way, diagonal against the back leg of the chair, giving the older Witch quite the view, and she was sent blushing as she recalled the Future Hermione’s thoughts that morning about- Merlin did they truly engage in-?

“Got it!” Hermione announced as she dropped back onto her bottom with her ‘Potions’ journal in hand, and it opened to her most recent page. “Oh! You do!” and then she read a moment more, giggling at something the Future’s Narcissa had said.

“I’m pleased you’ve assurance but I do not appreciate her interruption.”

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, rubbing at her healed shoulder, “the message pulled on my magic and then um, she sort of kept tapping the page to get my attention, Draco does that to them sometimes, future us?” she chuckled fondly, as if she found it endearing, both that the boy was so impatient, and that it was a trait he shared with his mother.

“Did she hurt your magic, my darling?”

Hermione startled, as if catching herself rubbing at her shoulder. “No, it isn’t bad or anything. I might have overdone it catching up earlier in the week, it gets a little sore when I cast too much. That was like poking at a sore muscle.”

“Well she is to stop being so impatient, gods above! Do inform her, she must absolutely be gentle with you!”

“She just apologized-”

“As she should!”

“Hey,” Hermione said calmly, reaching out to soothe with a hand over Narcissa’s, “you really shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, you know?” her brow furrowed, “It really scares me sometimes, how much it feels like I have to get on to you...both about that. You’re fine with me, it's _you_ who needs to be more gentle with _yourself._ I mean I...I love you and it kind of kills me that you don’t seem to love you. I mean- God, being so harsh about your future self...can’t feel good for her. Can’t _be_ good for her. If I went around criticizing my future self, thinking nasty things about her, I would think she’d start to feel badly about herself, feel the way I feel about her. I...God, it would break my heart if you came to hate yourself.”

“I will absolutely work on it,” Narcissa was quick to assure, Merlin she- she hardly wanted to anguish the younger Witch over it- was it truly such a concerning thing? “I’m...at conflict with her, presently. She did not take your future self assisting us, retrieving my light-stone very well. She’s angered with your future self over it. You’ve assured me it is apparently _okay_ , her reaction but- but there is no reason in the world to be angry with you!”

“...there probably is? I mean you’re a rational woman, Narcissa, and you...I know you believe in me, so...if your future self is upset over mine going to the manor...I mean I get why she’s upset…” she seemed to consider it a moment. “She wrote me earlier, when I wrote asking if she could help me get journals, she has access to my funds and her own contacts and things to get what I needed by the time I was back from Quidditch. She did that and wrote that I’m to never go off into enemy territory on my own, certainly not without telling someone first and definitely not without my wand or access to my magic. I asked what brought it on and...she said that’s exactly what I’d done this morning, future me? She woke up and I was gone, and I could have been splinched in the countryside and neither version of herself would know I was even in danger. My magic’s pretty beat up, apparently, my future self wasn’t supposed to come off of magical bedrest yet. I mean she wasn’t even able to apparate away when she realize Lucius was ther-”

The fire in her hearth blazed high and then subsequently blew out as the stone mantle _cracked_ , the sound punctuated by Hermione letting out a startled scream, hands slapping over her mouth as she stared at the fireplace before looking to Narcissa, and her journal thunked against the stone floor as the younger Witch surged to her knees to kneel before Narcissa, hands reaching to brace her forearms as she peered up into her face as Narcissa’s heart thundered in her chest, an aching pulse in her temples building as she trembled. “Hey hey hey, hey, everything's okay, Narcissa? She came back alright, he didn’t hurt her-”

“He could have!” oh _gods!_ “ _Never_ , do you understand me? You are never, ever to be al-alone with him, gods _above_ h-h-he- surely he did _something!”_ He must have, oh Merlin, Hermione had been disheveled, covered in filth, had he attacked her? Flung magic at her while she was defenseless to cast against him? She- she’d returned her spare wand- she hadn’t even had her own wand with her! She must have- have dodged her way into the bathroom, retrieved a spare wand and then worked her weakened magic wan defending herself as she made _literal_ rescue of Narcissa’s stone- that was not worth it! Not worth the risk to her _life!_

“I’m so sorry, you didn’t know, did you?” No! The younger Witch had kept it from her, alluded to everything being perfectly fine- “She’s fine, she was scared but he didn’t do any-”

“I hardly believe _that!_ You could have been- he has _tortured_ people at ritual, Hermione! Laid them slain! He could have crucio’d your future self until she was left a mumbling mess, he- could have taken you hostage, made ransom of you- intruding on his bedchambers while he lies in wait of me, he could have- he-”

“In wait of you?”

“If he felt me cross the wards he would have- oh gods I sent your future self with my magical signature attached to her wrist, her watch! He must have appeared thinking I had returned for something, he could have punished you in my stead, _raped_ you!”

The younger Witch’s voice was a rasp as she struggled to speak, “You...he...you didn’t go return for your stone because you’re scared he plans t-to-”

“Why should I expect different, nothing stopped him when we were- he- the eve before our divorce he-”

In the next instant, there was a warm weight in her lap, arms around her neck and a cheek resting atop her head, the younger Witch wrapping herself around Narcissa to hold the older Witch as she shuddered and wept, something painful lodged in her throat, “It- it- I know we were m-married-”

“Doesn’t matter, no is no, ‘I do’ doesn’t cover _that,_ I don’t care _what_ the hell kind of vows you took _._ You never- oh God, Narcissa, it’s _never_ okay,” Hermione insisted, holding her fiercely, and there was something both horrific at the thought of the girl facing that man, and thrilling all at once as she ground out, “I’m _glad_ I went, I hope I kicked his _ass.”_

“No, no promise me,” Narcissa pled, shifting so she was looking up into the younger Witch’s face, “pr-promise me y-y-you’ll never risk such a thing. _Please_. If I lo- if I lost you- if you were ever brought to harm because of me- I could not-” she fell silent and Hermione took a moment to consider it, torturous as it was, that spoke to her seriousness of,

“Alright. I promise, no...unnecessary risks. I always try to stay safe. I won’t go out of my way to put myself alone in danger, _but_ if it's you, my friends involved?” she swallowed, hugging Narcissa tighter. “I’m always going to protect you.”

She...supposed that was what her future self had done this day. Gone to her aid, found herself in over her head, but...she survived it, miraculously little scathed, and then she kept such danger to herself, told Narcissa’s future self because...they were more direct partners in this, and she wished to...protect Narcissa, did not think she would handle well, the news of such danger. Which, if her fireplace was any indication, she hadn’t. _She_ wanted for dreamless sleep, horrified what her mind might conjure up.

There was a pull at her magic and in the next instant, her planner was in hand, she held it open in Hermione’s lap while the girl rested her cheek against the top of her head again, peering down curiously for all of a moment before averting her gaze, either to offer privacy or keep from testing acknowledging her future self in real-time.

_I’m okay, I wasn’t hurt or attacked. He was too much of a mess, he didn’t even know what day it was. He was drunk off his ass and lying around in bed, I was so dirty because I crashed into his filthy bedroom, the place hasn’t seen a House Elf in at least a week. He fired them all and I mean I didn’t make it everywhere in the house but it was empty, Narcissa, I even called for one of Jinsey’s friends, Slingy? Nothing. I’ll tell you everything if you want to know but the highlights I feel will offer some relief are: I’m fine, he’s a wreck and he deserves it, and I got your lightstone back without injury except my own apparating like an idiot._

Lucius fired his... _Malfoy_ House Elves? “Narcissa?” Hermione questioned softly, running fingers through the woman’s hair.

“My _fool_ ex-husband has apparently absconded of any Elf left to him after our divorce. They are every one of them Elves who had never been exchanged outside of the Malfoy family and their immediate ties. Some of them had known no other home the whole of their lives but the manor! And they certainly weren’t the sort who would be capable of processing sudden freedom, no not at all, it would be shocking, they’ll have no clue what to do, be so wrapped up in the shame they’d been raised to feel at the concept of freedom, oh Merlin above! They’re likely wandering, withering in the streets or worse!”

“Oh God, really? Can...can we do something?”

“We must, gods in the heavens it’s such a cruel thing to- whatever possessed him- ugh!” she let out a frustrated sound. “I- there were few Black family Elves in our employ, Jinsey is the only I keep at my side, I have freed those who wished to be, some have left my employ to pursue work in free spaces, seek to work with friends and relatives, some chose to stay on, they and any who have declined my freeing them take care of the Black and...Lestrange family manors, my summer home.” Oh...oh she did hope this summer...she shook her head, that was neither here nor there at this point, though the thought did soothe against the stress of, “I...I’ve no where reasonable to put the host of them, I’m well staffed and I...I’ve been making progress with the Elves in my care, those who are tenuous about Freedom. I would hate to derail their progress by...none of Lucius’s Elves will be coping well with their newfound freedom, and they will only further imbue their fellow Elves in the rhetoric they have been raised in.”

Hermione’s hand reached outward and her journal rose up from the floor to meet it, opening it low before them, and Narcissa...well, she was admittedly curious, not quite as cautious as the younger Witch. If she focused she could see through the protections on the journal, and she would see ‘potions notes’ in Hermione’s hand overlapping the true messages in her own, difficult to view but...doable. Oh...perhaps she was a bit hard on her future self. The left hand page was wholly full, the right was filling as they sat together awaiting the woman to finish, and...well, occasional impatience aside, she was terribly tender with the present’s Hermione.

“Your future self suggests taking the issue to the Headmaster,” Hermione said, a bit of uncertainty in her voice as she wasn’t following the woman’s train of thought as Narcissa could, because yes oh, that would-

“...Lucius is, at present, at least pretending to be aiding the Order,” Narcissa said, “if he...he’s to entertain the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor, it will be their base of operations in this time. If Lucius has had some mental break, fired all of his Elves, that will give the Dark Lord reason to call him to question, and that mightn’t do just now for the Order’s purposes. This...presents the opportunity to replace his Elf staff with plants.”

“...plants?”

“I’m...capable of finding the Elves Lucius has absconded of. They could be offered refuge and work here, at Hogwarts, and in exchange, a few key Hogwarts Elves could reasonably be given work in the Manor, to watch all its inhabitants, Lucius included, for the Order. It is not as if any he entertains will be capable of telling the difference, no one much pays attention to Elves, the only way they would be of any note, is in their absence.”

Hermione smiled softly, sighing contentedly as she relaxed further against the older Witch. “Mmm. You’re the smartest. That’s just brilliant, Narcissa...can I help? Preparing to present the idea to the Headmaster or in execution, help with finding the Elves or getting them settled?”

“Perhaps. You could certainly be of assistance in selecting Hogwarts Elves for the task at hand.” Malfoy Elves...mightn’t take as kindly to the Muggleborn girl as Dobby clearly had, at least, not insofar as seeing her positively associated with Narcissa.

She felt Hermione nod against her, “Good.” And then, “I really love you.”

“I love you likewise,” Narcissa assured.

“You...you’re okay now?” she checked.

Narcissa looked up into the younger Witch’s face, smiling as she raised a hand to brush back against a veil of curly hair, “Of course my darling.” She felt her heart stutter in her chest at the realization just how close they were, it would take the barest movement to kiss lips smiling so softly at her, for her. She wished to, there was only minor hesitation lingering still, the uncertainty if she _should_ kiss the younger Witch, and the...even as she hoped for this, dreamed of this all these months, on the eve before Samhain she...part of her felt she would never wish such contact again, from anyone, that it would...be something of a ‘trigger’, as the Future Hermione mentioned, seeking to do actions in love that had been forced from her in hate...it had taken a great deal to venture a kiss from the Future’s Hermione and the younger Witch hadn’t pressed. Watched and waited and allowed Narcissa to act as she would, give and receive precisely what she wanted without any further demand on her and it had been something of splendor, she’d felt nothing but safe, absolutely, dearly and tenderly loved. It was wonderful, a form of relief but still she found some mix of conflict.

The Present’s Hermione was of a similar understanding...with something of a different response. Not inferior, not in the slightest, oh Merlin it was the most enticing thing to see a knowing smile tug at the younger Witch’s lips as she took her bottom lip between her teeth just a moment as her smile widened to pull it free as she whispered,

“Do you wish to kiss me, professor?”

“I…”

Her smile widened, and lips pressed gently to Narcissa’s forehead before the younger Witch said, “...I...am glad we’re of the understanding now, how we feel. But until everything is settled for us, until I’m no longer directly your student…”

“You wish to abstain from anything...of a physical nature.”

“Mmhm,” Hermione nodded.

“...you realize you are presently in my lap?”

“Oh it's perfectly platonic,” Hermione briskly assured with some mirth.

Narcissa bit her lip, a giggle building in the back of her throat. “Oh, most assuredly.”

“But...as you’re okay and it can blur the lines of boundary…” Hermione popped up off of the older Witch’s lap, primly returning to her seat and casually casting to rekindle the fire in the hearth. “Do you feel up to dessert?” she checked, in a way that gave the impression she would leave Narcissa to her evening if she’d found herself done-in from the rather tumultuous turn their evening had managed to take. She did feel...a bit worn, but she would have Hermione’s company so long as the younger Witch was inclined to give it.

“Certainly, I do hope you enjoy. As you’ve successfully had more than thirty-six hours without imbibing Dreamless Sleep...indulging in a bit of lavender won’t be of negative consequence, save perhaps gently prompting your magic to aid in your peaceful slumber,” Narcissa assured, intoning, “however...all else aside, if you are brought torment in your dreams darling, you are absolutely to come to me.”

Hermione nodded. “Same. I should have our journals ready soon, and I’ve the charm to set alarm to them down-pat. If you _ever_ need me...”

“I will write, yes,” goodness the younger Witch was utterly sincere. Just as protective now as she was in-future. She wanted to offer a confession of love again, but something in her worried at indulging in it too often might make the phrasing stale, if she said it at every instance she wished to...well she might well never stop. So she said, “I do hope you enjoy your ice cream,” instead.

Narcissa found...well, the ice cream was delicious, but she found she enjoyed...Hermione’s enjoyment perhaps a bit too much. Something in the younger Witch’s soft, appreciative sounds, the way she made clean her spoon of each bite, the utensil would enter her mouth, twist to deposit ice cream directly against her tongue and then she would draw it down and out, occasionally licking at her spoon to ensure it was clean before seeking more dessert, it all...invoked response in Narcissa, somehow, made her almost lament the idea they would resist temptation until the brilliant Witch successfully tested out of her class. She knew anticipation would only render greater reward in future, but somehow dessert spelled something torturous to their wait. Merlin she wasn’t even...she knew well she desired to be kissed with such ambition, if it was Hermione doing so, but there was something else she couldn’t quite place.

Until she bid farewell to the younger Witch, seeing her safely secured under Mister Potter’s cloak to sneak back to the Tower to report for her evening Prefect duties, and Narcissa felt a tug of magic that told her something had arrived in the Sending Sack.

...a book. A mugglish looking tome, adorned with a note in her own hand, further test that...well perhaps it may shake Time at its very foundations, it was enough to send Narcissa red faced, heart racing.

Her Future self had sent her an educational text, bookmarking chapters that spoke to...there was- women- they’d a form of oral-

 _Our darling love has acquired this knowledge from her ventures with previous lovers...lovers she no longer takes in this timeline, due to her utter infatuation with us,_ her Future Self neatly explained. _You are to absolutely gift her this knowledge yourself, in deed, in text, I care not, she is not to lose this ability or I swear on Morgana’s grave I will hex myself for your neglect, I assure you. Foreign as it sounds I assure you you will second my sentiment the moment you enjoy as much yourself._

Well then, Narcissa supposed the month of November would hold study for herself and Hermione both.

* * *

“Darling,” Narcissa sighed wearily, turning over in bed once more to look to her fool girlfriend seated with her back to the older Witch, legs crossed and tucked before her, arms bent alongside her head, fingers laced at the back of her hair as she continued to _stare_ at the only source of light in their bedroom at this hour. “Cease this, go to sleep.”

“In a minute,” she promised distractedly.

“You have avowed such a thing to me thrice now, and it has been most assuredly longer than a minute,” Narcissa drawled.

“Huh?” Hermione questioned as if she’d not quite heard the woman. The older Witch sighed again and rolled further, stomach against the girl’s back, arm reaching past Hermione’s hip, getting her attention as the woman moved, “Wait, what are you doing?”

“If they are going to rob you of sleep they are to be removed, placed in the drawer until morning-”

“Don’t,” her hand was stilled by Hermione taking it, palm over the back of Narcissa’s hand, lacing her fingers down through the older Witch’s, moving it back behind her hip before releasing it, and turning in her seat to at last lie down at Narcissa’s side. “You need them, I’m sorry.”

“You do not need to be _sorry_ . You need to _rest_ . You were not to test your magic until you’d at least a week in its entirety from your initial waking, for your magic cannot recover in full if you do not allow it to, you are absolutely not to cast until further notice, and I do not even want to see the _thought_ of your removing your person from this bed save to relieve yourself or bathe until Andromeda comes Tuesday morn, to examine your magic and see if she is at peace with your casting once more.”

“I have work Monday,” she said...a bit subdued about it. Narcissa didn’t need her legilimency to know she was reticent in returning to work with Sara at present. The woman was...a touch upset. They’d convened in the garden with the Whitaker clan, their grandchildren, introducing them to Andromeda Wednesday afternoon. Hermione had been a bit more upright, enough for a visit, and the stress of their almost-knowing was more pressing on her than the stress of disclosing to them, so...the girl steeled herself while Narcissa took a moment with sweet Jessie, gently investigating the boy’s mind to ensure he was unharmed from his divined knowledge that Hermione’s life had been in danger to discover he’d no lingering trauma from the event. His powers may yet develop differently, but the boy did not _see_ things, necessarily, he came to have _knowings_ , deep-seated knowledge he knew to be absolutely correct about things he couldn’t possibly know without his power. He’d merely _known_ the ‘mean Witch’ was hurting others, hurting his Auntie. But he also assured the happy-sad man stopped her, kept her knife.

_“Happy-sad man?”_

_His daddy is gone now. He is happy he is gone and is sad he was there._

The boy’s...knowings were even stranger and nonsensical beyond that. His mind held impressions that bounced off of the certain knowledge he’d divined. Some were more understandable, feasible predictions. The mean Witch was stopped, she didn’t have her knife anymore, she was going to be in trouble. The squished-nose man was going to make her sad, he was certain, make her feel stupid and weak...which gave Narcissa the impression that perhaps the treatment _she_ had endured during her time hosting the Dark Lord in her home was now to be passed on to Bella. But then his divination diverted off into some strange...tangent. Blips of certainty in the coming future, Bellatrix would try to hurt Hermione eventually _trapped_ and _sharp_ and _scared_ were the only clear impressions of that, and then something a bit distanced from that, that felt like a brittle wand _snapping_ under strain and the certainty that...a great many people were going to be badly hurt. This was all rather...well it sounded possible, at least but it led to the eventual impression, something tied to a fixed-point, something Narcissa’s magic could tug on and it would not budge, because it was a matter of destiny, the certainty of someone entering time, being born.

_Auntie will make a baby!_

_“...truly?”_ Narcissa questioned, utterly delighted at the prospect that set her heart aglow until,

 _With Mean-Witch!_ the boy had signed, bouncing in Narcissa’s lap as he busied his hands with playing with the ends of her hair. 

She would do no such thing! Not unless the 'mean-witch' he referenced now was Narcissa! _“Darling I do thank you for allowing me to check on your mind. I’m pleased you’re doing so well,”_ even as his divining clearly left something to be desired. With Mean-Witch _indeed_. The girl had offered, rather misguidedly, to one day surrogate life on Narcissa’s behalf should she wish for another child someday, but that offer was born of love of her and the certainty she deserved to be a mother further-still! None of that could ever apply to Bellatrix Lestrange. Bella could not be trusted to keep a box of rocks whole let alone be responsible for molding a child in any capacity! She once advised Draco on how best to _stab_ someone in the liver in response to his complaining of an argument he was having with Blaise Zabini, and Narcissa was uncertain if it was advice for how to handle it, or a threat of his own fate if he did not cease whinging while in earshot of his Aunt. _“My dear, run along and show Miss Andy,”_ awful nickname for something as beautiful as ‘Andromeda’, but more ideal for a child, _“all the beautiful flowers you helped me to plant.”_

The boy had readily done so, eager to do as much for the Witch who enraptured him within two seconds of their meeting by offering a small, shiny red lollipop she had on her person for some reason, a reward for her patients though a great many of her clientele were full grown Witches and Wizards...Aurors at that. Hermione had pouted that she’d received no such treat and she hadn’t complained once about the woman making torture of her body to heal it. So she sat patiently, waiting for Narcissa’s examination to be done as she sucked on her own lollipop Andromeda had seen fit to placate her with, popping it from her mouth as the Witch led Jessie off, baby Gabrielle in her arms, oh. As much as Jessie was rather enthralled with the newly acquainted Witch, Andromeda had taken one look at the Winter’s babe, saw the similarities in their magics and became something of putty in the newborn’s hands, Narcissa was almost concerned the woman would never return Gabrielle to her parents once the babe was handed to her and their magics instantly began communing harmoniously sending the little Witch giggly and babbling happily as she pulled on the buttons of the woman’s shirt.

John and Violetta...Mike even had taken the news rather in stride, listening as Hermione appraised them to the situation, the Dark Lord’s return, her role in the War, that her family was a target for Dark Wizards and her parents wholly defenseless should the worst come to pass. She confessed to the things she’d done to secure their lives, including erasing and replacing every trace of her true identity from non-magical society. It was why they knew _her,_ knew her alias, but held precious little solid knowledge of her life outside work. Sara had sat...very silent, a first since Narcissa had met the woman, and she waited until the Witch was through before voicing her foremost concern.

 _“Did you fucking_ mind-wipe _my_ kid?”

_“Wh-”_

_“Did you cast on_ Jessie?!”

“No! _Oh God, no of_ course _not, I-”_

 _“There’s no of course not about it!”_ Sara snapped. _“I swear to God Staci- Her- whoever the fuck you are, if you ever do anything like that to-”_

_“Jessie was a baby! I didn’t think he’d retain any memory that could link you guys my parents to ‘Hermione Granger’! I would never- I wouldn’t. That would be...I trust my casting, I wouldn’t have done so on any of you if I thought for even a second it would hurt you-”_

_“Well news flash, Hermione, it has!”_

_Babe,_ Mike had signed, seeking her attention.

_“No! If you even think about telling me to calm down Michael Winters I swear to God-”_

_“Sara,”_ John pled, “ _Honey, this was an impossible situation our girl is dealing with, you...you would do anything to protect your own family, you can’t begrudge her-”_

_“The hell I can’t!”_

Their meeting dissolved from there, Sara took her child back into her arms, supporting Gabrielle in one before hoisting Jessie up onto her hip and storming away, Mike signing apology and assurance he would try to talk her down. Andromeda had softly announced she would see to preparing some tea while the Whitakers remained seated while Hermione stared, blushing with embarrassment and shame, holding back tears as she stared into her lap, trembling as Narcissa brushed a hand through her hair. John Whitaker moved only to kneel on old aching knees to hold the girl the instant tears fell from her eyes, and she wept apology after apology into his chest as he stroked her hair and promised her, _“You’ve been very brave. So brave sweetheart, so strong. Sara doesn’t understand right now but I promise you, she loves you. She’ll come around, it just takes time.”_

_“Y-you aren’t mad at me?”_

Narcissa had expected some explanation of his military training, his own experience with conducting himself in a similar fashion. What they got was, _“Well hell girl, you’ve given me the perfect excuse! I don’t forget my glasses are on my head or I left something in the oven or where I put my keys because I’m a senile old man, I’m just a poor bloke under a Witch’s spell,”_ he chuckled, rubbing circles on her back as he said, _“We love you honey. Everything’s going to be okay.”_

Sara had yet to reach out after that. Hermione was nervous her return to work would herald further upset with the woman and Narcissa wasn’t inclined for her to do so regardless, especially if mere mention of work set such tension in the younger Witch’s frame as she laid in bed alongside her. “You will have _hell_ Monday if you think I am letting you play House Elf for even a minute. _You_ are the only person who demands as much of yourself, John and Violetta made it perfectly clear you are not to set foot in their establishment as anything more than a customer until you are absolutely well. I know you adore the Whitakers but darling you truly needn’t continue working for them. Sara has returned to her post, and Patrick has proven an excellent addition to staff.”

“I’m not letting you foot the bill for everything just because you’ve your vault back, Narcissa-”

“I can more than afford it.”

“We agreed to split costs and that’s what we’re doing!” Hermione insisted, sighing. “I can miss another shift,” she relented.

“I do promise to make certain your time does not pass in misery or boredom,” Narcissa assured, settling against the younger Witch, studying her face as the girl continued staring at the ceiling, mind still at work even as she was no longer staring at her present fixation. “We will uncover the implications in due time, darling, you needn’t parcel through them now.”

“I don’t under-stand,” oh Morgana help them. The girl raised a hand to her forehead, squeezing a bit, her other hand resting on her stomach rose to gesture, just a bit of movement like she was prompting her thought process. “They’re _both_ here.” Lightstones yes.

“Yes, darling.”

“Because your present self has her lightstone back.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s cemented in time, she’s going to do the time jump and when she does, the lightstone is with her...with you.”

“Yes, I do believe if I knew I were going to be making such a trip in time I would make certain my light stone was with me,” Narcissa agreed.

“So it’s here...because now you’ve brought it with you. But the one I made you is still here.”

“Until you drive me to madness over it and I bury them in the garden.”

“Narcissa!” Hermione near-whined her name, “I only made it for you because you didn’t have one! But if your lightstone exists here with us now, that means you...brought it...now. And if that’s true, why does the one I made you still exist if the motivation for its existence no longer does?”

“Hermione...please. I am tired, and it has been...a day,” was all she could say to encapsulate the horror of having nearly lost the Witch at her side, backed by their disagreement and the conflict she felt with her Present Self, how dearly the woman despised Narcissa’s upset with Hermione, it...she was grateful to Hermione across both times, for having worked to rectify that it had been wildly unpleasant, feeling guilty and ungrateful, undeserving of the Witch she loved, because her Present Self felt as much as far as the Future’s Narcissa was concerned. “I will be _ill_ if we continue on with this at this time, I- please.”

The younger Witch wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close and pressed a kiss to Narcissa’s head, “I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t- yeah. Lets get some sleep. Do you want potion? I can go get you some.”

Narcissa shook her head against the girl’s shoulder. “I will be fine, darling. I just need to sleep.”

Hermione nodded, resting with her head bowed over Narcissa’s, hand stroking through the woman’s hair as the other rubbed a gentle, soothing path along her back, and a smile pulled at Narcissa’s lips, tears stinging in her eyes when the younger Witch began humming quietly. Merlin, she could have lost this, if not to Lucius’s wand then to her own anger, escalating their argument, ignoring...Hermione had been shaken, just been through something frightening and Narcissa had done little to comfort her before casting her out. _Hearing you talk, I’m kind of_ glad _we are, it means you trust me_. Trust that had been tested and dearly rewarded. Narcissa pressed a kiss to the girl’s breast bone and nestled into her hold, made silent thanks to the gods for her life, and drifted off to sleep.

Waking brought the bemusing pleasure of keeping her lover confined to their bed by turning it into something that looked more like a bedbound classroom. It was almost annoying how smug her Present Self felt at being able to cater to Hermione’s ever request for texts on time travel theory, she sent along everything Hermione asked, leaving their bed strewn with books and parchment, and Narcissa indulged her of her own power by transfiguring stone from their garden into a blackboard she cast to let float at their bedside, Hermione scratching down equations into parchment before putting a portion of it up on the board, piecing together...something. It...well it dearly reminded her of her father’s work, the way he would pace, energetic and excited as his mind worked, raced with some new discovery or understanding that delighted him with chase as he pursued knowing it in its fullness. Such business bored Bella to violence, and Andromeda to tears, Narcissa never much understood what was going on, but she would sit in her father’s study as an offer of support as the man would sometimes ponder aloud, work through the task at hand, voice falling on ears that did little to retain much insight on the matter but then suddenly he would clap his hands together and declare some victory, acredit it to her even, _“You’ve done it, oh my brilliant girl! Thank you, my heart, for hearing me,”_ he’d say, grasping her shoulders in his warm hands and pressing a kiss to her cheek before moving to one of his many chalkboards and scribbling out something that made sense to him.

Narcissa laid watching the Witch work bring her to a point Hermione sighed with some frustration as she flopped back against the mattress, forearms crossed over her forehead as she wrestled with her thoughts.

“I just...I don’t see how it's possible our actions don’t cancel each other out,” the girl fretted, mind wracked with worry over the idea. “Because they _should_ , shouldn’t they? If they aren’t, that means something...something must be _wrong_ , we’ve _broken_ reality and that- well that can’t be very good. _That_ is a glitch,” she said, extending an index finger toward their nightstand. “The first of possibly many unless we figure out how to fix this.”

“Glitches are always malevolent?”

“Even if they aren’t necessarily bad themselves, they mean something’s wrong,” Hermione said, sighing. “I know it mightn’t seem like it matters much...maybe none of this matters and I’m just blowing it out of proportion but…” she worried at her lip.

“Well darling I happen to think _everything_ you do matters,” Narcissa offered encouragement. And then, “...Hermione?” the girl had gone entirely still, frozen, unblinking, unbreathing, staring at the ceiling overhead in deafening silence until she whispered,

“...everything I do matters…” a little laugh bubbled up from her throat as she smiled and surged upward, twisting about to look at Narcissa, “Everything _we do matters!”_

“Y-yes?”

 _“Narcissa!”_ the girl said her name like a form of praise, happy and excited _proud_ , her entire expression singing of it as she leaned over and captured her lips in a hungry kiss that sent Narcissa’s heart fluttering in her chest, a heady warmth spreading through her before the younger Witch left her breathless as she pulled back to declare, _“You_ are _brilliant!”_

“I am?” she found her voice to question as Hermione erased something with the palm of her hand before amending something on the board and moving on with her equating.

“Uh-huh,” she assured over her shoulder. “And because you’re so brilliant, you get to pick whether I eat you out before or after I explain why.”

She was not one to often entertain contemplation of ending her own life, but if her Present Self failed to pass on such vital knowledge Narcissa would dearly wish to kill her.

...though that might not necessarily be an issue, not for the Future’s Narcissa, not if Hermione’s new understanding of how the timeline would work was correct.

"You bring this with you now, that's our conclusion to why it exists here with us, correct?" Hermione questioned.

"Yes."

"Do you _remember_ bringing it with you? Do you have _any_ recollection of this being with us at any point in the past few months?"

"No darling, it only just appeared."

"But it's here now. Its existence with us has implications attached to it. If you bring it through, why would I make you another? The way we understood how time works dictates that our reality is defined by a balancing act. That if we aren't careful we'll cancel ourselves out. Your light appearing means mine should disappear, I should have never made it. But I did. And...it's still here, time hasn't corrected the inconsistency…because it _isn't_ an inconsistency. It's a matter of _permanence_. Traveler's permanence."

"Traveler's Permanence?"

"Uh-huh. An idea of Elena Marstrup, a Witch whose theories on Time Magic propelled the Ministry's development of Time Turners. In the 1200's she published her theory on Traveler's Permanence, it was disregarded in favor of Novikov's Self-Consistency Principle* in the 1980s but... _we_ are experiencing time travel here so, our observations are a bit more pertinent than a non-magical physicist's pure theoretical work on the topic. Marstrup's work was disregarded but...we're experiencing it now I think. The concept is that the actions and memories of time travelers hold permanence over the timeline they're in. I made you this...so it will continue to exist. But I also got your stone back and now it's something you're going to for certain bring with you through time."

"...I would hope I would be more prepared than merely bringing my nightlight if I _know_ I'm to travel time. Why has nothing else appeared?"

"What are you planning to wear tomorrow?"

Monday, and while she insisted Hermione remain home, she did plan to go to Whitakers to...well, she admittedly wished to test the waters with Sara. Hermione...she seemed to be ignoring her feelings on the woman's anger, she'd mourned it the evening it happened but beyond that? She'd determinedly put it from her mind. So, as she would be going out, "Deep orange blouse, cream skirt, a nude heel."

The younger Witch blinked at her, mind full of the idea she hadn't expected the woman to rattle off a readied answer but she should have. She amended her questioning, "Alright. What are you wearing a year from today?"

"Clothing I should hope, and if I am not,” she raised a hand to drag the back of her fingers to graze a path along the younger Witch’s arm, “I do hope you're somehow involved."

"You're the one who chose explaining first," Hermione reminded her.

"And I do so dearly regret it. Darling, might I borrow the time turner a moment?"

The girl giggled, "Patience, Mistress Black." Then, "What you'll wear in a year is absolutely uncertain. _This,"_ she said of Narcissa's light stone, "is the _only_ guaranteed item that makes the 'definitely getting brought along' list. That it's _here_ means it's a certainty. No matter what happens, this stone will be with you when we make the jump again. The parallel of your wedding ring vanishing when your Present Self banished it.”

"Thus it is here...and it doesn't cancel your orbs existence because of 'Traveler's Permanence'?”

Hermiome nodded. "I don't know why I didn’t think about it this way before. _We_ are the ones returning to time. Not our Present Selves. _Us._ I mean they’ll return from cementing the timeline but once they do...they’re _us. We_ are the final product, not _them._ _What we do matters. Everything we do, it matters!_ _We_ , you and I, we will be a culmination of our _every experience._ And ultimately? It’s _us_ who will be the ones pushing time on in future. Everything we do...has a permanence. _I_ made your light-orb, so even though the motivation for me to make it for you is gone...because we exist, it exists, if you put it in your dress pocket next to Draco’s when we return to time?"

“It will continue to exist. It won’t disappear even if your Present self never has motivation to make such a thing for me because her journey through the timeline won’t hold need of it. It will merely be an experience they lack that...we will maintain."

“Just like _we_ lack the experiences _they_ have. But we still get their memories. Everything _we do_ has permanence in _us_.”

“And what does this bring you to conclude?” Narcissa wondered.

“...the things we do won’t break down with our present selves, even if the things we do rob them of experiences _we_ needed to get us here. When they go through time? They’ll keep all of their experiences, just like we have, that the things that motivated or informed us don’t happen...it won’t matter. They’ll maintain their _memories_ of the timeline, and move forward with making certain the work they know we did is made permanent. When they return to time?”

“They will _become_ us, not _replace_ us, and we will have, as you said, all of the experiences. Everything that either sets of ourselves has done will be real and not become dissolved and lost to time because the things that motivated _us_ to act as we did when we experienced time authentically, the first time around no longer exist once we’re through. My year living with Voldemort in my home, your year being hunted by Death Eaters and excluded from Hogwarts on the basis of blood purity...those things will cease to exist but the knowledge and experience of their passing will live on in us.”

“And if that’s true, if the _memory_ of _experience_ is _untouchable?"_ Hermione leaned to grasp hold of the light orb, dim in the light of day, the flowery constellation glittering black stars, "If our actions are so permanent they can _survive_ their motives being stripped from time…”

Narcissa’d some idea exactly where her brilliant darling was going, but she daren't say as much herself, she needed it processed through, and coming from the brightest Witch of an Age. “Please tell me…”

“We can save Teddy Tonks. Whether it's through our own deeds by stalking the man the day he died in our time and making certain he lives ourselves, or just _telling_ our present selves he needs to watch out around that time, our experience from the time we come from, he can be warned and ready! Watching out for either...if the Snatchers are still a thing, or anything else the timeline might produce on that day, he’ll know to look out or...just stay home if we work things around to where he isn’t on the run. No matter how it's handled, so long as we tell ourselves our past experience, _we all_ keep the experience. You can warn your sister and her family, and when it’s your present self’s turn?”

“So can she…” and then, “...my darling...do you believe…” she didn’t wish to press too harshly, it was such a brittle spot for the younger Witch, she daren’t break it.

Hermione was very quiet for a moment as she considered it further, and then she nodded. “Yeah...yeah it’s hard but...I think if we warn our present selves about the year to come, the things we experienced...including the manor…no matter what their year holds, when it’s time for them to hunt down the Horcruxes...they’ll be more prepared. Maybe we won’t even be captured.” she huffed softly. “I think _us_ telling _ourselves_ will make the experience permanent for them and they’ll carry it on into their turn. If what we do...saves me from…” she traced a finger over her left sleeve, “then they’ll know what to do to prevent it from happening in the next go-around.”

"You'll...you'll agree to my warning…?"

Hermione nodded, shaking with some nerves but, "Yes.Yeah I...I’d rather test this idea on me before trying it out with Mister Tonks. If you warn me ahead of time there might be...we might see some evidence that our theory works because it...it directly affects me."

Narcissa leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss to the younger Witch’s lips. “Thank you my love,” she breathed. “Everything is going to be alright,” she promised, smiling when the girl nodded and relaxed. “Darling, I do expect to be rewarded but I trust you’ll forgive my delay?”

“You...want to go ahead and write me now, huh?”

“As soon as would be possible, yes. Just-” there was urgency to the issue, more so because...well she feared if she waited Hermione may well change her mind, think it over and forbid forewarning her present self in full and Narcissa...did not trust herself, without the bonds of magic reining her in in this regard.

Hermione licked her lips, a nervous action but then she nodded, lying back and resting with her arms over her eyes again. “Alright um...go ahead.”

“Thank you my love, I will be careful...you are to keep me apprised to how your present self fares. Where is she now?”

“Waiting for you. Present you. You’re out hunting down the former Malfoy Elves, you said you’d be back this evening and I’m...worried for you, I guess? So I’m studying for…” the younger Witch blushed a bit, smile tugging at her lips, “I’m making use of your personal potions texts.”

“...studying to challenge the course.” Hermione nodded, amused with herself.

Narcissa summoned her journal, sat against the headboard and prompted Hermione to rise just enough for the younger Witch to lay tucked up against her as she wrote, seeking to soothe as she awaited the coming experience for her Present Self.

_My darling, if you’ve a mo-_

“My God, I’m like a _puppy!”_ Hermione laughed into Narcissa’s shoulder. “I nearly hit the ceiling jumping to get my journal out, Merlin. I have the biggest crush on your future self, you realize this?”

“Do you? How splendid,” Narcissa chuckled. - _ment, there is a matter I wish to discuss._

Hermione was quiet as Narcissa wrote her Present Self, offering only a teary “I’m okay, I’m okay,” when Narcissa felt her shudder and ceased writing momentarily.

“Darling you...aren’t responding anymore, it has been- Hermione?” there was a soft high-pitched sound just cresting atop the breath the younger Witch had just taken, as she raised a hand to rub at her chest, inhaling deeply before she exhaled and when she opened her eyes she looked to Narcissa, no longer focusing on her present experience, pulling away to avoid she herself entertaining a sympathetic bought of,

“I might be having a panic attack, everything’s a little blurry on her end at the moment.”

Oh gods above! The girl was alone- “I did not mean- I had hoped this would- are you alright my darling?”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, yeah I feel okay, badly for her but I’m alright.”

“Then you...are to prepare for my return.”

“Return?”

“I’ll not leave your present self to face such a thing entirely alone, and as she’s no longer capable of communicating through the journal.”

“...if I disappear from time, it’s entirely your fault. The biggest crush Narcissa. The biggest. If you come sweeping in to save me?” she shook her head, “Alright, go. What uh...you want me to prepare for your return?”

“Absolutely. I want nary a book on this bed, Miss Granger, when I return. It is to be a dedicated space for my reward, inspiring such brilliance in you.”

“Ohh…” the girl hummed, “I suppose I can manage that.”

“Excellent.”

It was. She was admittedly looking forward to seeing her quarters in person, they were her quarters after all. It should be a safe enough endeavor as her present self was at task hunting down wayward Elves and that...well, she was, at Present, hoping Hermione did not stall dinner for herself in wait of her. She would not be returning for some time yet. Dobby had stayed the evening with Jinsey, and while he wasn’t missed on a Sunday morning, he’d some duties to tend at Hogwarts. He was readily agreeable to transporting Narcissa to her quarters, hugging her tightly.

“Mistress need only call and Dobby will serve! The other Elves would serve Mistress but...her magic is feeling differently, Dobby can be telling difference between his Mistresses’ magics. Other Elves might be seeing too. But if Mistress is needing anything she is to be calling on Dobby specifically and he will be doing whatever she wishes!”

...a difference? Her magic did not feel different as of late but...well, even as it was a part of her that was the very reason she of all people may be the last to take note of a change. It was neither here nor there at the moment. “Thank you darling, I will keep that in mind.”

Her quarters were...a bit of a mess, Dobby let out a startled sound, vanishing them in the instant they appeared to apparate across the room when he’d nearly landed his Mistress in a patch of broken glass. Vases and paperweights, odds and ends throughout her parlor and kitchen were shattered, the Witch responsible was a mess of her own, seated doubled over in...she was seated in the chair Narcissa usually claimed for herself, like perhaps she’d missed the woman and wished to sit with her even symbolically...that was not the pressing issue, she could sit with her literally now. The girl sat trembling, gasping in ragged breaths as she stared into space before her, Narcissa cast to send the glass around her sailing through the air to right itself, be repaired as she stepped through the clearing path to kneel before the Present’s Hermione who took in a shuddering breath before allowing the older Witch to rise and lay claim to the seat, pull her into her hold, the girl whimpering into the Narcissa’s robes.

“I am here darling, shh. Oh, love of my heart, please. Just breathe, everything is going to be alright.”

“I-I’m okay, I’m okay,” the girl wept out rather unconvincingly...almost like assurance to herself, that she would be alright, she wasn’t suffocating to death, she would breathe her way through. Narcicssa held her close to her chest, modulating her own breathing in the hopes the girl would work to match her efforts and after a moment they fell in synch and she said, “Th...thanks I- oh God I’m so sorry about your room-”

“Shhh, hush darling, you did nothing wrong, I’ve already repaired the glass. Are you injured at all? No stray shards struck you?” The younger Witch shook her head. “Good. Good. Would you like to discuss this or would that only make matters worse?”

“I- oh God, _please_ don’t be mad at her,” Hermione pleaded...for some reason, as she buried her face against Narcissa’s neck, “sh- she wasn’t tr-trying to scare me, just the opposite I think b-b-but um…” she swallowed, “well I’ve a bit more context about what the future holds.” she loosed a sound like a whine, “Oh God I messed up, didn’t I? I got us c-c-captured and- and- Merlin I’m- I’m glad Harry and Ron aren’t- that B-Bellatrix on-only went after me-”

“You did nothing of the sort!” Narcissa fiercely corrected, tightening her hold. “It was none of it your fault Snatchers caught up to yourself and your friends, and it was no mercy toward them to hear you- they did not endure physical torment but that is not saying much, and that alone was only due to Draco’s lying to his superiors that their captive was not Harry Potter.” Mister Potter had been outraged to be separated from his friend and poor Mister Weasley, it still chilled her to the bone to remember his howling, his blood-chilling screams begging them not to harm Hermione.

“H-how… did f-future me tell you-” Hermione sounded confused as she pulled back to look up into Narcissa’s face and then her gaze slowly trailed a path down the woman’s body before she loosed...a _squeak_ and startled, pitching backward hands catching herself as she fell from Narcissa’s lap onto the floor. “Oh my God it’s you! H-h-how...wh-why are you-” she gulped as she sat up, righting herself, clearing her throat and speaking...as if she wasn’t seated on the floor after having thrown herself there in her utter shock. “Hi.”

“Greetings darling.”

“Oh my gosh oh my gosh you’re- you’re _you!_ From the _Future!_ ”

“And so I am. Come, you needn’t sit on the floor. Are you hurt?”

“Mmm...Pride’s a little bruised,” the girl supposed, a bit embarrassed. And then she shyly accepted Narcissa’s hand when she offered it, pulling her up and back into her lap with a soft ‘oh!’, oh good heavens it was a thing of delight, her darling was a precious Witch across time. “Wow, you’re really here.”

“As we’ve assessed,” Narcissa said warmly, brushing a curl behind the younger Witch’s ear. “Are you alright, my love? When you fell silent your future self informed me you were in need of comfort.”

Her brow creased at that, “I’m sorry I interrupted your...plans to nap?.”

Narcissa bit her lip to halt the spread of smile that ultimately won out, “We do not often change from our bed things unless we’ve need to go out. I was in our bed with your future self as we wrote,” that sent the younger Witch blushing fiercely. “I did not mean to overwhelm you. I only wish to forewarn you, that perhaps you might circumvent the future we experienced if you’re armed with knowledge of its possibility.”

That got her a confused look. “But...I mean if I stop it because you’ve told me about it...won’t that take away the fact you’ve told me? I mean I can stop it this time, probably, sure. But when it’s our turn-”

“Have I spoken to you of your turn?”

“...no but I know we’re going to have one, I figure anyway. To cement everything? If you warn me and it doesn’t happen, there’s nothing to warn me about unless...” she looked perplexed as she thought it over.

“Well darling, we’ve experienced something of evidence of the theory of Traveler’s Permanence.”

The girl sucked in an excited gasp, “It’s _real?! Oh!_ ” she almost sounded angry, “I swear, I hope my future self plans on publishing something after all this, Elena Mustrap was later _mocked_ for her work on- that’ll show those jerks! Okay...okay so...you’re telling me to prevent it...I’ll take everything under advisement, watch out for signs the future you described might still happen.I didn’t mean to get so freaked out, just- it did seem like you were trying to help,” she promised.

“I was, but I do apologize it caused you such distress. I wish only...oh my darling I wish only to protect you. If I could keep all harm from you…”

Oh the younger Witch’s chin quivered, nodding as she steadily returned, “I...I feel the same. I’m so...I’m so sorry about...I wish I could have done something to help you going through your divorce.”

“It was not exceedingly unpleasant until the end and then it was over. I survived it well enough and I can assure you, you’ve been every bit of comfort, through your Future self.”

“Good I’m glad…” she considered it, “I...I sound nice, I think. I’m glad I’m still nice. Sometimes things like...sometimes people change. I hope I haven’t er...badly.”

“Even in the tender days of our journey into time, you were never...unkind to me, as much as I deserved it. You’ve an enduring sweetness, my darling you are spectacular exactly as you are now, you only grow further so in the year to come.”

“Thanks…” and then, “Oh! Crap, your Present Self, she might be-”

“She is in Diagon, at present,”...more so in Knockturn Alley but it wasn’t as if the space was dangerous for Narcissa, but she needn’t worry her. “She will not be returning until later this evening. Have you eaten darling? Eager as you are with your studies, you are to take care of yourself.”

“I’m alright. You’ll be gone a while still? Do...you want tea or anything?”

“I am terribly tempted but...I’ve left your Future Self to her own devices and after yesterday...well. You’ve this terrible habit of pushing yourself even when you should rest, I fear if I leave her too long she will get out of bed and endeavor to solve some such world-pressing issue. If you are well, I should return.”

“Oh! Yeah, that’s probably smart,” the girl conceded. “Sorry I’m such a handful.”

“I certainly don’t find it a matter of apology,” sent the girl blushing further. 

"Write me, so I know you made it back safe?"

“I will absolutely do so,” Narcissa assured. And then...well, she could hardly resist it, so rare was the opportunity, it mightn’t be offered again. “Miss Granger...if it would not put you to discomfort, I would inform you that I come from a time where as it stands, I’ve never personally been your professor.”

“Yeah?" she wondered. "We figured that was different but why...oh…”

Narcissa bent to press a gentle kiss to the younger Witch’s lips, nothing salacious but...reciprocity was due, and gentle as she was, it still elicited a soft gasp from the girl who gave her a bit of soft pressure in return before the woman pulled back. “Do be well my darling.”

“Uh-huh y-yeah I- well, I can be that," she babbled, blinking to clear her daze.

Narcissa chuckled warmly, indulging a moment more in holding the Present's Hermione, making certain she was truly well before calling, "Dobby! Darling I am ready to depart, and I would dearly appreciate your bringing Miss Granger a late lunch now."

"Dobby can be doing this!" the Elf assured as he reappeared.

"If you'll only be returning here after seeing me home, you could merely take me to the Apparation boundary, I can return myself. You've made several arduous trips this weekend," Narcissa fretted. The dear Elf was so eager to be of aid and she truly appreciated his care, she shuddered to think what might have happened if Hermione had endeavored to add further apparation of her own power to her misadventures.

Oh, the Elf's features went from open cheer to firm sternness as he insisted, "Dobby must be making certain Mistress is returned and safe."

There was a glimmer of memory in the Elf's mind. A smaller Draco, hair slicked tight against his scalp, wearing his school robes for the first time, Dobby assisted his donning the garment to try them on for size once they arrived from the tailor's. _Young Master's gaze was being nervous when he looked to the reflection of the vacant space his House Crest would be displayed once he was Sorted_ . _Dobby was being so much excitement for young Master!_

_"Oh my darling," Mistress was speaking, oh she was being so much love, her magic sang with it, was being making the room feel brighter, warm as she came to be standing beside young Master. "You look so handsome. Whatever is the matter?" she questioned, fingers smoothing his hair._

_"I_ will _be Sorted into Slytherin, won't I mother? Th-the Hat can't put me somewhere else?" oh young Master was so much fear of failing his father._

_"The Sorting Hat will place you exactly where you are meant to be, Dragon," Mistress warmly assured, coming to stand before young Master and crouching to be being his height. "Slytherin...any House he would put you in is where you are meant to most thrive and so long as you are where you're best nurtured, where your magic will best grow? Oh, my heart, I will be so proud of you," she leaned in to whisper, "no matter what House best suits you."_

_Dobby's wrinkles was being taught and smooth as stress and fear flooded him at the sound of Master's voice from the doorway to their bedchamber. "...will you?" Dark and scary, oh Master had not liked Mistress's mothering! Dobby was thinking she was being a good mother, but maybe Dobby was being a stupid Elf, foolish foolish! Master was so displeased!_

_"Lucius…my love, you've returned to us early, how splendid," Mistress offered pleasantly as she was being rising._

_"I've arrived in perfect timing apparently, what rot are you feeding the boy? Gods above what worthless drivel," Master spat, glaring gaze grazing Mistress to land on young Master who was clenching his fists so very tight tight tight, the way he did to be being distracted, hold himself firmer, Master got so angry when his son was being scared. "If by some sick twist of fate you, Draco Lucius Abraxas, dishonor my name and you are not Sorted into Slytherin? Pride is the very last thing your mother will feel."_

_"Dobby dearest," Mistress was needing something now! "young Master should return his clothing to his quarters to be hanged appropriately." Oh, Dobby was to be getting young Master away from his father._

_"Yes," Master was agreeing. "Leave us."_

_"Yes, Master, Dobby is doing!" Dobby assured and with a snap of his fingers he and young Master were in his quarters on the other side of the Wing._

_Oh, young Master was angry, "No! Dobby, you- you fool headed- father-" his face was wrinkling like an Elf! But that was meaning he was going to be making tears! "He's going to hurt her! You- you can't leave-" he sniffled, skin reddening as he turned away and was hiding his face in the crook of his arm before he whirled to be facing Dobby with his tears wiped clean, "you shouldn't have taken me, he doesn't hurt her as long as I stay! S-someone has to stay. You can't...when I'm at school you can't leave her! Not unless she's_ safe! _You must always guard her! You_ have _to, I'm your Master and you have to do as I say!"_

_Dobby...would always have to do what Master was saying, not his son, but...oh, young Master was being so very clever! "Dobby will not leave! Dobby will be staying with Mistress until she is safe, Dobby promises!"_

Oh Merlin. The first two years of Draco's schooling Dobby...had grown increasingly belligerent. Not in a way that felt like defiance, but he merely...yes, refused to leave whenever Lucius ordered their privacy. It did not happen often, but in the instances it had? The Elf disobeying turned Lucius's malice away from Narcissa, and on to Dobby.

Narcissa opened her arms and readily accepted the Elf hugging her tightly for their journey. "You are a dear, brave thing, and I do absolutely adore you."

"Oh! Dobby is grateful! He is adoring Mistress, yes!" Dobby brightly assured before looking to the younger Witch who looked on with some interest, allowing the thought slip through to her faux-wall that it was sweet, of all things, that Narcissa sought to hug the Elf, she was so very pleased with her care of the magical beings. "Hermione's meal will be arriving and she is to be eating! Dobby will be returning soon!" 

The girl nodded. "Thanks, Dobby."

Narcissa arrived safely at home, to the dear reward of discovering her darling had indeed cleared the bed, sprawled out in its midst, and fallen asleep, tearing the sweetest ache from Narcissa’s heart to find the younger Witch looking so peaceful. Perhaps a nap was due after all.

...and Hermione was as ever, a Witch of her word. Narcissa got to indulge in tender rest, to be revived by lips ghosting at her neck, seeking permission to dole out her promised reward.

“Mmm, hey, where’re you going?” the younger Witch sleepily mumbled out, eyes barely open as she weakly raised a hand to reach for Narcissa’s as the woman emerged from the bath, early the next morning. How she was even awake was beyond Narcissa, she’d worked with purpose to keep the girl up late before imbibing Dreamless Sleep. Of course she would somehow wake to ensure, “Everything okay?”

“Just popping out for a moment. I’ll not be gone very long.”

“Oh...kay. Be careful,” Hermione yawned, settling back in, already drifting off.

“Sleep well, darling. I will be returned when you wake, and I will make breakfast.”

“Good...” she breathed in the start of a yawn, “tape should be…”

“Tape is most assuredly not on the menu.”

The Witch groaned a bit at that, “Xena...tape should be in the VCR. I always...always record,” she shook herself a bit. “New episodes tonight, we...we should catch up.”

Oh. She’d forgotten, in fact she hadn't thought of it in the wake of everything that weekend...nor had she realized the girl _always_ made such recordings? How? They always watched them, there was no obvious need to record them though she supposed it was a matter of ‘just in case’ or...she caught the impression in the girl’s mind it might be method for cheering Narcissa, to have at-will access to any episode she cherished enough to view continuously.

Well, she left with her determination utterly revived to burn brighter. If Sara Winters thought for an _instant_ Narcissa would abide her invoking further anguish in Hermione, she had another horrible thing coming. Narcissa would never dream of hurting the woman, of course.

But oh, she could make her life _exceedingly_ unpleasant.

She apparated into the Whitaker's restroom half of an hour before they were due open, emerging to find the cafe empty, but there were voices in the Kitchen.

"...can't promise to be cheery about it, but yeah. I won't start screaming at her in the middle of the shop either," Sara was assuring her mother in law whose gaze rose from her to Narcissa as she entered the kitchen directly behind Sara.

"You certainly won't," Narcissa cooly assured, delighting a bit in how the woman startled and whirled about to look at her, "She isn't coming in today, there was an incident this weekend, she'd reason to break her resting period and cast beyond her limits, she still recovers. I do not wish her to push herself until our Healer has cleared her."

"Incident?" Violetta worried. John was seated at the woman’s side, raised a hand to thread his fingers in the back of blonde locks to massage at the base of her skull to soothe as he looked to Narcissa expectant. 

Oh. Displeased as she was, Sara tensed at that...and not in upset with Hermione. "Oh God,” she whispered under her breath, an involuntary oath before asking, “is she okay?"

...it mightn’t be necessarily right of her but Narcissa decided to take a page from Jinsey. While the Elf hadn’t misled Narcissa to her health, she’d the right idea it could be distracting...motivating. Too it was hardly a lie to say, “Nothing some rest, a touch of bruising balm and that delightful ointment of John’s making won’t repair.” While the largest of her bruising came from Narcissa herself on good terms, Hermione's skin was littered with bruises from her crash landings and her magical exhaustion was without exaggeration. 

“She’s _hurt?_ Wh-what happened?”

“In the wake of my divorce I accidentally abandoned something precious to me, something irreplaceable as it is a gift my son crafted me in his tender youth. I...my ex husband has had an unspeakable violent streak with me such that I...I feared further abuse, and more than that I have found myself incapable of...if I had gone alone and he had intercepted me I would be perhaps, incapable of defending myself. Hermione discovered the issue…”

“She went. Oh God, was- was he there?”

“Yes. She apparated into my former home and discovered her newly healed magic wholly drained and rendered unusable in the same moment she realized he was very much present. She made escape with the item, if only barely, her magic is-” oh, her magic had felt raw, like a field of scabs torn open to bleed anew when Hermione was returned to her.

“Jessie didn’t…” oh the woman looked a bit anguished over it, “I swear, Narcissa, Jessie didn’t say anything, I promise if- if he’d gotten an impression she was going to be in danger I would’ve- I’m not her biggest fan at the moment but I would have warned you.”

“It does so warm my heart you would seek to protect the girl you’re angry with for protecting you,” Narcissa drawled. 

Sara riled at that. “Messing with our minds isn’t protecting us, she- she didn’t have the right to do that not to us, and God, her poor parents-”

“Would be mincemeat the autumn of last year if she’d not secured them. The injuries you saw on Hermione’s person were nothing that spoke to how devastatingly injured she was after Samhain ritual, and _she_ is a _Witch_ . Non magical persons would have nothing to hope for in the face of being brought to ritual, and that is precisely what the Dark Lord demanded, to have Hermione Granger’s family found and brought for sacrifice on Samhian the year prior, if they’d been capable of being found? This would be the first of many anniversaries to come, of their brutal demise,” Narciscsa snapped. “Her parents, while they could somewhat appreciate the danger they were in...could not appreciate the vital role their daughter plays in this war. Without her? The Dark Lord seeks her demise for a _reason_ , Sara. Time and time again she has been the only thing that stood between the side of Light and failure. Do you think she holds no remorse over what she has done? It anguishes her so that I wish _I_ were capable of altering her mind, to allow her respite, to forget. She...grieves at the very thought of her own birthday because she has wiped all existence of the event from time, has time traveled so often her age no longer correlates to her original date of birth- she is supposed to be at present, 16 years old. She is in her _twenties_ , for the efforts she’s gone to to prepare herself to aid against the Dark Lord, to _save_ -” Merlin above. She was perhaps growing too accustomed to having free reign of her mouth...she’d never had to so carefully guard things about her significant other, Lucius would forbid her speak of something and it was out of her control, she’d rather well fallen out of practice. 

“...shut the fuck up, are you from the _future?!”_

“That is neither here nor there-”

“Uhhh _Witch_ , I beg to differ. Is Time Travel _real?!”_

“Through Time _Magic_ , yes.” And then, in an effort to rectify, “Hermione aged herself while using TIme Magic to attend the bulk of classes offered at Hogwarts. She could have up to seven versions of herself running around Hogwarts on any given day to keep up with her schedule.”

“...she...can cast Time Magic and she used it to take more classes?” Sara snorted, “God, what a nerd.”

“Indeed. There are many who would take such power and abuse it. Hermione is the least malicious Witch with whom you are acquainted. Even Andromeda, reformed though she is, hails from blood supremacists, once held the same ideals as the Witch that assaulted Hermione. I- I have sat at the Dark Lord's side, knelt before him and avowed my service, aided his vile deeds.”

“Y-you...I mean you had those weird magic vows with your husband, he was the one all up the Dark Lord’s butt, right? You were forced-”

“That does nothing to negate the fact that I was _there_ that I have sat compliant to unspeakable things- that I stood and watched my sister hold Hermione to the ground, cast spells we call ‘unforgiveable’ to torture her with pain unlike that which any human body should endure, and carved a slur into her skin that my son, everyone in my acquaintance, even _I myself_ have called her in passing! _I_ have called her that! I have said she is worthless and insufferable and wished aloud for her demise! And I have _meant it!_ I’ve wished aloud for the destruction of non-magical society! Hermione has done nothing but fight to defend herself and those she loves, your world and ours to make a better world where your children aren’t hunted for who birthed them! She gave up her family to protect them, lost her home to that choice only to lose her home at Hogwarts for being a _Muggleborn._ She has spent the last year being hunted down _through the wilderness_ for defiance against the Dark Lord, aiding and abetting the one who can stop him, securing that someone with everything in her, is prepared to do so to her dying breath so that someday your children and children like them will receive their Hogwarts letters, experience every wonderful thing she has because of her encounters with the Magical world without _any_ of the suffering she has endured. Now? She continues to do that in...she has rescued my son from damning himself to the Dark Lord’s cause, empowered me to join their fight. And she has done _nothing_ but _love_ and _protect_ you and your family. With magic just as unbeknownst to you as that which secured her identity from your minds! When she returned to seek a job she needed only to take it on part time. But then she realized how dearly you needed help, having no staff, your own health crises. She agreed to such an arduous workload without a second thought and what’s more? Her first- her first few weeks she did so using _Time Magic._ I’d not a single idea she was working, to my experience? Those weeks were full of our own work, and...being worried I should call upon our Healer because Hermione would wake, join me for breakfast, disappear for a moment into another room and return, what should be an hour after her waking, utterly exhausted, and famished for all we’d just eaten. She was instead disapparating to the car, driving to work to be here from open until close, and turning back time to the moment just after she left so she could return to me. Some of that was out of her need to ensure I did not worry for our finances or go lonely in her absence, but it was also to ensure she could be wholly dedicated to doing her utmost to keep your business from suffering as you sought new employees. Even before that, John, do you not breathe with greater ease, suffer less from allergens and the like when you are in your home? In Sara and Mike’s house?”

“...I...haven’t realized it but when I think about it,” the man nodded, “yes.”

“Hermione spent weeks the first summer she worked here developing protections for your apartment, blessings she cast in the hopes they would spread down here where she could not cast freely for the cameras...they have, to an extent, but they are stronger in your home. She did likewise within Sara’s. Spells that keep allergen and dust and the like from entering or gathering in your home, things that keep the air clean and ideal for your condition. She has recently requested my assistance in aiding her development of spells that would make safe your wife,” Narcissa said, looking to Violetta, “Spells that would keep any who would mean you harm at bay. We’ve settled on formulation that would mean that in this shop? None who enter it would come to the realization you mighn’t fit their bigoted definition of womanhood. You could interact with any and all customers without fear. We...will need time, we’ve nearly perfected them and it will require your business closing for a few hours at the very least, and your cameras be turned off as our wandwork will be much too elaborate for under-the-table casting.”

Violetta’s mouth worked momentarily, struck speechless as her eyes glittered with gratitude, and her husband drew her into his side, pressing a kiss to her temple as John swallowed and cleared his throat to say, “Thank you, yes. Whenever...whenever you’re ready. Don’t let that girl run herself ragged casting too soon, but say the word and we’ll make sure everything's as you need it.”

Sara let out a frustrated sound. “No one asked her to do any of that!”

“And she would never seek to make you beholden over it,” Narcissa said, “I, however, most certainly will. Feel how you feel Sara, but if you seek to punish her further, if you refuse to see she’s done nothing of malice, that she’s only ever acted with your safety and well being first and foremost to her mind? I will not abide it. She was frightened to confess what she has done to you, and you met that fear with fruition.”

“Well she should have thought about that before-”

“She did. And in her worst case scenario? You hate her entirely, never forgive her and report her actions to the Ministry, see her rotting in Azkaban. She found that risk worth taking if, even in that scenario, at least you and your family are _alive_ to hate and harm her.”

“A-Azkaban?”

“Wizard Prison. Its guards are Dementors, wraiths that feed on everything positive in you and live to put you eternally in your deepest fears and dispairs.”

“Fuck she- she can’t- they wouldn’t really do that, would they? She’s like little-miss-action-Barbie-war-hero, right?”

“She is a Witch who has spelled the minds of every non-magical person who has ever known her to erase her personal identity entirely to the point her birth certificate and magical documentation is blank, any photo you have of her empty, and your every memory altered, if you decried her to the Ministry? She would surely be punished.” Well. They might attempt to. Narcissa already had several ways she planned to ensure Hermione saw not a bit of retribution from the Ministry. She was merely hiding the fact she was a Witch from non-magical persons, it was little different than Tilly Tokes’s work to hide wizarding attack from the minds of non-magicals in her time. If anything she was merely following the decree. Worst case scenario, the Wizamgot did not wish to trifle with Narcissa of all people. No no. Between herself and Anathema Zabini, she’d access to skeletons that would bury their numbers in perpetual shame were they ever revealed.

“They won’t hear anything about it from us, shit. I...I just...she didn’t-” oh...oh the crux of her anger lay in, “Parents are supposed to protect their children, not the other way around! She didn’t have the right to do that to them!” Oh, it anguished her that someday Jessie or Gabrielle might feel the need to depart from them entirely because of a difference in magical status.

“I know this is difficult. I know you think of your own children, worry you are inadequate to protect them. And unfortunately darling? It is a hard truth, one I take no pleasure in affirming for you, but when it comes to magical violence? You are. You are absolutely no match for any Witch or Wizard who would seek to do you or your children harm. But you would absolutely die for them, Hermione’s parents were prepared to face such a thing, it is she who wasn’t, wasn’t willing to lose them permanently. And protection aside, that does not mean...your children won’t still see you as their protector, and there are realms outside the sole arena of violent magic, that you are well and capable of aiding your children. Hermione still needs her parents, very much so. She _aches_ for her parents to comfort her, even as they cannot do a single thing to aid her magically, she wants their love, their comfort, to feel safe because they are _there_. You’ve no power to cast to aid Jessie when he has upsets from his powers of divination. But you’ve the ability to hold him, talk him through, instill in him the knowledge that he is safe and everything is alright. You can’t bond with your baby's magic with your own, but Gabrielle? Her magic knows you, loves you as she does, is nurtured by your mere presence just as it is when a Witch of kin-magic holds her. You fear someday your children might seek to do the same, cast you aside to protect you, but my darling...Hermione has done this so that they will never have to. If we see this through, if we are successful, if her brilliant mind continues to aid the war effort? The Dark Lord will fall, his every accomplice with him, and your children will never feel the fear their parents will be victims of hate.”

“I…” Sara sighed. “I’ll talk to her. I didn’t...I didn’t know- Jesus.”

“She...would never wish to scare you. A great many things you would fear for your children’s futures, she hopes to abate before they would ever dare threaten them. She...will likely dislike that I have disclosed this to you but...it is torment to see her- you made her cry and that cannot stand, if you can be made to understand, if I could aid in that so you might cease this foolishness and forgive her, I don’t rightly care.”

“We’ll um...I might explain we talked but she doesn’t have to know the er...specifics.”

“I’ve no fear in angering her.”

“Still,” Sara shrugged. “This is...Jesus it’s a lot. I didn’t...really think about it, when you guys explained before, about the war and stuff. I mean it just doesn’t sound _real_. She’s...got enough on her, she doesn’t need the stress of us knowing her business unless she wants us to,” she sighed. “I...should...how should I…?”

“Broach the subject with her? Well darling...are you caught up with Xena?”

Sara let out a gasp, “Oh crap! I missed it last week- we...everything was kind of crazy. Shoot, I don’t even think I set the VCR.”

“We likewise missed last week's episode as...well Hermione remained comatose and I- oh I was so very afraid she wouldn’t wake. When I made to leave this morning my darling brought it to my attention she apparently sets the VCR to record each week's episode. Shall we perhaps enjoy both weeks episodes together?”

“Yeah um...we can come to your place or you can come to ours if you wanna see the bugs and have more room. Oh wait...we can come pick you up if she isn’t up for driving? She can’t do that appear-rating thing right now, right?”

“She can side-along with myself without detriment, my magic would carry her safely through. Yes, that would be most agreeable.”

“As long as she’s up for it. I’ll be off at noon so I’ll make sure everything’s ready to roll, you can come over...would an hour and a half before the new episode work?”

“Certainly. Shall we bring anything?”

“Just yourself and my girl. Oh God I really messed up being a kickass friend this week.”

“It is understandable you would be angry, and perhaps I shouldn’t have involved myself and let your anger run its course but I just...she was so very afraid to lose you. You are all of the family she has and...gods I cannot stand to see her suffer.”

“You-love your girl-friend,” Sara teased in singsong.

“I do.”

Oh she did, she truly did. It was utter relief to come home, _home_ , and return to lie alongside her darling. She’d planned to prepare breakfast but...well, perhaps she’d been a touch more stressed over the prospect of confronting Sara, she felt admittedly drained when she apparated home. She all but kicked off her shoes and fell into bed with Hermione, snuggling against the younger Witch who stirred enough to note her presence and drop a kiss to the older Witch’s hair.

“Hey…”

“Mmm,” was all the recognition she got from Narcissa before the woman fell asleep.

She woke to a hand carding through her hair, noonday sun flooding their bedroom. “Cissa? Love, are you hungry?”

Ravenous, in truth. “I did mean to make breakfast,” the woman murmured in response.

“It was all good, I got up and made something for Jinsey. It’s gone two now but brunch is always doable,” the younger Witch softly supposed, continuing her ministrations with Narcissa’s hair. “Are you feeling alright?”

Two? Merlin. Narcissa shook herself, “Merely tired.”

“Did you sleep badly? Do you think you’re coming down with something?” Hermione worried, feeling at her forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

Mmm, perhaps she didn’t but the girl’s hand felt refreshingly cool in the warmth of their room. “I’m fine. I don’t feel poorly. I suppose our weekend merely caught up with me.”

“...you were really tired the other night.”

“After quite the long day spent in turmoil with you before discovering paradigm-shifting evidence of our understanding of time travel. Darling, I’m _fine._ ”

“But hungry? What would you like for lunch?”

Narcissa shook herself, pushing to rise up on her elbows...Merlin, had she slept that strangely? They ached under her weight, but the bit of pain was sharp enough to help wake her further. “You’re meant to be resting, Miss Granger. I was supposed to make breakfast for you...you made as much for Jinsey?” Narcissa asked, bemused, pressing a grateful kiss to the girl’s cheek when she nodded. “I’ll see to our lunch. And I do hope you’ll forgive me darling but I’ve made arrangements for dinner. We’ll be going out if that suits?”

“Sure, as long as you’re up for it. Where do you want to go?”

“Everything is handled. You need merely dress comfortably.”

“You can’t be comfortable like this, honey, you didn’t even change,” Hermione still had worry in her mind. The younger Witch wrapped her arms around her, pressing a few kisses to Narcissa’s cheek, then higher to her temple. “Plan of action. I promise I feel fine, I haven’t used any magic today and I won’t for making lunch. I’ll just get us something to tide us over until your plans tonight? I’ll draw you a bath, you can get comfy. I can set up the living room if you want to lounge around and catch up-”

“Actually darling my plans involve holding off on that just a while.”

“...but we’re going out?”

“Yes.”

“...and you aren’t going to tell me where?”

“No. I find I delight leaving you in mystery.”

“Well as long as it delights you, I suppose I’ll let you have it,” Hermione said, pressing another kiss to the woman’s cheek, oh. She did adore her, it was heartachingly sweet, the younger Witch’s tenderness, holding Narcissa as if she were something precious, kisses that spoke nothing to desiring anything other than to love on her, acts meant to insure she felt dearly cherished. “I’ll be right back,” she breathed against Narcissa’s skin before rising up and slipping into the bathroom.

She might have promised not to use magic to prepare their lunch, but the girl did lace the bath with gentle charms to relax and restore the older Witch. Merlin, she needn’t fret so, though Narcissa did appreciate it, and she’d precious little complaint when the girl disrupted her bath to bring their food, seating herself on the floor just outside the bath. Sandwiches and fresh fruit, feeding Narcissa grapes and chopped up bites of apple since it simply wouldn't do to eat with sudsy wet hands. She found she did feel better all told. Oh, Hermione loved her so, gave her precisely what she needed whenever she’d need, even if Narcissa herself did not realize there was need to begin with.

“...Cissa? What’s wrong?”

“Ignore me darling I-” the woman waved her off. She’d only gotten a little teary eyed, and it was understandable, wasn’t it? “I apologize I just...well I have warned you it can be overwhelming...I’m well, but I do thank you for seeking to take such care of me.”

“Oh. Of course,” the Witch sweetly insisted, something in her expression melting as she promised, “I’d always take care of you,” pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

That...struck her someplace sore, somehow. She’d made such a promise to Jinsey, the other day, vowing to love and care for the Elf even in her old age, it led her mind drawing the instant conclusion, “...are you insinuating I’m some old crone who requires your assistance? Because I can assure you Miss Granger, that could not be farther from the truth.”

“Of course not, Narcissa!” Hermione was immediate to insist, “I just mean if you aren’t feeling well, I’ll always try to help you feel better-”

“I feel fine, thank you!”

“I...I didn’t mean to make you feel belittled or something I just...you’d take care of me if I wasn’t feeling well. You aren’t _old,_ Narcissa. You’re- is this something...I didn’t realize this was something that bothered you, our age difference.”

“It doesn’t! I-” Narcissa sighed with some frustration. “Do...continue to feed me, apparently my mouth is good for little else when left idle. I apologize,” perhaps she was nervous for Hermione’s pending discussion with Sara. There was every chance it would go poorly, or the girl might...be upset with their surprise visit. She didn’t fear her anger but neither did she enjoy it.

“...if it’s something we need to talk about-”

“It isn’t I’m...I don’t believe you to be bothered by our age difference nor do I really believe you would belittle me for it, I- I’m tetchy for some reason.”

“Is there something on your mind?”

“‘For some reason’ implies it is a reason I do not _know-”_ Narcissa began to snap, catching herself. “Oh gods I do promise I...I don’t wish to be so cross with you.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing the matter? You aren’t sick or upset about something?” Narcissa shook her head ‘no’. “Have you taken your potion today?”

“Yes darling.” Narcissa shook her head again, “Do forgive me?”

“It’s okay to have a mood.”

“It isn’t okay to take it out on you. You’re being wonderful and I’m-”

“Worth being wonderful to,” Hermione assured, dropping a kiss to Narcissa’s hair before she rose. “Draco’s writing, I should see what he needs.”

“Wait! I...I can summon his notepad to you unless...unless you cannot abide me just now.”

She dropped back down onto her bottom, gesturing for her to go ahead, “Summon away.”

“That sounds of oxymoron,” Narcissa informed her.

The girl’s mouth dropped open in put-upon surprise. “Narcissa Black!” she said in teasing accusation, “Are you calling me a moron?! Why I never!” she giggled, “See? Everyone takes things the wrong way sometimes,” she offered with a wink.

“You’re utterly ridiculous,” Narcissa assured as the notepad faithfully sailed its way into the bathroom and she deflected it to land in Hermione’s waiting hand.

“The Granger charm I’m afraid,” she said as she flipped open her notepad, “not as useful as Black family charms, but I come from a non-magical people, it’s all I’ve got…” a smile spread at her lips as she read Draco’s message. “Your son would like to know what muggle-drugs I’m imbibing these days.”

“...are you behaving strangely?” Narcissa wondered.

“It might seem so, my present self didn’t exactly give anyone forewarning of her plans today, I didn’t want them seeming unsurprised or reacting strangely.”

_“Where’s Hermione?” Draco whispered to Mister Potter as the boy seated himself at the Workstation the Slytherin boy usually shared with Miss Granger._

_“Dunno, she just said I should go ahead and sit with you,” Harry replied with a shrug. “I swear she was right behind us.”_

_“Is she sitting with Nott or Bl…” the other Slytherin boy’s name died on his lips as he looked about and found Blaise Zabini seated alongside Ronald Weasley. Ronald seated almost directly in the Slytherin’s lap, Zabini’s lips at his ear, chuckling and whispering something that sent the ginger boy almost as red as his hair before he looked about as if to see if the Professor was watching. She was, she’d a smooth glass circle she wore on a silver chain around her neck, charmed to give her a view of her class when her back was to them as she stood now, writing on the chalkboard. So, Ronald pressing a kiss to Blaise’s cheek bore many a witness. “They realize we are in class, right?”_

_“They’re sweet,” Harry warmly defended._

_Her son paled a bit, seeming nervous, “I...I mean do you wish we carried on like- I don’t- I’m not-” oh, she prayed Mister Potter would not pressure or shame him._

_“Shhh, hey. That works for them and that's great. I’m not super picky about public or private displays of affection but I wouldn’t want to be hanging all over each other 24/7, and…” Harry grinned, a touch of slyness to his features, “I like that you’re shy. I think it’s cute. And it makes when we do get to carry on like that that much better. Anticipation and all that.”_

_Her son stared at his boyfriend rather intensely for a moment, open acceptance washing over him before he offered a, “Merlin, Potter.”_

_“Mm no, it’s pronounced_ Harry _. Harry Potter, nice to meet you.”_

_Draco’s quiet laughter was rather cut off by the sound of her classroom door being thrown open, slamming against the wall, Narcissa whirled about to face the intrusion...oh. Was she on to do this now? Merlin above how incredibly delightful._

_Hermione Granger stomped a path up the center aisle with an unraveled scroll of parchment looped several times over her arm so she could hold the section she needed open to herself. A copy of Hogwarts Charter she’d requested just the other day._

_“I knew it! I tried to handle this civilly but you’ve left me no choice, Professor Black! There_ is _a way to get my N.E.W.T.s without spending another period in your awful class! I won’t sit and listen to a Blood Supremacist skirt impropriety and bigotry so you can step on people without getting caught doing anything wrong. You’ve done nothing but single me out since day one of your term here and I won’t put up with it a moment longer! You hate me? Fine. Hate that I’m dirtying up your precious school? Even better! I challenge you, Professor Black, I challenge your course! If I pass your final exam by end of term, I maintain the marks I need to pursue my N.E.W.T.s, and we don’t have to put up with each other!”_

_“You realize leveling such challenge leaves you excluded from my classroom until you come to take such an exam?” Narcissa questioned cooly._

_There was the crack of shaking parchment as Hermione waved her arm a bit, tapping the appropriate bylaw, “Obviously!”_

_“Then do cease disrupting your fellow classmates' education. I suggest you take the time to study, you’ll dearly need it,” Narcissa assured before ordering, “Now get out!”_

_“Gladly!” a bit more swing in her step...to her hips as she flounced from the silence-struck classroom and disappeared into the hall…_

_...likely departing to Narcissa’s quarters to make quiet study until the woman was through with her lessons._

“Miss Granger, I’m appalled at you, disrupting my class like that.”

Hermione smiled as she finished composing a response to Draco’s inquiry to her obviously addled mental state, flipping the notebook closed as she turned innocent eyes on Narcissa. “I’m sorry Professor, have I been naughty?” she wondered.

Narcissa smirked as she reached from the bath to take a fistful of the girl’s jumper to draw her in for a kiss...that resulted in the need for that jumper to go straight to the wash after the Witch it contained was pulled into the bath with a squeak pierced _splash._

“Narcissa!” Hermione laughed into their kiss, knee slipping between Narcissa’s thighs as she caught her balance, kissing the woman back as Narcissa’s hands ventured, grasping and grabbing, the younger Witch flinched a bit when she took hold of her still bruised bottom, but she relaxed, leaned into the older Witch when she squeezed the bit of claimed flesh to produce fresh ache. Hermione nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of her neck as she offered, “I suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

...it was only the greatest bit of luck that particular jumper had merely been an oversized store bought jumper the girl had made purchase of from something called a ‘thrift shop’? And not her treasured ‘H’ jumper because Narcissa rather forgot herself and utterly banished the sopping wet item of clothing to have greater access to her beloved’s skin.

...Cassiopeia's charm...used to lax muscle...went a long way to both prolonging the build of orgasm _and_ sent release deescalating to readiness for more, more swiftly and that absolutely had to be what the woman truly invented this charm for, Narcissa was certain.

“We...we’re still going out?” Hermione questioned, albeit incredulous as she sat at the end of their bed in sleep shorts and a dark green sweatshirt, squeezing wet curls in a towel covered hand. Narcissa wasn’t certain if her incredulity was drawn from exhaustion at their bathtub experimentation, or the fact the older Witch had donned the ‘H’ branded sweater before announcing they should depart soon.

“Absolutely...unless I’ve exhausted you, darling?” Narcissa questioned somewhat teasingly as she drew nearer, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek.

“I love you, but if you touch me again right now I will die,” she informed her, capturing her lips in a kiss to intercept them before they could venture lower to her neck.

“I suppose a break is well due then. Come-”

“We did, like, four times-”

“-let us gather ourselves and depart,” Narcissa said, taking the younger Witch’s hand and pulling her along, abandoning the towel at the foot of the bed as they went into the hall, to Jinsey’s door. The House Elf was more than welcome to join them where they were going. She rapped her knuckles at the door and opened to find the Elf lying in bed with a pillow over her face, there was a muffled sound like music playing.

“Jinsey?” Hermione called somewhat worriedly.

The Elf raised the pillow to peek up at them, revealing a set of Hermione’s headphones resting on her head, and there was a small yellow cassette player resting at her side, Merlin the volume was turned all the way up. Was she experiencing some hearing loss? “Oh!” the Elf brightened, casting the pillow back behind her head and pressing the pause button to halt the music before resting one hand on her stomach, rounding more fully as she neared the medium point of her pregnancy as she pushed up with her other to sit up. “Mistresses are done! Is they being hungry again? It is important for Mistresses to stay hydrated!”

Hermione yelped quietly at the realization their...misadventures had been well overheard by the Elf next door, oh Merlin above. The younger Witch buried a flaming face against Narcissa’s shoulder, unable to look at the Elf just now.

“We...were getting ready to go out, darling. Would you care to join us?”

“Mistresses want to be going out with Jinsey?!”

“Certainly darling, if you’re feeling up for it. We’re due a relaxing enjoyable time, and I will see us all safely there and back.”

“Jinsey will be getting ready!” the Elf assured. She was wearing Draco’s borrowed jumper.

“We rather nearly match as it stands, there’s no need to formally attire yourself so long as you are comfortable,” Narcissa assured, opening her free arm to the Elf who made her way to the end of the bed so the Witch could gingerly take hold of her for their journey. She’d already secured the video tape to the inside of her jumper. With Jinsey in one arm and Hermione securely burying herself against her in the other, she disapparated with them to appear in the Winter’s living room.

Hermione hadn’t pulled away when they appeared so she startled a bit against Narcissa at Sara’s voice exclaiming, “Oh my God, that will never not be cool!” The younger Witch pulled back to send a look full of question and panic, mind awash with the uncertainty just what Narcissa thought she was about, dragging them over uninvited when Sara...oh the woman had never _hated_ her.

“S-Sara, I-” Hermione started only to be cut off by the woman rushing her, tackling her in a fierce hug.

“I was being a dick-head. You’d never do something to hurt me or my family and I should have remembered that. I’m cool now. You forgive me, right?”

“You’re- but you were so- I really hurt your-”

“I don’t...fully understand everything you’re dealing with. This is a beyond crazy situation and I don’t get to judge how you survive it. I’m just...really glad you are, and I’m really glad you’re here. So let's just get over it already so I can freak out over whatever the hell kind of adorableness Jinsey is on tonight, because I see her, and I’m dying.”

“I...yeah if- if you’re sure-”

“I’m sure!”

“Nothing to forgive,” Hermione assured, pressing a kiss to the woman’s cheek.

“Yes! Jinsey! Oh my God, does the ‘D’ stand for Dobby?” Sara energetically questioned, even as she was reaching for Narcissa’s sweater to examine it, “Oh gee, I wonder what the ‘H’ stands for, _Hermione!”_

“It originally stands for _Harry_ , my best friend and _the most_ famous Wizard in the world, you’re touching something that might be in a museum someday.”

“Um, _I’m_ your best friend and I expect an entire wing of a magic museum dedicated to my magical baby making ass, just for putting up with you. Oh! Gabbie went full superhero on me today! Look!” the woman extended the pad of her index finger for Hermione’s examination.

“It’s...a finger?”

“Yeah but it was a royally _sliced_ finger, I just about chopped the damn thing off at work today, dad thought it might need stitches! I come home, my baby _grabs my finger_ and in the instant before she pulls it into her mouth, boom! Skins healed, she’s conked out while gnawing on my finger.”

“Really?!” Hermione questioned excitedly.

“Uh huh, where’s my superbaby at?” she wondered, even as the child in question wasn’t far, Narcissa had yet to take in their surroundings, Violetta was just off in the kitchen, speaking pleasantly into the phone with someone, and Mike was at the counter signing...swiftly but Narcissa caught _chicken_ and _extra rice_ before looking to his son who was seated facing him, bottom on the counter as he wriggled and clapped encouragement to his father and Grandmother’s efforts, whatever it was they were up to. John was resting on the couch, lying with his head on the arm of the couch, baby Gabrielle curled up, fast asleep on his chest. “God, she loves napping with him, she always wants to be held by grandpa, and they almost always end up passed out on the couch. Jessie bug was always hard to put down for a nap.”

“It’s a beautiful display of her magic at work, an excellent outlet for it,” Narcissa encouraged.

 _...magic?_ Mike signed as he joined them, Jessie on his hip, he and his son waving their hellos to Hermione. The boy grew giggly when he saw Narcissa, blowing kisses she pursed her lips to return, oh he was sweet. And terribly excited to see the House Elf again, he’d found her utterly fascinating, warmed to her when last he visited their home and he tugged on his father’s sweatshirt to be let down, hands grasping up at the Elf who disapparated from Narcissa’s hold to appear before the boy she was only just a head taller than. He signed _play!_ and took hold of her hand to lead the smiling Elf over to a corner of their downstairs floor dedicated to a trove of toys.

Violetta was only just emerging from the kitchen as Narcissa said, “Your daughter has natural healing magic, it is a birth power for her, as divination is for Jessie. My sister likewise has such power, she would always allow me to rest with her whenever I was poorly in my youth. Gabrielle likely craves resting with her grandfather because her magic knows he is unwell, knows it can take the opportunity to work as it wishes to aid him.”

“...oh, he...his last doctors appointment went remarkably well,” Violetta said, “all his counts are the best they’ve ever been, and he...he’s been breathing so much easier lately, autumn into winter is usually hardest on him.”

Mike’s eyes glittered as he watched both women sign their words, and he looked to his slumbering child, his father, going and resting a hand that covered the whole of his babe’s back as he rubbed circles there, a soft, deep, lisping “Good job ba-by,” falling from his lips, a bit choked.

“I know, we freaking made her, isn’t that amazing?” Sara wondered as she went and pressed a kiss to her husband’s cheek, “...it really worked out, huh?” she said, looking to Hermione, hands before her chest signing for her husband. “That we named her after such a powerful Witch.”

Hermione blushed. “I promise, I didn’t mean for memory magic to do that-”

“You dummy _._ When Jessie was coming and we didn’t know what was what, I kept thinking _if they’re a girl,_ their middle name was definitely Hermione, after all the craziness you helped me through to get them here. That need stuck this time around but I knew you as ‘Stacie’ so...your crazy magic made me think I was honoring you by using a name you must have just suggested for whatever reason.” Her chin quivered a little as she smiled, “I _wanted_ to name my baby after _you_ , I’m glad it worked out that way.”

“Me too,” Hermione choked out.

Sara blanched a bit, pointing to Hermione as she looked at Narcissa, “I want the record to show those are happy tears, those are happy tears right?” she checked with the younger Witch who nodded before returning to the older, “Please don’t blast me into next week for making your girlfriend cry.”

Narcissa pulled Hermione closer, rubbing her arm to soothe as she decided, “I suppose I’ll allow it.” If only just.

John was roused when they began setting up to watch their catch-up episode, something entitled ‘Warrior...Princess...Tramp?’. He sat with his wife curled up against him on the loveseat, Mike seated next to them with Sara in his lap. Jessie made rambunctious play to entertain Jinsey while Narcissa sat reclining with Hermione resting against her while Gabrielle rested on her Godmother’s chest, head on her shoulder, sucking away at a pale purple pacifier. Now that her sweet head was closer Narcissa could spy Jinsey’s handiwork in the stitching of the soft headband that bore a big red bow to match her onesie. Narcissa startled, holding Hermione more tightly, priming to disapparate when the lights in the house began flickering methodically, and Hermione’s hand went to her thigh, squeezing gently as she whispered,

“Shh, hey, it’s just their doorbell,” she assured. Oh. How lovely, that was far superior to the gods-be-damned racket their door’s bell made.

John motioned for Sara to halt her raising the remote, as if to keep her from pausing the tape, “I’ll get it,” he assured, and he rose, crossing between the couches and coffee tables, and his hand came to rest atop Narcissa’s head in a gesture that...should not have made her feel small in a way that felt safe, even as the non-magical man dropped a kiss to her hair to say, “At ease, lovey. You’re safe here.”

They were, safe, loved...fed. Their doorbell had been signaled by a delivery man who bore a great many bags of Chinese. Oh, it was rather...a clever bit of fun, on the non-magical parents part, Mike and Sara had taken to encouraging their son’s magic in little ways throughout his day, part of that was he aided in their selections for things that might be a matter of guessing. The boy had been able to divine, for one thing, that Jinsey would also be joining them, what she and Narcissa would enjoy, a bit of benign magic that led to some fun for the boy as he got to watch predictions that held no crippling importance bear success. The humans gathered watched with some horrified fascination as Jinsey consumed her height in cartons of vegetable fried rice. But that was perhaps another element of it, even when his predictions might sound strange or silly, his parents met them with encouragement and belief, that he would always be believed even if what he had to share might seem improbable, he’d his parents faith and trust, and should likewise have that faith and trust in his own abilities.

Oh, it was rather lovely, all told, feasting and enjoying something of light...albeit frustrating entertainment. The episode they’d missed had been utterly delightful, Lucy Lawless was most assuredly a Witch of some sort, there must be some magic brought to bear for her ability to perform not one, not two, but _three_ separate roles as Xena and her two look-alikes, each bearing their own unique personality! And they shared the screen at the very same time! Hermione giggled at the observation, insisted it was something of an editing trick. Even as she explained...Narcissa did not hear much of the girl’s explanation, she found herself rather distracted by how warm it was to sit like this, the excited movement of her lips in motion endeavoring to explain something she hoped Narcissa might find fascinating, the glow in her mind of how very pleased she was that Narcissa was enjoying herself. Her endearment only grew when Narcissa and Sara made simultaneous complaint as the antagonist Callisto returned, _again!_ She’d done so the episode before, so it seemed like a strange break of pace, to interrupt their story arch with the tale of triple Xena’s, like perhaps the episodes had been presented out of appropriate order.

“Oh my God commercials _kill me_ ,” Sara complained as the episode neared its end, interrupted by some strange advertisement for a microwaveable meal.

“Ohh, they is being dancing soon!” Jinsey noted with some cheer, “The dancing is fun!”

Sara stared at the Elf with some incredulity as Hermione offered, “Her favorite show is the local news, she’s a rivalry with the weather man.”

“Weather Oracle is never getting weather right!” the Elf defended her grief, “Jinsey is always knowing better! A House Elf should be Weather Oracle. Or young master Jessie.”

“...you love all the worst parts of television and I love that,” Sara assured the Elf, “Mike!” _Refresh the page please?_ she signed the request, and her husband nodded, rising to go to where there was a desk on the wall behind the couch, just before entering the kitchen, where the Winters had a computer within their home. Mike apparently required as much for work, and it aided in the Whitaker’s business...and Sara apparently had need of the device. More for pleasure than business. There was something of...Narcissa could see the vague color scheme, somewhat familiar to her...of a website she perhaps, from time to time, frequented herself when she was at the library. Mike sat before the computer and clicked the button that would refresh the page, so that if it were to be updated or altered, the changes would become visible but he turned in his chair and signed, _No update, sorry love._

“Gah! This is the worst!” Sara complained, “I was hoping they’d update today, this is the second Monday in a row...huh, I hope they’re okay.”

“Who?” Hermione asked.

Sara sighed. “My favorite Xena fanfiction author-”

“You read Xena fanfiction,” Hermione giggled her amusement that her friend so dearly enjoyed the show she sought further content.

“I do! And it’s _amazing,_ thank you very much! I can’t write worth a damn or think up stories on my own but Jesus we’ve a wealth of talent in the fandom.”

“You’re worried about your favorite author?” Hermione asked with sympathy.

“Yeah, DaffodilHarmony, they usually update regularly but nothing for a few weeks now.”

“Awe, that’s too bad. Hopefully you hear from them soon?” Hermione tilted her head back against Narcissa’s chest to look up at her, “Do you read Xena fanfiction?”

“...fanfiction?” Narcissa questioned in return. “Oh look, the commercials are ending, splendid.”

Hermione looked at her with some quiet confusion and she felt Sara’s eyes on her for a long moment before the woman resumed looking to the television screen to catch the end of Xena and Castillo’s battle...Narcissa was uncertain if she cared for the fact it ended in something of a body swap, Xena returning from battle with her enemy, trapped in her enemy’s body. She did hope it wasn’t a permanent affliction, it wouldn’t do to lose the performances of Lucy Lawless, not at all.

“...so Narcissa,” Sara said as the credits began rolling, “...you said once, that it’s a kind of flower, right?” Oh Merlin.

“Perhaps,” Narcissa allowed.

“Daffodils,” Hermione helpfully informed.

“Huh. You know...the author I follow has a multi-chapter fic she posts to but she also updates with little one-shots. Lots of meet-cutes, coffee-shop AUs...though hers are more like tea-shop AUs.”

“Does she?” Narcissa asked.

“Yeah. See...it's funny because I was just thinking it was uncanny, Hermione here was telling me about this couple that came into the shop. Well, not-a-couple, but they keep coming ‘round at the same time as one another, like they’re trying to run into each other. So she mixed up their orders so they’d have a reason to talk to each other, swap their drinks, and that turned into them sitting down and drinking together, leaving with each others numbers.”

“Heartwarming.”

“And the plot to the Xena/Gabbie fic _Exchange of Numbers, Exchange of Hearts._ ”

“...Narcissa?” Hermione asked. “Cissa...you’re really red.”

“I believe I’m coming down with fever, oh dear,” Narcissa excused them, “Well, we best be on our way-”

“Narcissa!” Hermione insisted, “Come on. Do you...is that what you’ve been up to at the library? Writing fanfiction?”

“Why on earth would I-”

Sara was already seated in her husband's lap at the computer, typing away into the site log-in and hissing, “Damn it! Hermione, what’s your girlfriends password?”

“Passwords are of the utmost security! If I’d need of one I hardly shared it even with-”

“Dragon80,” Hermione said without missing a beat. What- how had sh- she was hardly the legilimens in this relationship!

“Ohhh my God, it worked!” Sara cheered.

“Narcissa, you never told me you enjoyed writing,” Hermione accused.

“It is a method of passing the time between our efforts with our allies and awaiting your return from work!” Narcissa snapped, a touch defensive.

“Which is your favorite?” Hermione asked Sara.

“Ooh I have- hold on,” Sara said, and Mike blushed as he wrapped his arms around the woman when she pressed back into the seat to push them so the chair rolled backward and she opened a drawer to withdraw a few sheets of printer paper she passed to Violetta who handed them over to Hermione’s reaching hand. Oh gods preserve her. It was her first endeavor into such a craft and it was purely for fun!

She wondered at how she might circumvent this having happened with time magic while Hermione quietly read to herself, finding only occasional distraction with the babe in her arm, dropping kisses to Gabrielle's head when the child stirred, her magic naturally reaching to soothe hers as Hermione whispered, "Your auntie Narcissa's a _writer_ . Isn't that cool?" Was it? ...Merlin the Witch could read fast, she smiled as she looked up at the older Witch. “Narcissa, this is _beautiful!_ ” she sweetly encouraged, the truth that she did find it as much evident in her mind. “Why didn’t you say anything? Do you need more library time or…” there was the barest thought of investing in a computer for their home, something she whisked away behind her faux-wall as soon as she had it, “anything? I mean if it's something you enjoy,” she shrugged.

“You...do not find it a foolish way to spend my time?”

“Of course not! Cissa, one, you have fun doing it, that’s worthwhile in and of itself! And two, it’s good, it’s really good, this is just a...its a ‘one-shot?’ That...means it's like, stand alone, a little short story, yeah?” she checked and when Narcissa nodded. “It’s beautiful, it was really sweet, and I loved the little twist at the end and…” she blushed a bit, “your pseudonym’s DaffodilHarmony? That…”

“Might, albeit, hold reference to my candor for you,” Narcissa confessed, just a bit embarrassed.

“I love that.”

“...you do?”

“Uh-huh,” Hermione nodded, resting the sheets of paper on her stomach so she could raise her hand to rest against Narcissa’s cheek, mind gently prompting. “Hey...what is it? Cissa, you’re always so encouraging about things like singing just to make song, art as a form of human expression and whatnot...why are you so shy about this?”

It was not...common practice, for her to allow someone to see her mind, Hermione wasn’t a strong legilmist but she could see something if Narcissa brought it forth for her. Under the girl’s gaze she let the subtle flash of memory settle at the forefront of her mind. 

_Seated in the library, bundled in a robe by the fireplace, hair a sight she hadn’t touched in days. Her Dragon was away at school, his First Year and_ oh _, it had rather struck her, the day after seeing him off at Diagon, like a cliffside giving way to collapse and bury her in its wake, that...well, without her son, she’d precious little to dedicate her day to. Always, since his first breath of life had her days been devoted to caring for him, nurturing he and his magic, keeping him entertained. She’d not abided...she managed to convince Lucius not to send their son away, as her parents had, for his initial education, he’d had tutors that came to their home, she sat in on his lessons and aided his progress, they- they spent nary a moment apart from the time her son opened his eyes to a new day, until she was tucking him in at night. This was the first time in days she’d pulled herself out of bed. It was foolishness to allow herself to fall to such despair, her son would return, and he was going to have a marvelous adventure, his time at Hogwarts and she just needed to keep herself occupied, pass the time. Reading...she found herself distracted when she stared at the page, it held little interest, sank her deeper into her depression as pathetic as that might seem, to pursue reading something she wasn’t sharing with her son. The book they’d left off with...she did not wish to read further without him. Her heart ached at her newfound loneliness, missing her son, finding herself alone with Lucius who thought her wallowing pitiful. It had been fear of him finding her still in bed and losing his patience with her that drove her to rise and seek refuge in her library._

 _She could not...write of anything negative about her husband. But she could...it started as merely writing down thoughts of her son, putting to paper she missed him seemed to pull the ache of it from her heart and settle it on the page, and there it was manageable. She missed him, and that was reasonable, it was fine, and she would survive it because he was not_ gone _he was just simply not_ here _, and when he_ returned? _Oh, hugging him would be that much sweeter, hearing his voice that much more a relief, and he would have so many things to tell her. They would spend the host of his winter break catching up. And rhapsodising, waxing poetic...developed into little poems. Something to process and reassure, soften the seriousness of her situation, stretch her mind to seek vocabulary she didn’t regularly use._

 _“There you are,” Lucius said, as if entirely frustrated he’d had to go looking for her. “Out of bed then? You hardly look it. Gods, Narcissa. Draco will never grow to be any sort of strong respectable wizard with your coddling. It is your own fault he goes now to Hogwarts, you petitioned so drastically for it.” To spare him going to a place like Drumstrag! “What the devil are you doing up here?” he questioned, snatching parchment from her hands before she could anwer, “Oh honestly. What tripe. This is a pathetic waste of your time. You’re_ Lady _of the_ Malfoy _line, act like it. Merlin's own wand, if you’re so very despondent not having a child to mind perhaps another would put you to rights.”_

_“It is...pathetic of me, yes, I’m behaving something obscene. You’re right, husband. I will do better. There is no need to break the tradition set by your father’s life, it rather speaks to the power of the Malfoy line, does it not? He is a single son, of a single son, who begot a single son.”_

_“Then cease conducting yourself as a-”_

His following sentiment was a bit harsh, encapsulated the idea she was nothing more than something to produce heirs and capable of doing little else, word and sentiment that might send Hermione forgetting she was to be resting her magic or their resolve to play out Lucius’s plot, and return to the manor to lay the man slain.

“Of course,” Hermione quietly seethed, oh she looked so sad. “I’m sorry. God I’m so sorry. Lucius is-”

“An asshole, worthless example of a husband?”

That got the girl to smile, excited and pleased Narcissa was free to say as much now. “Yeah. Your writing...if it's something that you enjoy, you should do it, and you should be proud of it! I really like it, and I’m sorry all the craziness lately has kept you from it. Um…” she raised her eyes again with the question, her only concern about the hobby was if...oh. Narcissa’s short-lived endeavors in Draco’s First Year had been derived from her being depressed and lonely. She was worried perhaps that might be the case now, that Narcissa truly couldn’t stand being alone when Hermione went to work...and now the girl was genuinely considering quitting her job, it wouldn’t do for them to always be together, but in the future Narcissa would have greater access to her loved ones, her sister, her family, friends. Now her social circle was rather small, and they were all busy during the day when she might find herself alone and too, it was isolating to a degree, being hidden away in non-magical London.

“No darling, I assure you my motivations are purely...derived of boredom mixed with...frustration that the show writers refuse to commit their subjects to romantic ties as of yet. While their relationship is very dear, I find it enjoyable to imagine it in fullness, and share that with those who might also enjoy.” It expanded her social circle in a way, connecting with anonymous persons with whom she shared similar interest.

“Good. Then I think it's amazing and if you need more library time or help proofreading or anything, just let me know?”

“I have...been making use of your typewriter. And ink and paper, writing and typing at home, and then taking the drafts to type into the computer at the library for posting. I’m...uncertain just where to get more ink for the typewriter and paper and writing implements. Outside of our usual places,” she could write with quill and ink though she did enjoy pens a great deal.

“Absolutely! We can go office supply shopping!” Hermione seemed excited at the prospect.

Violetta giggled at her exuberance, “Oh, you be careful letting that girl loose in office supplies,” she warned Narcissa, and Hermione shrank a bit bashfully against the Witch at the woman’s words, “it's the one area she’d blow the budget in, chasing after fancy pens and wanting to organize and color code everything to all get-out.”

“I’m attracted to women, smooth-writing pens, color coded binders, post-it notes, pretty journals, and men, in that order.”

“Ahh,” Narcissa said, “then I suppose I must indeed find this office supplies storefront and spoil you.”

“Don’t you dare Narcissa Black, I just might let you,” Hermione shook her head. “Andy will be around tomorrow morning, and I promise I really am feeling better, my magic doesn’t hurt at all and I don’t feel so tired anymore like I’m using energy to heal up still. If you want, maybe after my appointment we can go out, get supplies, go to the library. I can help you type? We can split your work in half and I’ll email you my part of the document.”

“You’ve an email account?”

“Several. Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever use them but I set up...every variation of ‘Harry Potter’ that could sound official, so...you know, no one’s seeing it as a way to assume his identity and spreading viruses or misinformation in some strange attack on him on the non-magical side of things, and keep anyone from claiming an email account he might want to use professionally if he got into work outside the magical world. It’ll be his." As she spoke her mind worked, trying to think of where Narcissa had taken to writing. She’d last seen the typewriter in the office. Was the chair comfortable enough? Did she have enough light? She liked being outside, maybe she could set something up for her out there if she liked writing at home. And there was already the sweet plan blooming in her mind, that when Narcissa was at the library through the day, Hermione would make the habit of bringing her lunch so she needn’t dedicate time to seeking food for herself, and she could check on her, see how her day was going. Oh, she should figure out how to set up such an account, shouldn’t she? Then she could offer support online, leave sweet reviews of the woman’s work.

"Darling, I do hate to unrest Gabrielle but I would so appreciate you showing me to the facilities?"

"...the bathroom?" Hermione checked. "Sure. Who wants a baby?" she asked, offering up her goddaughter. The babe giggled reaching for Jinsey who sat with Jessie on a few pillows between the couches. "Oh, baby wants a Jinsey. Would you like to hold her, Jin?"

"Jinsey can be holding Miss Sara's baby?!" Jinsey asked with some excitement

"Of course hun," Sara invited.

Jinsey held up her arms to take the baby in them, supporting the babe against the swell of her stomach, resting her head against Jinsey's chest as the House Elf breathed against Gabrielle's hair. "Oh! She is smelling just like young master when he was being a baby!" Oh, she truly did and it was absolutely marvelous but not the most pressing of things at the moment.

"This way, just right upstairs," Hermione said, tugging on Narcissa's hand.

"There's a bathroom off the kitch-" Sara started.

"The toilet runs and the water from that sink smells funny and you know it!"

"Plumber keeps giving us the slip! If _someone_ would just magic it better!"

"Maybe I will!" Hermione called down the stairs, met with Sara's laughter.

She was met with Narcissa tugging on her hand, pulling her along into the bathroom, into a kiss, closing shut the door behind them with a bit of a _slam_ as Narcissa backed her way to the bathroom...ahh, countertop, lovely, there was room to seat herself atop it, drawing Hermione with her to stand between her thighs, the girl breaking their kiss with a quiet, startled sound when Narcissa's legs wrapped around her.

"Narcissa!" she whispered a bit of laughter in her reproach, "We're guests, everyone’s right downstairs-"

To return a counter to the younger Witch's earlier sentiment, "If you are not inside me in the next three seconds, I will die." Oh Merlin, she meant it, she ached for her.

"Alright, but-"

"Please," Narcissa asked, lips at Hermione's throat, taking her hands and guiding them until they rested on Narcissa's thighs, sliding up to push back the fabric of red jumper to reveal pallid skin for the girl to discover the older Witch hadn't elected to wear sleep shorts. Narcissa let out a...well an unexpectedly loud cry when the younger Witch's fingers stroked through the silken fabric of her panties.

"Shh, okay...so not doing this here-"

"I'll cast ward-"

"-when I can just fuck you on the counter at home if you've got your heart set on it. Keep it together for two minutes while we excuse ourselves and we can go," Hermione pressed a kiss just below Narcissa's jaw, "and you can be as loud as you want."

Gods above help her. 

The girl led her back downstairs, their return met with Mike and Sara looking at them with some confusion, Violetta voicing,

"Is everything alright loves? We thought we heard something."

"That was...me," Hermione said, yes it was certainly her doing! "yeah, sorry. We really appreciate you having us over, but um, I'm pretty beat and my magic is doing better but, you know. Aching comes and goes. We're-"

"We are returning home and going straight to bed, good night!" Narcissa interrupted, Merlin, did the girl need such politeness right now?

"Yeah, what she said uhhh...Jin?" Did she wish a nightcap? Since when did she enjoy gin? Oh... Jinsey. Of course- Merlin she would have forgotten her here!

The House Elf was seated on the couch now, holding Gabrielle, Jessie at her side with his head resting on Jinsey's shoulder, all of them fast asleep. Mike looked on as if he found it utterly heart melting and he signed _She's welcome to stay the night?_

"Yes, that would be most agreeable. Eggs make her feel unwell," Narcissa only just thought to mention, "thank you and good evening, be blessed," she hurriedly rattled off before pulling Hermione to her and disapparating home, into their kitchen.

It was just as desperate, pulling the younger Witch into a kiss though as Narcissa stepped back, Hermione's hands slipped low, over her backside and under to hoist her up on to her hips and walk carrying the older Witch to be seated on the counter top, Narcissa humming appreciation into her mouth once she was seated secure.

"Please, please-"

"It's alright, Cissa. Anything you want, just name it."

Narcissa cast and her underthings vanished. Her chest hadn't quite appreciated so suddenly losing the support, and she thought Hermione was of the right mindset when her hands slipped under her jumper to pull it up and off over Narcissa's head before moving to pay reverence to her breasts, but the woman breathed in a pain-ridden hiss at the contact.

"Cissa? What's wrong, did I hurt you?"

No...she hadn't, it- her breasts just ached. She used to experience some tenderness in them in her youth, it heralded her cycle, but Merlin…she wasn't certain, perhaps something in how they'd sat tonight? How she slept? Lacking a brasier now, perhaps ached them somehow. 

"J-just not there, at present, I just, I need your hands elsewhere."

"Okay," Hermione nodded, resuming her former efforts, hands on Narcissa's thighs as she kissed the older Witch, slipping upward, fingers stroking against her entrance. "Narcissa?" the younger Witch questioned as she pulled back when Narcissa ceased returning their kiss. "Hey, what is it? Talk to me."

"I-I-" oh gods _above_ . What was _happening?_ "I don't- oh darling do f-forgive-" how could such a switch strike her so suddenly? Just a moment ago she felt she might perish waiting for the Witch to have her way with her and now the very thought of _anything_ making to touch her there would send her crumbling in on herself and wishing to die, she wanted nothing at all to do with it.

"Does something hurt? Are you not feeling well? Do...you...just not feel up for it right now all of a sudden?"

Narcissa swallowed painfully. "The- the third- oh gods I'm so sorr-"

Lips silenced her apology, pressing gently against her own before the witch pressed a kiss to Narcissa's forehead. "It's _okay_ , Cissa."

"Are- are you...do you need…? I can-"

"I'm...a little riled, yeah," Hermione softly confessed, blushing. "But it won't kill me. Everythings okay. Are...you okay with this?" Hermione questioned, shifting to stand at Narcissa's side an arm behind her back the other reaching to slip under her knees. Narcissa barely realized what she was on about until she nodded and the younger Witch swept her up in her arms, pressing a kiss to the woman’s cheek as she- for a moment Narcissa feared the girl would attempt apparation but no. No. She lifted her with the intent of carrying her upstairs, and to their bedroom. Merlin above, when last had she been _carried?_

 _“Lucius!”_ _Narcissa squealed, giggling as the man spun with her in his arms, “Lucius Malfoy you put me down right now!”_

_“Or what, Narcissa Black?” he questioned teasingly, smiling warm as he kissed her on the cheek. “I’m practicing my love, it wouldn’t do to be anything less than perfect, carrying you across the threshold to our home once we’re wed.”_

Of course that had been the last time she was carried in such a manner. Come their wedding day...she’d stopped at the entrance to the manor, smiled as she looked upon her husband expectantly, and was met with a scowl. _“Why are you just standing there? You can walk, can’t you?”_

Narcissa sniffled, crying quietly into Hermione’s neck as the Witch took the careful task of carrying her up the stairs, the hand secured around Narcissa’s arm squeezed gently before her thumb smoothed like an offer of comfort. “Do you want another bath, or to go to bed?”

“I- I don’t know what I want,” the woman lamented, her only absolute certainty was, “I just want you.”

“Well, you already have me. And if you’re feeling indecisive, I think you’re due a hot bath and some tea, I’ll clean and warm up your jumper if that’s what you want to sleep in still, and then we’ll go to bed, and when we wake up and you’re feeling a little better, we’ll talk about this, okay?”

“I am sorry for this evening, I don’t know what happened.”

“Honey, I don’t care about your not being in the mood, it’s the...whiplash that’s concerning, that you don’t feel well. You’ve been tired and achy and just...something’s off. I’m worried and so is my magic. Promise me you’ll talk it over with a Healer?”

She nodded, praying that was enough to promise she would. She did not...feel up to much more speaking at present. And her darling did not press her, she merely deposited her on the bed and took the task of fulfilling her every promised comfort in non-magical fashion, well, without casting herself. Drawing a bath she guided Narcissa to and saw she was comfortable before descending the stairs to fetch tea and her jumper. Narcissa heard her footfalls on the ladder to the attic before she returned. Ahh, the baskets she’d gifted Mike and Sara to quickly cleanse and dry their laundry, she had known how to make such a thing from having made likewise for her parents. _“Thanks baby girl, that really takes a load off,”_ Mister Granger had apparently jested, the bit of humor at the forefront of her mind when she handed Narcissa her tea and carefully folded the warmed sweater to rest atop the lid of the laundry hamper. And then she looked over Narcissa once more before she sat at the edge of the tub with her back against the bathroom wall, and sat in silence, holding the woman’s hand while she soaked, squeezing that hand as she withdrew the mobile she’d apparently taken up when she returned, dialing to be answered by Sara’s voice.

“Hey...I hate to ask this but I’d appreciate it if you could keep Jinsey around for a bit tomorrow? I’ve a Healer’s appointment first thing and it might make her nervous, you know? Uh-huh, everything’s fine, nothing to worry about. Thanks Sar’. If it's alright, I’m going to call you back to leave a voice message for her? So she doesn’t feel badly, thinking we’ve just left her behind or something. She’ll trust you but...House Elves can be a touch sensitive, need assurances direct from us. Thanks. Yeah, everything’s good, tonight was really great. Love you too.” Oh, yes, gods she- she _had_ just abandoned the Elf really, and she hardly deserved that, Merlin! She was in good care, and she’d been asleep but...still. Narcissa was grateful, glad Hermione saw to the Elf’s comfort, redialing Sara’s mobile to leave the message, “Hey Jinsey! We were all pretty tired, you fell asleep with Gabbie and Jessie and you looked so comfortable we didn’t want to wake you, and Mike and Sara were happy to have you stay for a bit of a sleepover with the kiddos, Narcissa and I are home safe, just a call away if you need anything. Don’t worry about anything, enjoy your time with the babies and Narcissa and I will come for you tomorrow. We love you a lot,” she assured before pressing a button that secured her message sent, and hung up the mobile, resting it on the floor as she squeezed Narcissa’s hand again, leaning to rest her chin atop her arm resting along the edge of the tub, offering the woman something of a smile. “So...I know there isn’t much in the way of moonlight in here just now, but you’re still really pretty.”

She was a weepy mess, and gods help her she _adored_ this Witch.

... _a_ Healer. She’d avowed to raise her issues to the attention of _a_ Healer. But she was considering consulting with someone in some anonymous fashion, they needn’t _meet_ her, just be plied a great deal of coin and take the list of her symptoms under consideration to provide advice on how best to proceed.

So she did not at all appreciate when, as they were seated across the kitchen table from Andromeda, the Healer asking if Hermione’d had any issue of late, the younger Witch took the opportunity she should have shared her brush with magical exhaustion to instead say,

“Narcissa’s not feeling well. She’s really fatigued, and having odd moods, swings in those moods and her appetite’s been on-again-off-again, and her joints have been hurting her and um...her breasts have been sore.”

“Miss Granger!” Narcissa cried, appalled.

“Has there been a change in sexual behavior?” Andromeda wondered, clinically enough but still! Oh, Hermione _nodded!_ How was she capable of such betrayal?!

“That is none of it your-” Narcissa started but then she stopped as her sister was already around the table, kneeling before her, raising her hands to massage at Narcissa’s scalp before pulling away to examine her own palms, lifting Narcissa’s chin, and Narcissa turned red, head to toe under the feeling the woman somehow _knew_ Narcissa had had to cast to rid herself of- of- there had been an unsightly _hair_ that dared to grow along the underside of her jaw, she’d discovered it that morning and she could only _pray_ Hermione had not seen it! She felt her sister’s magic wash over her as the woman cast diagnostics and questioned,

“When did you last take your hormone replacement potion?”

“Less than an hour ago,” Narcissa snapped.

“Truly?”

_“Yes!”_

“And you’ve taken them every day?”

“Are you being intentionally obtuse? Of course I do!”

“Cissy,” Andromeda said as if to hush her, taking Narcissa’s hands in hold. “Darling you’re suffering a terrible hormonal imbalance at present. Your potion isn’t taking, it hasn’t in...Merlin, I don’t believe it’s been properly absorbed to your body in _weeks_.”

“...oh my gosh,” Hermione breathed. “What do we need to do?”

“The failure isn’t that of your organs or a disorder of your blood. It’s your magic, it seems. Cissy, when last did you test your ingredients responsiveness?”

It took a bit of thinking, Merlin, the last time she’d done as much she’d hoped to never have to do so again in the wake of her hands being slopped in matter measure so very often in under a year. She’d been tested all throughout her pregnancy to ensure she and Draco’s magics worked attuned to the ingredients for potions she’d required, and then spending so long with another’s magic flowing alongside hers meant hers might well be altered after his birth, and it had been to some extent, her Dragon’s magic had cleansed her darkening hue a great deal. But then she’d darkened it further, Healer Marigold insisted she return for follow-up measuring in a years time...knowing well the circles Narcissa existed in, she’d been correct, Narcissa’s magic suffered further shifting, change, as she attended ritual the first year of Draco’s life, until the Dark Lord’s first demise, and even after ward, their gatherings were more discreet, subdued, but his most loyal followers held on to some of his traditions to keep them alive until he was likewise. “81, I suppose. There isn’t much room for change in adulthood, I can go no darker as it stands.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Andromeda drawled. “You’re hardly as dark as even Bella-” she cleared her throat as if uncomfortable mentioning the Witch before Hermione. “Too...Cissy, magic changes in all sorts of ways, dark and light.” 

"...Dobby has made mention that my magic differs from my Present Self," Narcissa conceded. Oh Merlin, how had she managed to darken it further?

She looked to Hermione then, rising up to her feet, “You’ve matter measure at hand?”

“Oh! Yeah, our lab’s in the cellar, should we move down there?” Hermione asked.

“Actually darling,” Narcissa interjected, “I...I believe we’ve left poor Jinsey in the care of the Winters for long enough.”

“...you...want me to drive to go get her? I mean I can, I will but I don’t know if I could cast to disillusion her from view, all the way back and I- she’s fine, I called to check in before you woke up, she’s thrilled getting to see how non-magical people conduct their day, getting to show off for them. I’m not leaving you, not unless you...I mean do you need her?”

“There’s no aid a House Elf could provide at present,” Andromeda was saying.

“It isn’t- I don’t- I do not want you here!” Narcissa insisted, horrified at how that sounded coming from her mouth, oh good heavens, that wasn’t what she meant at all! Hermione flinched at the proclamation, mind awash with uncertainty, worry, that she’d done something or that Narcissa wasn’t of her right mind just now, wanting to respect her wishes but fearful she might be experiencing some conflict, need her even as she was demanding she leave. Narcissa bowed her head, staring into her lap as she explained more calmly, clearly, “I...I do not want you to see. I do not want you to witness the measuring of my magic it is…’ she loved her magic. But it was truly the ugliest part of her being.

Hermione’s hands came into view, laying over Narcissa’s in her lap, squeezing before she heard her shift and the girl was kneeling, peering up into Narcissa’s face with so much certainty bare in her mind. 

“I don’t care if your magic is dark as blackest pitch, or neon green, or purple with yellow polka-dots. I mean if it's pink, that might give me war flashbacks of Umbridge but I’ll handle that like I handle the others. Crack some bad jokes, maybe need you to hold me, and won’t that be fun?” she proposed with some amusement. “Cissa...I know you’ve a past. I know you’re ashamed of it. And it’s okay that you’re scared, but you _never_ _have_ to be. Seeing your magic isn’t going to change how I feel for you, not in any way that would be negative. I’ll either be proud of the woman you’ve become, or love you all the more for being so open...or, the delightful third option of: both. I think you’d like both, it's personally what I’m rooting for.” And then, “If you really want me to leave...I will. But I really want to stay.”

“I would like you to stay, likewise,” Narcissa whispered the confession.

Hermione grinned, returning her whispering, “Then I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Andromeda cleared her throat as if both bored and annoyed. “If you’re done with your theatrics—which I can assure you, Miss Granger are no symptom of Cissy’s ailment, she has always been this unrelentingly dramatic—I believe Hermione was about to show me to the laboratory?” Hermione nodded. “Excellent. Lead the way.”

Narcissa wasn’t certain why her sister was addressing the younger Witch on the matter, it was Narcissa’s lab! It was _their_ laboratory, but it was primarily Narcissa’s domain, Hermione had seen fit that such a tone was set, if ever she did use it, it was usually under Narcissa’s guidance, checking with the older Witch before making use of the space in case it would disrupt one of Narcissa’s experiments...perhaps there was some truth to her sister’s prognosis, she’d been having such continuous failures with her attempts at developing _Pleasant Sleep_...Pleasant Dreams? She wasn’t certain what she wished to name the damnable substance but its development had been arduous! Constant near-successes that irked her to no end, every time she thought she figured out precisely what went wrong...it continued to fail. She’d thought it something lacking in her own abilities but...perhaps it was merely her lack of being responsive to her ingredients, not in the way she was using them.

It was as they were being led down to the cellar Narcissa realized what her sister was endeavoring to do. Hermione took the task of hefting the cellar door open and then she wrapped an arm around Narcissa as they descended the stairs, holding her close, almost as if to support her descent. _What do we need to do?_ she’d asked. She wanted to _do something_ , _anything_ that might aid the older Witch. That was what her sister was on, Andromeda was gifting the girl with little tasks to make her feel of use, that she was helping Narcissa, leading them down, running back up to get them something to drink while Andromeda set up the laboratory for her testing, asking Narcissa if Hermione was familiar with the task. Narcissa’s ‘yes’ meant Andromeda passed the task on to the younger Witch, when she returned.

“Really?”

“You can help me, certainly, it’s rather messy work, too there’s a great many ingredients we should test, for all potion Narcissa might take. Many hands make light work, the Muggles say.” Andromeda assured, turning to face Hermione before casting layers of diagnostic spells over the Witch. “Hmm...it was dearly unwise of you to break your bedrest so thoroughly, you’re absolutely not to Apparate for the remainder of the week...are you even licensed to Apparate, Miss Granger?”

“...are _you_ licensed to drive?” Hermione challenged likewise.

“I most certainly am, Miss Granger,” Andromeda assured, and under the girl’s critical stare the woman summoned her license for proof. Proof Hermione squinted at to read.

“Andy! Your license expired like over a decade ago!”

“I still received it!” the woman defended.

“So did I...both driving and Apparation, thank you very much. I plan to keep the former _current_ , as is what’s _legal._ ”

“You’ve driven me about in a death trap _illegally?!”_ Narcissa accused her sister. “Andromeda!”

“You’ve survived worse from me and you know it!” Andromeda insisted, whisking her license away. “Miss Granger you are absolutely not to apparate for any reason save a dire emergency for at least another week, but beyond that? Minor casting is perfectly safe to stretch your legs a bit, get back into the swing of things. You can heat and chill our ingredients as needed,if you wish to test as much while I’m still at hand to aid if anything is still amiss.”

There were several things amiss, but perhaps in the very best of ways.

Narcissa summoned Hermione’s wand sheath, untouched by any and all since it had first been taken from the girl’s person when she fell injured, to secure the ebony wand from her. And Hermione guided the woman to place her index finger in a watchglass full of matter measure, while she went to draw her wand to prepare a burner to light.

In the same instant Hermione withdrew a 10 and ¾ inch wand of pale vine wood, Narcissa’s magic turned her matter measure a brilliant shade of silver-streaked _gold._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ninty-five days before she could confess her feelings was around about where the first "oh dear I might love this Witch" thoughts happen in Narcissa pov. I did the math, and I hate math, so you have to know that I did it for love.
> 
> *N.E.W.T.s smack of college-entry standardized testing, so I figure it's handled similarly, where organizations who handle that testing are the ones distributing and grading it, as opposed to individual schools and their teachers.
> 
> *Novikov's Self-Consistency Principle is the theory used in canon to handle time travel in Prisoner of Azkaban. Time Traveler's Permanency is something my brain came up with while looking at time travel theory and thinking over how brains and memory and the like work, how they might truly be affected by time travel, especially insofar as *being* the time traveler. If anything glaringly obviously makes zero sense I apologize and you're free to scream at me about it. A lot of this plot is "they're learning new things about Time Travel" so the rules, as they understand them, will shift and change as they have new understanding of how it all works, messing with things long-distance. 
> 
> Winter Hols get their own chapter, that's up next! 🖤


	11. Seasons Greetings, Seasons Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kicking off the Christmas season in July! Our ladies prepare for some holiday cheer as the timeline unfolds, fresh futures forming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Rated M Mischief in this chapter. I'll be blocking off the good times rolling with line breaks, so the first line break is not a shift in Point of View, it is merely "nothing to see here if you aren't interested in reading two girls chillin' in a tea-shop, no feet apart cuz it's all gay". So, if you'd like to skip, once you get to the first line break, just scroll down until you see the second, and you can jump back in when they're at breakfast the following morning! 🖤 Thank you so much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos, I truly appreciate it!
> 
> As always, thanks thanks thanks to Inkheart9459 for reading and giving me invaluable feedback and support to get this situation together for public consumption!
> 
> No wands were harmed in the making of this chapter.

December 1st, Narcissa Black woke to arms tightening around her, the face buried against her neck pressing a kiss as their owner breathed, “Mmm...time to get up. How’re you feeling today?”

It had been weeks, honestly. “Darling, we have long assessed that I am fine,” Narcissa assured.

“Are you sure? I can handle it myself if-”

Narcissa turned about in the girl’s hold to face her, peering down into her face, “I’m more than capable of our casting today.” Andromeda had lifted restriction on Narcissa’s casting over a week ago, and even then such restriction had been mere caution, strenuous casting while entertaining such unpredictable shifts in energy and mood was inadvisable, at best her spells might fail, at worse they might backfire. But now, “My body is fully recovered, my magic is stable, and _you_ needlessly worry.”

Hermione groaned a bit miserably at that, burying her face against Narcissa’s shoulder, “I don’t _needlessly_ worry. You were really sick-”

“And now I am well. I promise you my darling, I feel no lingering malaise...how could I with such an attentive Witch at my side?” Oh, the girl had done little more than dote on her the whole of November. She woke each morning to being held, the smell of warm breakfast, the girl rousing her with gentle kisses and soft whispers that she should wake and eat and take her potion on schedule.It was sweeter still, that this happened as her mind offered memory of her Present Self’s morning, waking to a new message of good morning and a wish for a pleasant day from the future’s Hermione. The younger Witch would already be ready for her day, and lie in bed with the woman as she ate until it was time to depart to work, work she insisted on driving herself to the week she could not apparate. She would return at lunch, either done with her day or merely stopping in on a break to make certain Narcissa and Jinsey were well before she either returned to work or took up post aiding Narcissa in whatever suited the older Witch, lying around in bed, lounging on the couch, or whisking her off to the garden, reading or writing. Her present self was aware of the situation as Hermione consulted her for developing a better formulation for Narcissa’s potion. She got to delight in private tutelage over it, it became something of a project for both of their present selves, Narcissa imparting important things the present Hermione would need to bear in mind as she navigated her course testing. Too, her present self received a great many baked goods, that was something she realized Hermione did when...distressed and seeking to make comfort. She baked for both Narcissas, submitting treats to the sending sack as thank you to her present self for her work aiding the Future Narcissa, and even after the initial week of successfully optimizing potion for her, the sweets continued to appear. Narcissa wasn’t certain just when the girl was baking them all, it felt like she was near-constantly at her side, but she realized she often prepped things before bed, rose early to see to it as she prepared breakfast at Jinsey’s side as the Elf complained of Hermione stealing the task the second morning in a row the girl did so entirely on her own power. Even after Andromeda cleared the pair of them for Apparation, it was an entire week more before the girl would allow Narcissa to Apparate for them, for herself even, always sidealonging her to Whitakers or the discreet alley they found where they could easily walk to the library, escorting Narcissa, and a disillusioned Jinsey whenever the Elf was inclined to join. The Elf didn’t dislike the library, but she opted to come only on the occasion she finished whatever books they last checked out for her and wished to browse for another. She rather found she prefered relaxing in their home, it was where she was most comfortable, felt most safe and at ease. Hogwarts had a few more elves on staff than usual, now, Dobby could be found keeping his love company at any given time, it was a thing of sweetness, he wished to always be at hand, in part because as the month of November drew to a close, Jinsey was excited to report a great deal of movement on their babe’s behalf, gentle pressing of a hand to her stomach could often prompt the babe to shift in response, to such a point Dobby’s visits were often heralded by forewarning, Jinsey loosing a squeak as her child kicked or moved, in one instance the Elf had just invited Narcissa to feel and she swore the babe _somersaulted_ , and less than a second later their father appeared.

As promised, Hermione introduced Narcissa to her favorite locally owned and operated stationary and office supply store making...rather the impressive purchase, Narcissa watched with some mild horror as she realized this must be what she looks like when she’d her own shopping, Hermione filled baskets with typewriter ink, what she termed ‘good’ paper, fountain pens, sturdy, quality writing pads, and a large…’whiteboard’, which was the most delightful thing, like a chalkboard only instead of the dusty dirty chalk, it could be marked upon by smooth-gliding markers of varying hues, for the purpose of mapping out plots. And there were several days spent together in the library, aiding Narcissa in catching up with her writing, the girl...could type nearly a hundred words a minute and it was entirely captivating to watch, she typed nearly the whole of the first chapter Narcissa needed to update with, all her own as Narcissa sat and watched the younger Witch work. And days she’d work, Hermione fulfilled her ideas of checking in on the older Witch, bringing her her favorite take-out orders and sweet encouragement, her arrival announced always by arms looping around Narcissa’s neck, as lips pressed to her cheek. That was the most the girl did to disturb her, standing and watching as Narcissa finished whatever sentence she was writing, sometimes several if the older Witch was on what the younger termed a ‘roll’, before she would sit back and acknowledge her love and the offerings she brought. She...in a bit of mischief, tested the limits of just how long the younger Witch would stand like that, chin resting on Narcissa’s shoulder standing and maintaining her hold, smiling against her neck as she watched the woman work. The longest was the stand of three entire pages before Hermione offered only, _“You’ve made so much progress, it looks great but you should look for a place to take a break soon, you need to eat. I’ll set a warming charm on your meal.”_

Now, both Witch’s well, they’d a task at hand. Sunday, December 1st, 1996, Whitakers was closed as per usual, but with the expectation that Monday morning, it would be decorated for the winter holidays. Of course the most important decoration would not be visible to any save Narcissa and Hermione. They’d perfected the wards they wished to install in the Whitaker’s place of business, and that was the best opportunity to do so, the best test, as well. They would have an influx of customers in the days after the shop was decorated, to see the splendor and delight in seasonal specials, it would be perfect for seeing just how well it worked. Too, such magic might well alter something of the spirit of the shop, non-magical people mightn’t be able to _see_ a change, but change would be felt, nothing negative, but noticeable, being able to label it holiday cheer was likely for the best.

“We should rise…” Narcissa supposed, smiling as Hermione breathed a contented sigh into her skin, snuggling against the older Witch. “Darling...the Whitakers and Winters will be expecting us soon.”

“Mhm.”

“Which means you should get up.”

“I probably should.”

“...are you going to?”

“...eventually.”

“Miss Granger.”

“Miss Black.”

Narcissa sighed, relishing in holding the younger Witch a moment more. She’d a feeling...portions of their plans today might be daunting for her. “We needn’t go, at least not for the whole of their festivities. We could delay, make a polite appearance before they depart for us to craft our warding.”

“Mrs really wants us there, Mister too. It’s tradition and I’ve always been at school for it…” she swallowed, worrying at her lip. “It shouldn’t...I don’t know why it…”

“I can understand getting into seasonal cheer might...hold difficulty for you. It is normal for such a thing to make you miss your parents,” Narcissa softly sympathized, stroking a hand through the girl’s hair as she nodded against her shoulder.

They could stand to stay in the warm comfort of their bed a moment longer.

She managed to make certain Whitakers held appeal for her darling, well due a reward for both her brilliance in figuring out such impressive warding and her perseverance, to rise and face what mightn’t be the most pleasant of occasions for her to see through an act of protection for her friend.

They arrived a fashionable sort of late, nearing noon as they entered the shop. Well, approached the shop. They’d chosen to drive as...a method of both reasonable procrastination and too, it served purpose to conserve their magic for their more arduous casting later. Hermione turned the key in the lock to the Whitaker’s shop, only to be met with Sara rushing the door and sliding the lock into place again, smiling wide with her mischief as she continuously dueled the young Witch with locking and unlocking the door as she insisted through the glass,

“Secret knock!”

“Sara, you can _see me_.”

“Yeah, so? Secret knock, or you can put ‘em on the glass. Your choice.” Put what on the glass?

“Sara!” Hermione shrieked as if scandalized, blushing fiercely….her breasts, the woman meant she could earn their entry with...well, perhaps Narcissa should insist upon such a security measure for entering their bedroom, she let the thought enter the forefront of her mind and pressed it to the younger Witch’s who huffed indignantly before she elected to knock, raising a hand to rap against the door _knock-knock-knock...knock-knock-knock...knock-knock-knock, knock-knock._

“Jingle your bells on in here!” Sara invited as she threw open the door.

“You’re insane,” Hermione complained as Narcissa smiled, ushering the younger Witch inside to get out of the wintry chill. Merlin it was freezing out-

She only realized as they crossed the threshold that she really had ushered the girl, pushed her, her hand resting on the small of Hermione’s back, and that made her stomach sink, ever so. She felt nervous that she might call attention to the act by pulling away too swiftly, she just- she never cared for it when Lucius did as much, controlled her movements as if he’d need to assume more power over her every action. She...did not like that she’d physically pushed the girl into the shop she had some reticence in entering.

But Hermione relaxed into her hand, against her as they joined their friends, resting her head on Narcissa’s shoulder as Sara rattled off instruction, mouth and hands moving rapidly to catch them up to speed. There was hot chocolate and sugar biscuits, carols playing on the little radio resting on the counter John and Mike were seated at. It was presently bearing a great deal of strung together lights and tinsel, a box containing ornaments for the tree erected in the window opposite the one Narcissa usually sat in.

“Bugs are in the kitchen with grandma, she’s whipping up some lunch,” Sara wound down explanation, “Patrick’ll be ‘round this afternoon to help out...everyone just throws stuff up and it somehow manages to all come together with Mrs eye on it.”

“Sounds great,” Hermione said. Mike was staring at the younger Witch, looking torn before he rose up and settled on enveloping her in a warm hug that encompassed herself and Narcissa. “Oh!” Hermione chirped in surprise as she rested her hand on her back, a soft tap to denote her surprise to the deaf man who hugged her more tightly before stepping back.

“Jessie,” he spoke his son’s name aloud before signing, _he said you would be sad today. We didn’t know inviting you to decorate would do that. We’re glad you came. We’re sorry you miss your parents but,_ “we love you.”

“Son,” John said, picking up a mug resting on the counter and thunking it against the countertop a few times to get the man’s attention, before he said, smiling as he signed with is words, “son, the goal was to try and not make the poor girl cry.”

“Yeah, way to be a sweetheart, you jerk!” Sara offered teasing reprimand as she came and wrapped her arms around Hermione, pressing a kiss to the Witch’s temple as she sniffled. “You see what I have to put up with?”

“I’m alright, holidays are…” she cleared her throat, “I miss them. I just hope they’re happy, glad they’re safe.” And she was scared beyond anything else she would never again have a Christmas with them, that her spellwork would be irreversible. No, brilliant and secure as her casting was, she could undo it, Narcissa was certain and furthermore...well she would spare no expense aiding her, and Andromeda...she was well dedicated to restoring the girl’s parents to her. That much was plain in her mind. If Hermione Granger needed _anything_ , from Pepper-up to remedy a sniffle, to the world’s foremost expert on memory magic to consult her parent’s restoration, Andromeda would make certain she had as much after...well. By the time they completed testing Narcissa’s new potion requirements, the Time Travelers had done well to communicate silently, offering impressions back and forth, on the implications of Hermione’s vine wand, confiscated from her at the Manor the day they left time, appearing in her wand sheath. The girl excused herself to seek out her replacement wand they’d made purchase of their first week in this timeline, found it in the nightstand on her side of the bed.

...Narcissa’s lightstone had appeared on their nightstand, in the place it was meant to be. Just as Hermione’s wand, it appeared in its rightful place in her sheath...it replaced her new wand, but did not _erase_ its existence with them. Which gave Hermione the impression...cementing such things in time, while allowing for permanence, still offered a level of _correction._ They did not have to physically take Hermione’s old wand and put it in her sheath, it displaced her new one, to claim its rightful place, corrected their timeline in that way. It spoke to the idea that if something was meant to be a certain way, it would be.

Another layer that spoke to that, was that while the Present Hermione being forewarned cemented the idea she decided how to best secure her wand to prevent it from being confiscated and it would work, be with her when she traveled through time...Hermione’s scar still remained in place. Narcissa refused to think of that as a sign of inevitability, it was like her wondering why they hadn’t _more things_ appear with her Lightstone like clothing or other things packed in preparation for their trip through time. Just as her present self had yet to set a strict list for what she might bring to the future, Hermione’s fate at the manor was still up for chance, the balance could be tipped.

Ahh. But the point. Hermione had rejoined them, and she and Narcissa communicated in thought to compose themselves, and...oh, Narcissa had been absolutely aching to forewarn her sister if they could, to save her husband if it was possible. Having confirmation that they themselves could offer warning that took, evidence that telling the Present Hermione her pending fate gave her the ability to successfully rescue her wand with such certainty it appeared with her Future Self, spoke to their success if they offered warning to Andromeda. Hermione had been kind enough to take point in the discussion as Narcissa wanted it to happen as soon as possible, felt such urgency over it...which might have been nonsensical, purely a symptom of her condition at the time, but that was likewise the reason Narcissa relied on the younger Witch. As desperately as she wanted such warning to happen, she was fearful she wasn’t in the right state of mind to lead such a discussion. Hermione heard her, took her thoughts and feelings on the matter into consideration and sat down with her, Andromeda in their living room before the woman left them, and handled the messy work of informing the woman they came from a time where her husband had been murdered.

_“...by who?” was Andromeda’s first question. No disbelief, just ready acceptance, ready...vengeance wasn’t the accurate word for it, as the act had yet to come to pass._

_That was the first stumbling point Hermione met. Narcissa offered, “Snatchers, the Dark Lord had several groups, they were all gathered together when they announced their victory in...killing the man who led you astray. I...I am sorry, I did…” she swallowed, chin quivering as she promised, “I did try to decipher which of them were responsible I...I believe I did see but I cannot rightly recall.” They were all of them guilty in her opinion, but Andromeda sought specifics to defend her husband._

_“Why the hell not?!” the woman railed._

_“Andy!” Hermione fiercely returned, arm around Narcissa’s shoulders, other hand resting on her knee, squeezing to reassure. “Why do you think?! Narcissa_ loves _you, loves your_ family _, she wouldn’t just_ forget _something so important because she couldn’t be damned to remember. What’s the Dark Lord’s favorite way of punishing people that can leave their memories muddled at best?”_

_That stole the wind from her sister’s crusading sails, the breath from her lungs as she looked to Narcissa, appalled. “You...you were punished at the announcement of Teddy’s….”_

_“She didn’t raise her glass high enough to please his Lordship,” Hermione rolled her eyes around the title, “when it came to toasting their success. It was enough to make it obvious she didn’t find it a matter of celebration.”_

_“You were cru-,” Andromeda swallowed. “Merlin, Cissy.”_

_“We’re hoping to prevent...all of the things that make Teddy have to go on the run,” Hermione offered gently._

_“Why in heaven's name was I not with my husband?” Andromeda wanted to know._

_Hermione was very quiet for a moment, as if uncertain she should say as much...she’d not to Narcissa, until, “You...were with your daughter, Andy. Keeping her safe...she um...she was due soon.”_

_“...due?”_

_Hermione nodded. “Fall of 97, Remus um...well he and Tonks had gotten married. Things had really just broken off in the war, we were regrouping, and he seemed worried, scared, and when Harry pressed, he informed us* um...well they were expecting. We left the timeline in March, we weren’t in contact but I was um...pretty sure she was due around that time, early April maybe.”_

_“Merlin help me, a widow and a grandmother.” and then she whimpered out, “oh gods, a little Dora.”_

_“I don’t know how us being in the timeline, telling you these things will affect everything, but...well, Tonks is clearly just as in love with Remus in this timeline as she was in ours, so…” Hermione shrugged. “We...we really want to help you save Teddy. Whatever we can do, we’ll do it, we promise, Andy.”_

Narcissa had seen something of resolve building in her sister’s mind the entire time they were together that day. Watching Hermione care for Narcissa, her compassion in breaking such news to her, carefully explaining _why_ they’d not risked it before for fear of damning the man with their actions to save him, assuring they’d tested as they could to make certain warning her themselves would work on Hermione herself first and foremost, and her determination to aid in making rescue of her husband...it left Andromeda feeling for Hermione, the way Narcissa felt for Teddy Tonks, loved this Witch for her sister, would do anything to be of aid to her.

Narcissa pressed a kiss to Hermione’s temple. “Come darling. You know I’ve never had a hand in decorating before…”

“I’m not sure if that’s you asking for guidance on how to put up decoration or informing me I’m about to become your personal human House Elf to follow your direction on how you want everything to look.”

“This is Mrs. Whitaker’s domain, I’d not wish to overstep...of course once we make decoration of our home, that might be a different story.”

“Live to boss me around, Miss Black?”

“Absolutely.”

“So for Christmas I was thinking you two could let me just, watch, just one time-” Sara started.

“Sara Winters, you get that thought out of your head this instant!” Hermione insisted, laughing as she shook her head, “I’m not much into voyeurism, thank you very much.”

...not _much._

They made a great deal of pleasantness, Violetta prepared lunch they enjoyed together, Jessie laying claim to Hermione’s lap after he rushed the girl for a hug, signing _love you, Auntie! Love love love_. Sweet reassurance that had the Witch hugging him tighter. They sat together, Hermione carding a hand through his hair occasionally, bouncing her knees to jostle him playfully when his mouth wasn’t full of food, eliciting sweet giggles from the boy as the adults chatted. She carried him on her hip as they worked, to allow the boy to help as he wished, lifting him high to hold up strands of lights and tinsel his Witchy aunt carefully cast to stick to the walls leaving Mike and John somewhat indignant that their tacks and hammers were rather moot, but Violetta was utterly delighted it meant no damage would befall the shops walls, in fact,

“Hermione Granger!” Violetta gasped in delight. “You fixed the walls!”

“They were just little holes, wood isn’t difficult to channel magic through,” Hermione assured with a shrug. In fact a great deal of their casting later would rely on the Whitaker’s shelf-lined walls, their warding imbued in the wood to anchor and hold it to the space without interfering with their technology, be it the lights or their brewing machinery, the appliances in their kitchen.

“Yeah, wood’s way easy to channel magic through,” Sara agreed as if she’d some great expertise on the subject, smacking her husband's backside. It did not help that Mike nodded his agreement with his wife, oh good heavens. John burst into laughter his wife swatted his shoulder for, for encouraging their mischief, before she shushed the babe she could hold in a single hand against her shoulder, Gabrielle giggled and cooed as she made play with her grandmother’s hair, endeavoring to take a fistful of dark blonde locks into her mouth.

“Why do I love working here, again?” Hermione consulted Narcissa, though in the next instant her face scrunched up as Jessie took hold of it in his hands to press an enthusiastic kiss to her cheek. “Oh, right, of course, how could I forget?”

It was admittedly heart melting. And something in the interaction made Narcissa’s heart ache for missing her son. Both of her selves missed him something terrible, even as they could write him, he’d...grown distant, as of late. More and more as the semester progressed, he’d withdrawn himself, cut conversations short when Narcissa wrote to him, if it was not something pressing, for their mission, he seemed disinterested. Even as Harry and both Hermiones insisted he missed her likewise.

Jessie waved to get Narcissa’s attention. _If you ask, they’ll say yes_ , he signed.

“Ask?” Hermione wondered.

“It’s nothing darling, I…” ...they’ll say yes? “...if we could discuss it later? In private?”

“Sure thing,” she readily agreed, startling a bit when the storefront door was thrown open. Oh, dear Patrick had arrived, but she was more so startled by the man announcing,

“Holy crap, it looks like actual magic happened in here!” as he took in the sight of their strung decorations.

Hermione managed to secure her wand in her sheath, arm behind her back as she did so. “Christmas magic, what can we say?” 

“Well it looks amazing,” the young man assured, looking to his bosses. “Violetta my queen, direct me to your fabulous will. What’s left to do?”

“Well lovey, we’ve the tree still to decorate,” Violetta said, “ornaments to place on the shelves and counter space, centerpieces for the tables.”

“It will be done!” Patrick declared, their work made lighter, swifter still by his enthusiasm, aiding Hermione, Narcissa, Mike, Sara in setting decoration around, plying ornaments to the tree, which ended in John voicing,

“Excellent work. All that’s left is the angel.”

“Oh!” Patrick slapped his hands together in a single, loud clap, grinning as he said, “You heard him, now’s your time to shine girl, get on up there Narcissa!”

Well...her magic was certainly more of an angelic sort, as of late, perhaps the sweet compliment was nearly befitting.

_“What...what does it mean?” Narcissa asked her sister quietly while Hermione went in search to verify the fate of her replacement wand, leaving she and Andromeda alone in the cellar while the woman tested a watchglass of bicorn horn._

_“Now isn’t the time for an existential crisis, dear. You’re real, the room is real, the earth isn’t on the back of a turtle that we know of,” Andromeda rattled off, “the meaning of life is either self-fulfillment without selfish harm, or good sex, I’m unclear on that. Teddy insists it's the former, I’m more inclined to believe it's the latter, it’s really the great debate at the center of our marriage.”_

_“I mean my_ magic, _Andromeda!” Narcissa snapped. “It has been black as_ pitch _since- well for a very long time!”_

_“And now it’s a little marriage of metals between Slytherin and Gryffindor, oh dear, what will people say?”_

_“I’m serious!” oh. She saw it in her sister’s mind as it came to her own, the bittersweet idea to speak for their dearly departed cousin. If ever in the company of Sirius Black, the man, from the time he’d the ability to speak, would always make correction if someone in his presence claimed that_ they _were ‘serious’. The sisters spoke in unison to say, “No…”_

 _And then Andromeda offered a small amused smile tinged in sadness as she said, “You’re Narcissa.” And then, “And you’re taking it a touch too seriously Cissy, you’ll give yourself an aneurysm and I’m not much in the mood for handling that, but do check back later in the week-” and when Narcissa opened her mouth to_ yell _, her sister sighed, “I don’t know, Narcissa. I measure a great deal of magic but I’ve only...well I see a great deal of white, silver, black, shades of red and blue. Yellow even, but never gold.”_

_Hermione’s footfalls were on the stairs, she had her replacement wand in hand, showing Narcissa before slipping it down the back of her jeans to rest in her waistband at the back of her hip. “Harry’s is,” she said._

_“Pardon?”_

_“Harry’s magic. It’s gold, little black flecks in it…” she seemed to consider it a moment, “Was it like that when he was born?” she wondered to Andromeda._

_“No, all magic begins in purity, save for a few undesirable instances. I suppose,” Andromeda said. “Harry’s magic was no different when he was a babe.”_

_“...did you test him after his parents were killed?”_

_“No. No I wasn’t brought to care for him beyond his birth, the occasional check up in his first year of life.”_

_“Well I mean…” Hermione pondered it a moment, “His magic was interacted with by Voldemort pretty directly? And...well, some Order members who’ve guarded him at Privet Drive noted energy from Dark Magic concentrated in...places I know he slept when he was younger.” ...her mind held the idea of a_ cupboard _, oh gods above, surely those people hadn’t- “but since coming to Hogwarts, learning about his magic, wielding it himself…” she looked to Narcissa, “Maybe magic imbued in darkness, and returned to light burns gold.”_

“Cissa?” Hermione’s voice caught her attention. She looked to the younger Witch to find her smiling up at her as she wrapped her now free arms around the woman.

“Right here, darling,” she needlessly assured, resting her head against Hermione’s as she realized Jessie had been taken up into his father’s hold, the man was swinging him a bit, spinning and hoisting the boy high as he screamed with excited laughter at the sensation of flying as he held on tightly to a porcelain angel until his father held him up toward the top of the tree to place it so the angel overlooked the street.

Which suited. They needed no eyes keeping watch over the shop.

“You’re sure you ladies don’t want to come?” Patrick checked as he and Mike returned from restoring the boxes that held their decorations to storage.

“Oh no, you guys go on, we’ll pal around with Mister and Mrs. and the babies a bit longer, lock up, call it a night. Go have fun,” Hermione encouraged from where she sat atop a stool at the counter across from the Whitakers who stood holding their grandchildren. Mike and Sara had taken Patrick up on his proposal of ending the evening in drinks at the pub down the street.

“I will unlock four drink Stacie someday, I swear to God!” Patrick vowed to the heavens, he had, actually. Hermione joined her coworkers for drinks earlier in the week. Four drink Hermione, however, had slipped off to the bar's restroom and drunkenly called home.

_A peal of giggles burst over the kitchen’s phone when she answered. "Darling?"_

_"Heeeeeeeeeeeeey," she greeted laughingly. "What're you wearing?" had she called to make such inquiry?_

_"...what you saw me in little more than an hour ago. Do I require a wardrobe change?"_

_"Nope! God, your skirts are so fucking hot."_

_Ahh, well then, it was more than time to collect the Witch, after all Apparation under the influence was hardly advisable. Neither was wasting the opportunity to be better acquainted with her darling's elusive drunken self_. 

“Alright Sar," Patrick said "How do you feel about your husband working that backside to help me catch a man?”

 _I’m in._ Mike signed, _I’m…_ he looked to his wife as if for confirmation, _a power bottom._ Sara nodded.

“That’s why the good Lord gave it to him,” Sara was pretty sure, “It’s reeled me in, done it's good work, now it should share the wealth.”

Patrick let out a victorious _whoop_ as he locked arms with the couple who waved their farewells as they took leave of the shop.

“Well, this little fellow’s rather done in,” John said, Jessie was on his hip laying against his grandfather, blinking slow as he was nearly dozing off, albeit grumpy from his fatigue as his grandfather smoothed his hair, letting out a complaining sound at the man as he glowered.

“Hey,” Hermione laughingly said, reaching across the counter and gently tickling at the underside of the boy’s socked foot. His shoe had gone...somewhere at some point. The action made the boy giggly as his aunt signed, saying, “bathtime! That’s the best! Then you and Gabbie can cuddle up, snug as bugs, and it’ll be bedtime!”

The boy nodded, hiding his face against his grandfather’s shoulder as he snuggled into the man’s hold, and John smiled to them, “Do you ladies need anything? Anything at all?” he checked with them.

“There’s snacks in the kitchen,” Violetta rattled off, “treats on the counter if you need some sugar, and I made a few plates of sandwiches in the fridge by the door...we’ve juice and do help yourself to the bottled water...if you’re tired, dearies please don’t fret with driving, we would make certain your car isn’t towed and you can vanish home or you’re more than welcome to stay the night-”

“Darling,” Narcissa smiled, reaching out across the counter to rest a hand on the woman’s forearm as she warmly assured, “We will be perfectly well. We will let you know the moment our casing is concluded, inform you before we depart. When you return to your storefront tomorrow, everything will be as it should."

Violetta gently patted Narcissa's hand. "I don’t know how else to thank you girls.”

“If...there is anything my time with Miss Granger has imbued in me, it is that women must absolutely look after one another.”

Hermione looked entirely pleased, but surprised, smiling wide as she questioned, “ _I_ imbued you with girl power?!”

“Apparently.” Oh, that should not make her smile so brilliantly, nor should that smile make Narcissa so very pleased with herself for invoking it, why did it feel like something of a heart melting triumph? She was not certain...if Hermione would appreciate _all_ of Narcissa’s recent acts of womanly solidarity. She certainly hadn’t appreciated the startle from what she’d seen of them the other night.

_“Narcissa!” Hermione’s voice, screaming with absolute fright._

_She did not think she’d ever apparated quite so violently before, hurling herself into the back garden with such speed she nearly fell to her knees but managed to raise up without falling, righting herself as she looked about frantically, grasping hold of Hermione’s forearm and pulling the younger Witch behind her as she assessed what the issue was- oh._

_Perched atop their fence was a large..._ large _vulture._

_“Oh. Never fret darling, he’s here for me,” Narcissa calmly assured._

_“I certainly hope not! Narcissa! What- what the hell?!”_

_“I’ve a missive needing sent, anonymously of course, and I can’t very well do that with a familiar owl, now can I?”_

_Hermione stared at her like she said she thought it an excellent idea to set her own hair on fire. “So...so you...how did you order a Post_ Vulture? _”_

_“Connections darling. I’ve connections.”_

“Why?!” _she questioned with laughter-laced incredulity._

_“Anonymity.” and too...the beast would be cheerily received by her recipient, lunatic the woman was._

_She just stared at her a moment more before looking at the waiting vulture and then she slipped from Narcissa’s hold to back her way to the house, leaving her to her work with, “If that thing eats Jinsey, I swear to_ God _, Narcissa.”_

_It spoke to the threat she would leave her for inviting Jinsey's demise, but...well, Narcissa'd some genuine fear the girl might find it a matter of conflict. If she knew just who Narcissa was contacting, or worse still, why, she mightn't find it a matter of forgiveness or reason, Narcissa didn't think._

Hermione had spoken of redemption but...believing Bella capable of redemption...and attempting to offer her tools to do that, were two entirely different things, in Narcissa’s opinion. But the scar remained on Hermione’s arm, and she would do everything she could to see it vanish before they returned to time. Bellatrix...was about to find herself one of the few women, the sole woman in the company of Voldemort and his minions in Malfoy Manor. No Narcissa Malfoy about to take their petty pride and petulance out on. No, every abuse she faced in her time hosting the Dark Lord as her houseguest would...likely be transferred onto Bella. With the 1st approaching...Narcissa had felt compelled to share with her sister forewarning. Nothing that would lead the woman to them, or to the conclusion of their time travel plot. She would merely think Narcissa’s present self was communicating with her, sharing advice and warning, pulling from experiences she’d had in the past that she could reasonably believe would only bear themself on repeat with the Dark Lord taking refuge in her home, having her at hand every hour of the day. And if she’d evidence this would work, Narcissa would find a way to convey to her present self that she must likewise do as much for Bella, to the end that...if there was one certainty she would come away with from her experiences of late, it was that kindness and care could do wonders to shape and change a person for their better, if they so had it in them to change. Bellatrix mightn’t come to bear magic that gleamed gold, but finding herself faced with the contrast of the Dark Lord’s treatment, and the kindness and love her sister could convey, might...give her reason to question what she follows, soften her resolve. Lead her to listen to her sister if the time came that Hermione was captive in Bella’s care and Narcissa pled for reason.

Violetta was smiling rather brilliantly herself, spreading a look between the two Witches before she softly announced, “Well, it’s dearly appreciated. If you need anything at all, we’ll be right upstairs,” she said, taking Gabrielle’s hand in hers to raise the babe’s fist to wave to them, “Say bye-bye Aunties! Say bye-bye!”

“Ahh!” Gabrielle energetically squealed at them, magic bubbling beneath the surface...oh, Narcissa had always been...tentative to hold the child, she usually delighted in Hermione doing as much, loved...she adored seeing how well Hermione’s magic sweetly prompted and encouraged Gabrielle’s. But with her own magic, she’d been reticent to interact with the tiny Witch magically. But her magic was reaching out now, directly for Narcissa’s own and the Witch reached across the counter once more to take hold of a sweet, preciously chubby baby leg between index finger and thumb as her magic returned the girl’s affections before releasing hold and blowing a kiss to Jessie as he tiredly waved his own farewell. Oh-

She and Hermione’s wands were drawn and moved in synchronicity as their voices overlapped, “Accio Jessie’s left shoe-” well. It was a good thing they were seated so very closely, Hermione’d the presence of mind to swiftly swivel to face Narcissa and splay her waiting hand alongside the older Witch’s so the poor shoe didn’t rend itself in twain between them. The blunder left Narcissa’s cheeks warm, Hermione’s eyes alight with amusement, she thought it sweet, funny that they’d both acted in unison on the matter.

“Here,” Hermione said, offering the shoe to John who chuckled warmly as he accepted it.

“Have a good evening,” he wished them, and the couple left them to their work.

“Wow, it got dark fast,” Hermione commented once they were alone, looking out the storefront windows to the wintry evening awaiting them. She looked to Narcissa, “...there’s street lights but…” none directly before the shop. 

“Our casting is best suited to darkness,” Narcissa shrugged. They would best be able to see their warding taking root if there was no light distracting from that of their spellwork. She’d understood as much, coming here. “My...fear of darkness lies in being unable to know what awaits in the shadows,” she softly confessed, slipping her hand into the younger Witch’s. “I know well just who is with me now,” she said, and with a flick of her wand, she cast against the lightswitches to darken their storefront, leaving only the barest glow of pale white christmas lights strung high along the walls. “I’ve no trepidation, with you in the dark.”

A smile spread at Hermione’s lips as she rose up on tiptoe to kiss her, sharing the lingering sweetness from their hot chocolate before she said, “Well, we best get to work, Miss Black.”

“By your lead, Miss Granger,” the woman returned, gesturing for the girl to begin their casting. Partly to delight in watching the younger Witch work her spellcraft, but mostly as the spellwork required reliance on a single perspective, working the absolute certainty and acceptance Hermione held for Violetta’s identity into their spellwork so that any and all who entered the space and looked upon the woman would do so as she did, they would see Violetta, and know with the fullness that Hermione held, that she was undeniably a woman. She’d a longer association with the woman to work from, and too, she’d seen her in all manner of presentation, and still held the knowledge and respect for her true identity, never...it was called a “deadname”, apparently, she never “deadnamed” or misgendered Violetta on the few occasions Hermione had seen her when the woman had to dress and conduct herself more masculinly to handle things like hospital visits or meetings at the bank, Narcissa had seen as much when they worked through memories that might be appropriate for her faux-wall, looking for moments when her parents were mentioned but not central, just out of range of being known, so their existence went unquestioned. The memory that came to mind, however, while ideal for that particular goal, went unused for being too identifying of the Whitakers and their storefront, and her relationship with them.

_“Hermione!” she said with startled surprise. Hermione wasn’t on the schedule to work today, she’d been out with mum and the woman got caught up talking to a friend in the thrift shop just up the block. She’d gone on to Whitakers without her to grab something certain to make her mother shake her head at the sugar content, maybe a cuppa. Violetta had just been coming out of the entrance to the apartment as Hermione approached the shop, in her three piece suit, oh God, she hoped the woman hadn’t cut her hair unless she truly wished to...oh good, the sides were pulled in what could be perceived as being slicked back, but really the woman had secured her hair in a tight neat bun to tuck it away under her trilby hat._

_They were on the street now, busy on a summer afternoon, so, “Hey you!” Hermione greeted cheerily. “I’m just dropping in as a customer today. You’ve a meeting?”_

_“Papers to sign at the bank,” the woman nodded, some reluctance in her gaze. Oh, that tore at her heart, she wished she could do something, go for her somehow...could polyjuice work with Muggle hair? She’d just gone with mum and dad to set up her own personal bank account when she’d gone to work at Whitakers, ‘Hello Miss Granger’, ‘Well yes Miss Granger’, ‘Sign here Miss Granger. And here’. It felt like she heard her own name parroted back to her with every sentence._

_“Well I hope it goes well, doesn’t take too long,” Hermione wished her as she stepped up to rise up as high as she could on her toes, she hugged the woman around the shoulders, who hugged her back, lifting the girl with the effort to bring her higher, and with her lips by the woman’s ear, “You’re really beautiful. Your eyes are the same, you know? They don’t change, they’re always you.”_

_“...they are, that’s true,” the woman softly supposed._

_“Gorgeous baby-blues, kind and warm and crinkly when you smile. It’s the best.”_

_The woman cleared her throat to say, “Thank you honey,” as she set Hermione on her feet, releasing her, raising a hand to tuck a loose curl behind the girl’s ear, offering a smile that met her eyes, “I’ve a few minutes to spare, what were you in the mood for, my dear?”_

Her understanding never waivered, never faltered, always held true and that, imbued in their casting, would secure that understanding safety to this space.

Narcissa followed her lead, working to aid in powering her casting as they spelled the space with layer upon layer of protections. The secure knowledge of Violetta’s identity was one, but there were others they wished to ply, further protection against allergens to ensure their shop was truly just as safe as the apartment above in that regard, things that would send violence from any who entered’s mind, warding that made the place...feel safe, to make it further a realm of comfort for any who frequented their store. Warding to dispel Dark Witches and Wizards, keep them from taking any interest in the shop…

Her magic was different. But her Mark was a thing of permanence, and any who bore it...well, they would not want them capable of entering the shop. Narcissa...was tempted to interrupt their casting, she’d had a few ideals to live out before being wholly incapable of entering the space ever again, but that might break it, and that wouldn’t do. They should finish...Hermione, should finish. Such warding was only possible because of their joint power and the fact they'd a willing participant who bore the Dark Lord's Mark, it required pulling on power from the Mark to inject its signature into their casting but they'd well done that, Hermione need only weave that power into her warding. “I’ll be just outside,” Narcissa said.

“...no, you can stay, no worries,” Hermione spoke over her shoulder as she continued her casting...and it was only absolute trust in the girl that kept Narcissa rooted to the shop floor, even as she cast something that would...at best, fill Narcissa with the idea it was imperative she leave and leave _now_ , and at worst, painfully expel her from the place-

...oh, oh no. Something was wrong, something _failed_ . Narcissa went to the girl the moment she concluded her casting, going to stand before her, hands on Hermione’s shoulders as the younger Witch caught her breath, sweat gleaming on her forehead under the light from the street. “Sweetheart? My darling, has your magic been wholly depleted? Were you hurt?” Oh sometimes faltering magic _tore_ through you when one couldn’t cast to completion, it was just awful. Had she not powered her casting enough? “What can I do?”

Hermione smiled up at her, shaking her head, “Nothing, we’re done. Everything’s all good, see?”

Narcissa tore her gaze from her assessment of her love to look up at the work they’d done, clean weaving strands of warding woven ‘round and ‘round the shop, along every line of the shelving lining the walls.

...well. She was staring directly at warding that should banish her for her Mark. So why wasn’t it-

“You may pass all thresholds I am welcome,” Hermione quoted softly, hands slipping into Narcissa’s, lacing their fingers, eyes alight. “Find refuge under my every roof, be seated at any table I preside.”

“...our vows…”

“Are stronger than the wards, predate them, so…” she shrugged. “Narcissa...I want the Whitaker’s safe, but I would never cast anything that would exclude you. Making it so you could never set foot in this shop ever again? I didn’t realize you thought our warding would do that.”

It had been a hurtful prospect, oh Merlin she’d honestly felt a bit sick at the notion, it had ached her, that she might never enjoy this place again, but she’d gladly endure that if it meant the people that made the place so enjoyable were safe.

She stared at the Witch for all of a moment before raising her hands to rest on her shoulders, pushing her back as she strode forward, met with confusion from amber eyes, alight with their curiosity.

“Narcissa?”

“I would have mourned my loss of this space, the people in it. The experiences…” Narcissa said, raising a hand to stroke the girl’s cheek, brush her hair from her face, “one of which, I find this is the most opportune time for.”

“...Mrs did leave snacks for us?” the girl supposed with some confusion. “It’s kind of fun to be the only ones in the shop, after closing but still enjoying-” she fell silent as her back met the ladder hanging on its railing before the shelves of tea and Narcissa interrupted,

“It isn’t Violetta’s cooking that I hunger for at present, Miss Granger,” she darkly assured, delighting in how deeply that caused the younger Witch to blush.

* * *

“Narcissa it- we- the Whitakers are upstairs-”

“Where they will remain until morning.”

“But...I mean there’s still people out-”

“And oh, it would be just scandalizing should someone see, wouldn’t it?” Narcissa supposed, tracing the back of her hand along the younger Witch’s arm, “Is that what you fear, Miss Granger? Some passerby might see me having my way with you?” she questioned, hand slipping up under the girl’s filmy grey skirt, met with soft gasping as she caressed at her backside before moving to palm her mound, fingers stroking through the fabric of her panties already wet in the most delicious way. “Bear witness to what a sinfully naughty, wanton Witch you are for me?”

“It-it’s up there on the list of fears, yeah,” the girl distractedly supposed, mind awash with desire, fear just along the edges of that, that spoke to the bit of high from the risk that they may well be caught.

“And isn’t it Gryffindor bravery that demands we face our fears?” she asked, delighting as the girl jumped a bit as she pressed her middle finger against the fabric over her clit

“You’re insane.”

“On the contrary Miss Granger I’m feeling rather in balance, clear of thought, focused on sound intent.”

“If we get caught I am absolutely allowed to wipe their memories and _you’ll_ be making up for the mind numbing embarrassment I’ll feel, for at least a week.”

“Oh will I?” Narcissa wondered with some glee, “Well I find myself rather enticed,” she confessed, assuring, “I suppose I’ll just have to do my level best to make a sight of you.”

“That wasn’t supposed to enti-”

The girl hummed into their kiss as Narcissa stole the rest of her sentence from her, mouth working hungrily against the younger Witch’s. Gods above, she was divine. Truly, a thing of divinity, she had to be. How had Harry Potter been born a child of prophecy and yet the world had nary a warning to herald the likes of Hermione Granger? Her mewl of surprise vibrated into Narcissa’s mouth as she slipped her hand down the Witch’s panties, stroked her sex, middle finger just breaching her opening as it slipped by, Merlin she was excited and tense and Narcissa could not wait to succeed in utterly relaxing the Witch in full. Her arms were around Narcissa’s neck, legs wrapping around her hips as she rested her bottom on a ladder step.

“Mmm, such a good girl, so wet for me. You crave this, don’t you? You’ve _wished_ I would dare take you like this. If a flock of nuns walked these streets at night and laid eyes on our congress you would scream my name to the heavens with abandon, not a care that they might hear you.”

“Superfluity,” the Witch whispered against Narcissa’s neck, arms moving so her hands could grasp at the railing on either side of her, lips pressing to Narcissa’s throat before she elucidated, “A...a gathering of nuns, it's called a superfluity.”

“Insufferable know-it-all, much too smart for your own good, aren’t you?” oh Merlin, she truly was, in the most wonderful of ways, teeth teasing at Narcissa’s skin, biting, bruising, best. Narcissa had to grasp hold of the ladder railing in her free hand, focus to continue her ministrations, thumb circling the younger Witch’s clit as she pressed index and middle finger to enter her, wet warmth drawing her in. “So perfect.”

“I thought I was insufferable,” the girl sniped, breath hot against her neck before she nipped a shade harsher at the bruising place on her throat, tongue lathing to soothe in the wake of pain as she drew a whimper form the older Witch, this was hardly fair. Narcissa ducked her head to catch Hermione’s lips against hers, occupy them with...distracting, but less distracting work than that of further marking Narcissa.

“Insufferable…” Narcissa said between kisses, “incredible,” mmm, “there is little difference when then the words reference you.”

“Oh God,” Hermione whimpered as Narcissa pressed deeper, ring finger stretching her further, middle finger striking just right, the girl relying on the support of the ladder to hold her upright, “Fuck, Narcissa,” she breathed.

“I have every hope you will.” That had the girl giggling into her next gasp as Narcissa’s fingers spread a bit. She did not need...much room, but it wouldn’t do to hurt her, with her designs this evening. She worked her open, Hermione crying out into Narcissa’s mouth.

“Oh my God, Narcissa please.”

“Shhh. Darling...even as you were revirginized before our union, I wonder if you’ve the experience of taking a wand?”

“...a...I di- I didn’t-” she had to focus, catch her breath to guarantee, “I never slept with Viktor.”

“Mister Krum’s anatomy is not at all what I reference,” Narcissa assured, grinning as the girl loosed a sharper cry as her fingers spread inside her again, “I speak of a literal wand,.”

“...i-in m-, n-no?”

“Would it interest you at all, my darling?” Narcissa wondered, voice husking as she moved to pay attention to the younger Witch’s neck. “It is just as you would take it in hand, traditionally, at the hilt.”

Hermione gulped at that, “Hilt?” She whimpered when Narcissa withdrew her hand from her underthings, which vanished at her bidding as she called her wand to drop into her hand, grasping it by the hilt before flipping it to take hold of it by the tip raising her wand to drag the hilt of her wand against the younger Witch’s cheek.

“Yes...do I hold your intrigue, or would you prefer something different?”

The girl swallowed again, nervous. Oh, penetration in such a manor, wanded or otherwise, had never been a part of her sexual experience. “I…” she considered it a moment, “Y-yes. I um- intrigued, mhm,” she nodded.

“Excellent,” she offered the praise, kissing the Witch once more, lowering her arm to wrap around the thigh resting on her hip, shifting to grasp her wand closer to the hilt to assume better control of it as she willed magic into the wood to warm it ever-so, slid the hilt against Hermione’s sex, she tensed and gasped, raising herself up on Narcissa’s hips a moment before seating herself again, relaxing. “I will take absolute care of you, my darling. If you find it isn’t to your tastes, if you’re put to discomfort, you need only let me know and I will rectify it at once.”

“Mhm,” Hermione nodded, “I know,” she assured with some sweetness, pressing a kiss to Narcissa’s cheek. “I trust you.”

Trust Narcissa dearly wished to live up to, oh Merlin, she loved her. Adored, cherished. If this caused her the barest unwelcome discomfort, she was uncertain just how well she would forgive herself. She carefully tested the hilt at Hermione’s entrance, the Witch gasping softly, resting her forehead against Narcissa’s neck, hands on the railing laxing their hold. She nodded against the woman, arms wrapping around, over her shoulders and Narcissa dropped a kiss to the side of her head, breathed deep the sweet smell of her hair as she pressed deeper, the hilt of her wand entering inch by inch in measured increments, Hermione gasping and panting into Narcissa’s shoulder, crying out just before the whole of the hilt was fully inside her.

“Darling?”

“I just- I just-” the girl raised up a bit, forehead resting against Narcissa’s, eyes closed as she breathed, “It’s okay, I’m okay,” she assured.

And then she captured Narcissa’s lips in a searing kiss as she sank down fully onto the Witch’s wand, taking the implement deeply enough her folds met Narcissa’s fist around the shaft, moaning into her mouth, oh dear _Merlin_. Hermione cried out, burying her face against Narcissa’s neck as she whimpered, “Oh God.”

The woman gave her a moment to adjust and settle before slowly drawing the wand out of her, a torturous pace that had the girl whimpering into her shoulder and letting out rushed a litany of, “Oh God oh God oh God. Ahh!” she screamed slightly as the wand was thrust back into place far more swiftly than it had been removed before Narcissa set a more jarring pace, having to grip tight the wand to keep it in hand as slick wetness spilled to coat it.

“So good, oh my darling, you’re taking this so well,” Narcissa praised, her own orgasm building with the younger Witch’s cries, sounds she could orchestrate at will, quieting with kisses or a gentler set speed, raising with jarring thrusts that sent Hermione grasping at the railing to grip it tight, throwing her head back as she wailed her pleasure, magic reaching out to grasp at Narcissa’s to ground and guide her to her own release as she thrust her wand deeper still, sending Hermione screaming as Narcissa cast into the wand to make it pulsate, vibrate inside the girl, sending her screams higher, loud enough Narcissa felt the reassurance as her mind raced back to recall whether or not she warded for their vocal privacy before hand, she had, thankfully or...well they would be rather well interrupted by the authorities, she should think.

_“Narcissa!”_

Hermione had to wrap her arms around Narcissa’s neck again, catch herself against the older Witch as she worked to catch her breath once Narcissa’s wand left her, “Oh God,” she rasped, “I- I need to- holy hell I n- need to lie down I think, th- that-”

Narcissa secured the younger Witch against her, stepping back and the girl lowered herself, feet to the floor before going to her knees, Narcissa following her to be level with the girl as Hermione focused on breathing for a moment, arms and legs still trembling. “Are you alright, darling?”

“U- uh-huh. That- that was- _Merlin_.”

“Narcissa, actually.”

“Har,” the girl snarked, leaning forward and resting against the older Witch a moment before she sat back, sighing as she revived, holding out her hands to the woman. Narcissa took hold of her hands to aid her rising only to have the girl surge to her feet, pulling the woman up after her before she pulled her around, and pushed her back up against the shelving alongside the ladder, the younger Witch looking upward a moment and smiling, “Oh look, we’re right under Darjeeling. Bit like mistletoe, did you know that?” she asked, eyes alight with mischief...ahh, the plant life John had requested magical assistance from Narcissa, to secure it to the side of the pots and pans rack overhead the center counter in the kitchens, right above where his wife could often be found at work. The woman had discovered them just as Narcissa finished plying her sticking charm, John was immediate to drop his hands from where he’d been holding the plant in place and hide them behind his back, expression warm with mischief as his wife wondered just what he was up to, and when she drew near to stand in her usual spot behind the counter, John Whitaker had been pleased to show her just what laid in wait overhead, pointing to their seasonal decoration...which apparently bore the superstition that those found coupled under mistletoe, must absolutely kiss. It had been heartening to see the bit of flirtation sent the woman’s cheeks pinking as she bashfully indulged her sweet husband.

She was certain no such tradition truly existed with Darjeeling, but she hardly minded indulging the Witch in making one themselves. “Oh do enlighten me, Miss Granger. Just what do the rules of finding oneself coupled under a canister of Darjeeling dictate?”

“Now I’ve got to kiss you,” the girl informed her, drawing nearer, chest to chest as her breath ghosted over Narcissa’s skin, lips just within reach before informing her, “Just not here.” And then she swiftly sank to her knees, eyes never leaving Narcissa’s until she raised her hands to push the woman’s skirt up hover her hips, drawing her panties down to the woman’s ankles, the pressure of the fabric straining at the distance between her legs felt akin to a tempting sort of restraint, and then Hermione’s mouth was on her, _kissing indeed_ , oh _gods_ Narcissa was uncertain she could ever truly have enough of this Witch’s clever tongue.

...she did not even realize there was a hand steadily tugging the wand from Narcissa’s until the weapon was snatched from her hold, and soft sound of surprise was met with the younger Witch pulling back, lips glistening with Narcissa’s wet as she smiled up at her, shaking her wand in hand with the offer of, “Reciprocity?”

“Y-you with- with my…?”

“Uh-huh, unless you’d prefer m-”

Oh. No no.While yes, there was a great deal of appeal to the proposal, there was something all too sinfully tempting to having the implement she’d worked pleasure from her lover with used upon her and if...if the younger Witch sought to _cast_ through her wand? It might send Narcissa’s magic to orgasm, truly, just the thought was enough to have Narcissa rushing to insist, “My wand is yours.” 

Oh, desperation set the most mischievous smile to the Witch’s lips, amber eyes alight with amusement as the thought blossomed in her mind that it might be terribly fun to drag things out, linger to give Narcissa what she wanted, “Eager are we, Miss Black?” oh her amusement only grew when the older Witch- Merlin, she _whimpered_ . It was only understandable! She felt akin to being set aflame and the only respite might be found in the release her love would bring her. But _oh_ Merlin bless her, her darling, so good, such a good girl for her, always so eager to please and never one to leave the woman wanting. The thought turned a more merciful path than teasing the woman mercilessly...this wasn’t exactly the time or place for such a thing, it was barely the time and place for what they were presently doing. Hermione drew nearer to kiss the woman breathless, tasting herself on the younger Witch’s tongue, gods above. Her free hand caressed down the side of her breast, her waist, to her hip before that hand slipped under the waist of her skirt to grasp tight at the woman’s backside, humming her appreciation, a sound that reverberated from the younger Witch, into the back of Narcissa’s throat. The girl always treated her with such reverence, cherished every part of her, every part. If her magic hadn’t revealed itself changed, if instead of brilliant gold the watchglass had revealed magic darker than sin itself, she’d have no qualms coasting her own along it so lovingly, slow sloping ministrations to caress magic and its mistress alike, she would have looked into Narcissa’s face, that day in the cellar and informed her her darkened-damned magic was something beautiful, compare it to something precious and desirable and worthy because it was _hers._

“So beautiful,” the younger Witch whispered as she moved to press a kiss to the woman’s neck, hand slipping up to work, aid her wanded one in undoing the buttons of Narcissa’s blouse, “perfect,” she claimed, nose grazing the skin of her throat as she brought her face up to whisper in Narcissa’s ear, warm breath heralding, “you’re amazing. So smart,” a kiss to the shell of her ear, “and brave,” lower, at the base of her throat, “and you have, without doubt, the most beautiful heart,” she assured as she pressed a kiss to the older Witch’s breast bone. “Incredible.”

“Hermione- darling please.” Oh Merlin, she needed more, even as what was already being offered felt too much, all-consuming and overwhelming, the way this girl could love her. She never harmed, never demanded, the only bruises she left were intentional marks to make Narcissa feel claimed in the best way, held a sense of belonging, a tangible souvenir of their time together. Tender and careful, and always leading with the idea the woman was meant to be cherished, worshiped, praised.

“Shhhh,” she returned Narcissa’s tendency to hush her whenever she made such pleas in bed. “Gonna make you feel incredible. So good,” she promised. Oh gods, she would. And then, “Narcissa...you know...water isn’t the only liquid-like substance your family charm works on.”

“P-pardon?” Charm...what was she on?

Her magic _sang_ , soared in her veins as Hermione Granger, most brilliant Witch of her Age...oh Merlin of any Age, cast through Narcissa’s wand, the tip of the Witch’s wand just at her entrance, whispering the familiar incantation and casting...casting upon the...the sort of liquid soaking her thighs, and an unintelligible sound was pulled from the older Witch as the tensing muscle of her center went utterly lax, gods _above_.

Canisters clattered to the shop floor as Narcissa made purchase on the edge of a shelf, the edge of another pressing into her spine, arching her into Hermione’s hold as she twirled the wand in hand between her fingers to hold it with its hilt 

“Bordel de merde,” Narcissa swore softly, Hermione chuckled into her neck, humming her appreciation as her fingers breached the woman’s opening to sink inside and test how well her casting worked to relax her.

“So warm, so perfect,” she encouraged, peppering kisses along the woman’s neck before settling on her collarbone, a nip of teeth sending biting pain that sparked straight to her core, merciful gods. She almost didn’t realized the fingers stroking had left her fully until they were brought up to halt the girl’s work on her collarbone, Hermione licking her fingers clean a satisfied smile on her lips as she kissed the woman, deep and slow for a moment before her mouthed returned to marking her as she dragged the end of the wand’s hilt against Narcissa’s folds, something quiet, a word Narcissa couldn’t quite catch whispered into her skin, her magic thrilling at the contact as the younger Witch cast into her wand before pressing it to the woman’s opening.

Oh _gods_. Narcissa breathed in a shuddering gasp as the wand entered her, steady and slow. Oh, she’d...wondered at how her own wand might feel, worried at the silvery spheres that poked out along the hilt, that they might scratch or tug displeasurably but...well, she could feel them, differing points of pressure gliding along her walls, a cry breaking from the back of her throat as it struck just the most perfect spot in passing, the lower part of her handguard resting just over that place as the hilt was placed fully inside of her.

“Oh my love, oh-”

“You’re okay?” Hermione checked, met with an affirmative sound. She kissed the skin she was working to bruise. “Give it a minute, whenever you’re ready,” she assured, listening as the woman caught her breath. “Take your time.”

“I- yes I- d-darling please.”

Oh Merlin above. Gods in the heavens. How- how had she- she’d not so much as _heard_ of the concept before today. But the younger Witch was clever as always, a quick study, a star pupil if ever there was. She withdrew the wand as slowly as it had entered her, drawn back so the top of its handguard could graze the older Witch’s clit before she thrust it back at a different angle, working the woman’s orgasm to peak with alternating, deeper back then forth, smiling into the woman’s collarbone as she voiced her appreciation, crying out-

“Oh gods, oh!” the last syllable was screamed from her throat as the wand was thurst deep and- and then twisted, turning slowly inside of her. “Oh, oh-” she cried out as the thrusting continued, twisting strikes that sent her gasping for air and crying out in ecstasy, throwing her head back to rest against shelving.

Darjeeling ritual was blessed indeed, gods above, she- she needed canisters of the stuff lining their every shelf at home, absolutely.

 _“Hermione!”_ Narcissa screamed as she came, magic aflame and singing its own rapture-

...Hermione squeaked, wand withdrawing as she fell back, Narcissa on top of her for all of a second before she rolled, laughing as she shielded the woman as every last canister of tea and coffee came toppling off the shelves.

Narcissa worked to catch her breath, wide eyed as she looked at the mess she’d made, oh Merlin. Oh! “Darling, are- are you hurt?” she was laughing but that wasn’t necessarily an indication either way.

“I’m fine!” she managed through her joviality, pressing her face into Narcissa’s neck as her shoulders shook, and Narcissa found herself laughing along with the girl for all of a moment before she gasped in a bit of surprise as there was a loud vibrating sound. Oh. “Accio tag seven,” Hermione summoned the mobile breathlessly from where it was resting on the counter top. “Hallo?”

 _“Hi lovey, is everything alright?”_ Violetta’s voice came over the phone, oh gods! _“We thought we felt something, the upstairs shook.”_

“Just- just wrapping up our casting, Mrs. Whitaker. W-we’re almost done, we’ll clean up everything. The shop will be good to go before we leave,” Hermione assured.

_“You girls are alright?”_

“We’re just fine! We’ll come up and say goodbye before we go.”

 _“Alright honey, let us know if you need anything,”_ the woman intoned before hanging up.

Hermione looked to her and broke out in a bit more laughter the Witches shared before she sighed. “Well then. That was fun. Are you okay?”

“That was a great deal more than okay,” Narcissa assured with some incredulity.

Hermione giggled, brushing hair from Narcissa’s face, “I meant are you hurt at all? I didn’t mean to drop you.”

Narcissa would hardly call _her_ falling on top of the girl being ‘dropped’. “I’m well darling. We...should set the store to rights.”

“Yeah, Patrick might actually hate us if we leave him to open up shop to this mess,” she said, shifting onto her knees, wincing a bit as she sat back on her heels.

“Darling?” Narcissa fretted as she sat up on her elbows.

“Little sore, I’m alright,” she assured, offering her hands to Narcissa and aiding the woman in sitting up, rising to her feet. Her magic excited again when the younger Witch cast further with her wand...something, Narcissa was uncertain, she’d spoken quietly and there was no effect that she could see, before Hermione withdrew her own wand to cast her wand cleansed and returned it to Narcissa with a wink.

“Allow me, my love,” Narcissa insisted, casting to ensure all the tin canisters were righted, undamaged and returned to their rightful place, smiling when warm lips pressed an encouraging kiss to her cheek upon her success. “Well...I believe there is refreshment awaiting us in the kitchen?”

Hermione sighed with some relief, “Oh yay, I’m starved,” she confessed, taking her hand and pulling her along into the kitchens.

* * *

It wasn’t until breakfast, the following morning that the girl, seated at the kitchen table across from Narcissa, startled and went, “Oh!” she looked up from her oatmeal. “You...you had something you needed to talk about!”

Did she? Ahh, “It is nothing...well it is of importance to me, but we’ve plenty of time to handle the matter. It's nothing pressing. I just…” oh, she wished she hadn’t forgotten it, had thought it over more before presenting the idea to the girl but… “Well darling I was wondering what you might think about...entertaining company, for Christmas?”

“Company?”

“...I...I would like to...I would like to invite my Dragon, to visit with us over the winter holiday. Mister Potter as well, if he is so inclined. I understand it isn’t ideal but…” Narcissa fell silent, she’d better argument for it, didn’t she? Reasons that made sense-

“Narcissa,” Hermione said gently, tones meant to soothe, oh Merlin, she’d messed this rather well, hadn’t she? The girl was going to let her down gently, at least, hand laying over Narcissa’s on the table top as she smiled, “Of course.”

Narcissa blinked at her momentarily. “Of...of course?”

“Yeah! I mean...it's a little complicated but no one knows we’re here, except Andromeda. She’s the secret keeper, right? So it's perfectly safe for them, we’ll take precautions, arrange for them to arrive safely and discreetly. Andy can key them in, and we can invite them to come have some Christmas cheer with us. I know he can’t do so with your present self this year, he shouldn’t have to miss a Christmas with his mother, nor you with him, really. It’s a shame that you will be on a level but...I think your present self would be...jealous but happy, relieved Draco gets to see you. It’ll be fun!” Oh her mind was already flooded with preparations, maybe Tonks could see to their safe arrival, orchestrate diversions for any trying to stalk after either boy. Plans to clean the house from top to bottom, oh gosh, where would they stay? They could make the living room comfortable or Jinsey could stay in their room, she would be due soon at that point, it would probably be best for her to stay close to the Witches just in case, anyway. The office could always be made comfortable with magic, they’d figure it out. Well, that was if the boys stayed the night, anyway, how long would they stay? As long as they wanted to, Draco was absolutely to hang around however long he wished, at least until the holiday ended and he had to return to school. Hmm...cleaning, bedding...decorations! She needed to lug the tree down anyway, they’d decorate and go on a major Tesco haul, get enough of their favorites. Jinsey knew all Draco’s favorite meals, Hermione knew Harry’s pretty well, she could whip them up no problem. Biscuits! Lots and lots of Christmas biscuits, she’d make sure the house smelled like Christmas when they got here! Somehow it felt like she had no time to get these things done and yet mourned that there were three weeks between them and when the boys would be on break.

“Darling...I absolutely adore you. Thank you.”

Hermione blushed fiercely, shying under Narcissa’s stare, “Whoops, yeah, I’m a little excited,” she supposed.

“Jinsey would be happiness to see young Master and his Harry Potter!” Jinsey said as she blinked into existence, appearing atop the kitchen table, rubbing circles on her growing stomach that was endeavoring to make competition with her toes now. “Good morning Mistresses! Jinsey made clean your clothings from last night! They is back in their places. Jinsey was able to be getting the blood out of Hermione’s skirt, but she isn’t finding menstruation bandagings, is Hermione being needing it? Jinsey is understanding that muggleborns at Hogwarts is being using non-magic methods to handle their bleedings.”

“Blood?” Narcissa voiced the concern...menstruation bandaging, oh, “Oh darling, I’m sorry. We’ve never stocked up on anything for such a thing, you...charm your underthings I suppose?”

Her mind drew a blank at such suggestion. “Charm? There’s magic for everything, I suppose there would be for that,” Hermione said, shaking her head, “um...I’m- it was just a little spotting, nothing to worry about. I’m not er, on my period or anything.”

Jinsey nodded. “Jinsey is going to visit young master Jessie and young mistress Gabbie, Master Mike is to be making Jinsey the pancakes that is chocolate chipped!” Oh, Mike’d a meeting with a client that required he leave their home, Jinsey had readily offered to mind the children in his stead while Sara’d a shift at Whitakers.

“Thanks Jinsey, have a nice time and be careful, call us if you need anything at all,” Hermione said.

“Yes, do be well my dear,” Narcissa wished her before she snapped her fingers and disappeared from view, leaving the Witches. “Darling, if you...you don’t use charms for managing your flow, what exactly have you been using?” Narcissa wondered. She’d not seen anything she could associate with the task.

Hermione blushed at the line of questioning. “Pads, tampons if it’s er, terribly heavy but...um...that’s not really something I worry about? I um...haven’t had a period in a while.”

...she did not take potion to cause such a thing. “...a while?”

“June.”

...Narcissa had to count backward just a moment, “Darling, you’ve not menstruated in nearly a year?”

“1995.”

“... _you_ haven’t- not since…darling that’s over a _year_ for your present self! Nearly three for- if you count the time we have been in this timeline, you’ve not bled in three years?...have you not gone to a Healer about this?”

Hermione shrugged. “Madam Pomfrey, when I got back to school. I’d never had sex in my life but I was absolutely petrified I’d somehow wound up pregnant,” she laughed. “She just um...it’s a symptom of stress I guess? I’m a bit of a worrier, stress can either make your body swing into horrible bloody long, too-close-together periods or shut it down altogether...Voldemort coming back, making the choice to move forward without my parents? Mine chose the latter. I’m fine, honest it isn’t um...she said it wasn’t anything to be too concerned about, to let her know if I had further issue.”

“And you’ve no healer of your own to consult. Darling, Madam Pomfrey is excellent in an emergency but she is not a primary care Healer, she isn’t suited to specialized care, you- I am calling Andromeda at her earliest convenience, you will discuss this matter with her, that you are so...I understand these are stressful things, but that your body is under such duress cannot be healthy, why- you encouraged Draco to seek help with his own anxieties, why have you never pursued as much for yourself?”

“Well um...I mean...yeah, Pomfrey isn’t a specialist I...I dunno. I never really had time, it felt like, to sort through finding a Healer for myself. I don’t even know how, really, it’s a little...St. Mungos is the only Wizarding medical facility I know of, and I’ve not much clue how to get in contact with them, if that would even be how to get in touch with a Healer for personal health. Hogwarts doesn’t really give you a run through on how to do all that when you’re Muggleborn.”

“You’ve helped Mister Potter get in touch with specialists to diagnose his hearing disorder. Draco, with his anxieties.”

“Well yeah I went with them to Pomfrey and she handled it, I…” she shrugged. “I don’t know, it's a lot of trouble she had to go through and I...feel...badly? Asking for as much for myself, when she’s assured me it isn’t a big deal.”

“Darling the woman likely doesn’t realize you’d no Healer of your own to consult after your examination. Sweetheart, you must absolutely seek help with this, I- I didn’t realize your anxieties so severe- there could be some greater underlying issue- you will take care of yourself, is that clear?”

“Yeah um...we can see if Andy can come ‘round for a chat in a few days.”

“We’ll consult with her and see how best to treat you, if it would be better to treat your present's self or you directly as well.”

“...I mean if we have to go trekking through the wilderness looking for Horcruxes…dealing with periods during the end of the world isn’t super ideal.”

“There is potion that would regulate your cycle, eliminate it safely, if that suits.” Narcissa had a marvelous, safe, formulation that Mister Zabini had been using since the summer before his Third Year and Anathema wrote for her aid, since the boy had locked himself up in his room and refused to come out after waking with bloodsoaked sheets. He wouldn’t see anyone, not even a Healer on the matter. Lucius had thankfully not batted an eye at Narcissa wishing to leave the manor for lunch with Lady Zabini, and she departed to Anathema’s summer home in northern Italy...the boy had reluctantly opened the door for the Witch with some coaxing and compliment, willing to do as the Witch he’d a crush on bid, especially when she promised she’d remedy for his issue. Bella had horrible monthlies in their youth, terrible things that sent her bedridden from agony, begrudgingly allowing Andromeda to lie with her, hold her in an effort that her magic might take the edge off of her misery. Mother wouldn’t abide her seeking a Healer’s aid to get potion that would stop her cycle, she’d some strange idea it would do something to make the girl unsuccessful at procreation when the time came...Narcissa had admittedly worried about that, in her youth, when Bella’s pregnancy ended so terribly but...no, whatever caused Bellatrix’s agony with monthlies was likely to blame for the issues that rendered her barren at the loss of her child. The point was, Narcissa had set to task, her Third Year in Hogwarts when her sister was in so much pain she’d sought the hospital wing over it, turned down every offer of potion for fear Mother would learn of it. Narcissa found a recipe she improved with her sister’s magic in mind that left Bella safely without a monthly until such a time as she chose to try for pregnancy. Lucius...he secured the ingredients for her with his own funding, she’d an allowance but it came from an account Mother controlled, could see every withdrawal and demanded to have a verifiable account of what every coin went to. And so Bella’d secret potion Narcissa supplied to mitigate the issue. For her it was something that plagued her body with pain, for Mister Zabini, enduring his courses exacerbated his dysphoria, and if he didn’t wish to seek his Healer on the matter, Narcissa would be more than glad to make such potion for him. She’d sat on the floor outside his bedroom door and consoled the boy as she could, encouraging him as he sat on the floor on the other side she was certain. That the only way this made him any less of a boy, was that this was a sign his body was growing and maturing and that meant he was growing into a handsome young _man._

_“...it means I’m becoming a man?” he questioned, quiet hope in his voice._

_“Just as Draco’s ever-cracking voice and profuse body odor does for him. That is how his body is maturing.”_

_“...is he squeaking a lot?”_

_“Oh every-other syllable,” she warmly assured. “This is how your body is maturing. It does not dictate who you are, it’s mere biology darling, no different from your heart beating to pump blood to your organs. That you breathe does not indicate any facet of your identity outside the realm that you are blessedly alive. This merely means you are coming into puberty, on your journey to adulthood. An indication of_ age, _not identity.”_

_There was silence beyond the door for a moment, the soft sound of bare feet planting themselves on the floor and then the door swung open to reveal the boy, face tear-streaked, in his blood-soaked pyjama bottoms. “You said you can make potion that will make it go away?”_

_“Yes darling.”_

_“Is...is it okay…” he was uncertain how to phrase it, he worried it was weakness to crumble in the face of something that was supposed to happen, lots of people dealt with, that Narcissa could see it as a sign he was becoming a man and all it made him feel was like his body was wrong and he didn’t belong in it. Her sentiments made him feel...understood, better, but...words could comfort, but they so rarely healed, not something physical, especially when the physical was tied to mental._

_“It is absolutely okay,” she promised, “come my little prince,” she said, pleased when the use of the nickname sent him blushing and sent...comfort to his mind. She was uncertain just who might call him that, in the wake of his dear Aunt’s death. It was something he’d been called the whole of his youth by a woman who loved him dearly. In her passing...well, she hoped the occasional offer of such sentiment comforted him, that she might offer it on the woman’s bhalf. “Let’s get you cleaned up, there are charms that will make your underthings absorb and clear away bleeding, and I’ve brought the most splendid tea to aid with your other aches.” Cramping and the like, soothe his anxieties._

_“When I’m grown up, I’m dueling your husband for your hand,” the boy decided, informed her wholeheartedly._

_Narcissa bit her lip harshly, and then forced the smile she wished to give, using the last bit of air in her lungs to lightly offer, “I look forward to it,” before releasing his hand and whirling about, Anathema blanched, moving forward to take over, moving to be between Narcissa and her son to usher him back into his room, toward the baths just off of it saying,_

_“Excellent, oh mimo, I’m so happy you’re feeling better, let’s do as Lady Malfoy suggests, yes?” securing the door behind them to secure him from seeing Narcissa fall to the floor exhausted and pained, punishment surging in her magic for merely- Blaise Zabini was a child! He’d a precious little crush on her, she hardly reciprocated his feelings with any seriousness! Her vows had imbued her with the need to scowl and harshly insist such a thing was rediuclous but that would be unnecessary cruelty to the boy who hardly deserved as much. Fighting the magic of her vows to instead smile and speak positively toward his offer of winning her hand from her husband had thefted almost the whole of her strength. She’d sank down on the hallway floor once more, opposite the door and held her tongue, sat silent as she waited for her magic to cease punishing her for her misconduct...poor Mister Zabini had been rather frightened when he and his mother emerged from his bedroom, the boy dressed for the day after his mother aided in cleansing himself, to discover Narcissa unconscious in the hall. She’d woken to his frantic cries, Anathema’s voice seeking to soothe the boy and assure her son the woman was alright. She’d...limited idea just what Narcissa’s vows were capable of but she’d some clue that this was a result._

_“Bella mia? Oh, thank Merlin,” Anathema breathed as her son’s face came into view, Narcissa opening her eyes to find Blaise Zabini on his knees at her side, his hands on her arm gently shaking her, Anathema at his back. “See mimo, she’s waking. Narcissa darling, can you sit up? We’ll have brunch, some food and water, perhaps a bit of wine will do you some good.”_

_“Sh-sh-she looked-” Blaise’s expression crumpled and he buried his face in the crook of his elbow to hide it as he burst into tears, “She looked like Auntie Jenny!” Oh Merlin, there was the flash of memory she caught before his eyes were out of view, not even knowing the woman had come for a visit and discovering her unconscious in the foyer of their home from her ultimately fatal ailment._

_“I’m alright darling,” Narcissa rasped assurance. “Your mother is right I...I must be suffering some malady from neglecting to eat.”_

_That had his gaze on her immediately, throwing his arm aside to insist, “You can’t stop eating again!” and then his mouth worked, mind racing with the fear he’d misspoken, that he’d promised Draco he wouldn’t tell anyone about...oh dear. She hadn’t realized her son had noticed her hunger strike, she’d thought herself clever in her excuses that she was taking her meals at other times, her quiet casting to banish the food from her plate in measured portions similar to bties when she shared meals in Draco’s presence. “I m-mean er...you- you have to eat! It isn’t any good to let yourself get sick! Here,” he said offering his hands to help her up, the thought in his mind where he wondered if he should carry her. He very much believed himself strong enough to do so, oh sweet boy._

“Yeah, I’ll consult Andy,” Hermione agreed.

“Good,” Narcissa said. Then, “You’d...spotting? Is that abnormal?” she’d...not a single thought to the matter making up her faux-wall...she’d dedicated herself to filling with true-thought whenever she chose to occlude, keeping back only...well she’d only implemented it to keep from offering Narcissa unwanted information on her more recent visit to the manor. “Hermione?”

“Um...don’t be mad? It really isn’t a big deal,” the girl spoke as if reasoning with her. Confessing, “But I probably should have said something last night I just um...didn't want to ruin things or...just um...I enjoyed what we did I mean like, a lot. So...for future reference...your wand’s ornamentation is just...a bit rough? Some of them.”

...the spheres? They’d felt blunt enough when Narcissa-

“You cast to alter my wand somehow, when you implemented it on me.”

“Something to smooth metal, yeah. I have to use that charm when I tinker with wand sheathes and build tags and the like, it’s really interesting. It's a variation of a spell I found meant to-” the girl sought to deflect. 

“Hermione! Love that I do, your knowledge of spells, you- I _hurt_ you! you should have stopped me the _moment_ you were put to discomfort, we’ve a watchword for a reason!”

“To be implemented if we want to stop, and I um...I definitely didn’t want to stop,” the girl said, smiling assurance. “It wasn’t _bad_ , I didn’t realize it wasn’t just a normal ‘oh I’ve never had something like this inside me before’ feeling. You didn’t tear me up or anything, it was just a little scratching, it stung and I was a little sore and bled just a bit afterward, honest. I didn’t even think to check and make sure my skirt wasn’t stained, that’s how not a big deal it was.” Narcissa frowned at that, it...sounded a big deal to her, _she_ would not have enjoyed such unpleasantness, hadn’t in the past when she’d been handled too roughly. If she’d unintentionally harmed Lucius in any way, he would have treated her to the very same discomfort several fold...so yes, of course the reasonable response...the response she should expect from Hermione was taking the experience as a learning one, casting to spare Narcissa from it, and correcting her in kindness. “Oh Cissa don’t look at me like that, come on, you didn’t mean to and it wasn’t bad! It was _fun,_ I don’t feel badly about it, and it definitely holds interest for the future. I’ll teach you the smoothing charm.”

“Are you in pain still?” the girl shook her head, faux-wall falling to reveal her mind once more. Not a single indication that she was being anything less than forthright on the matter, she’d truly enjoyed their time together, and it hadn’t put her to great discomfort. “Darling...it would not have ruined a thing if you’d brought it to my attention in the moment. I would have rectified it, gone a differing route and if you wished to continue the way we were, you could have offered the solution of your smoothing charm before continuing. Even as you did not realize until afterward...the moment you discovered your discomfort, it should have been remedied, would have. There would be nothing lost to such interruption, is that clear?”

“As my conscience, as we weren’t caught last night by a superfluity of nuns,” she assured with a wink.

Narcissa groaned. “Honestly darling. Whatever am I to do with you?”

“Mmm...come to work with me?” she requested in hopeful tones. “So Mrs. can see you after she’s seen the shop. And we can get started planning our top-secret, super-amazing, Christmas-with-our-boys operation!”

Oh, the prospect made her so cheery about Christmas, Narcissa could hardly deny her, even if she had found some fault in her request. “I’ll gather my journals and we’ll depart.”

Her journals might as well have been...what was the darling turn of phrase Sara used? Chopped liver. Her journals might as well have been chopped liver, when it came to their endeavors. All of her writing endeavors though...it was partially understandable. Frustrating, and it hurt her heart when it came to her Dragon...had she _done_ something to make him despair of her? He insisted he was not upset with her, Mister Potter reassured her likewise when she made question of him. But her son would not entertain enough discussion with her to request if he would consider joining them on Winter Holiday. She finally penned the offer to paper and...nothing. The boy ceased responding, Mister Potter fell silent for a moment and then wrote that he would need to consult with Draco first, but he was so very honored to be asked. The future’s Hermione was rather busy with...the onslaught of customers Whitakers was entertaining with the start of the season, people coming to see their decoration and partake of seasonal beverages and treats and…

_“Girls!” Violetta greeted them with so much warmth as they entered the kitchen. John was standing at his wife’s back, arms around her waist, setting a shy grin on the woman’s lips as he pressed kisses to her neck while she endeavored to work. “John,” she prompted._

_“Hmm?” he questioned distractedly._

_“Johnathan!” she laughingly reprimanded._

_That had him looking up, blushing as he smiled wide. “Oh! Good morning my dears! I didn’t hear you come in. Do forgive me, but you know well there’s magic in the air, I’m positively spellbound,” he excused his need for continuous affection, even as it was just as prevalent as usual, much to his wife’s bemusement. “How are you ladies feeling?”_

_“We’re well, dear man,” Narcissa assured. “I trust you’ve gotten a feel for our warding?”_

_“Oh yes,” Violetta breathed, “I’ve loved this place ever since John first dragged me here blindfolded and said-”_

_“Let’s make your tea shop happen!” the man cheerily quoted himself, voicing the same excitement Violetta recalled from that day._

_“_ Our _shop, John,” the woman warmly insisted._

_“Oh, it is my love, but it is your dream...and you are mine. So it’s worked out rather splendidly for us both, hasn’t it?”_

_“Johnathan Whitaker I swear,” she cleared her throat, blushing fiercely before she pressed a kiss to his cheek and stepped from his hold, coming to meet the Witches, holding out a hand for each of them to take. “I have loved this place since we bought it, but walking through those doors this morning? My God it was like the first time we came in and realized...we could open, everything was ready and perfect and felt right and...I didn’t think it was possible to love this place more. But whatever you’ve cast? I feel...safe and perfectly content and...like the love we put into this place is fully radiating from the shop itself!”_

_“Awe, Mrs. Whitaker!” Hermione said, squeezing her hand, “Yeah, we cast to imbue the place with peace, but you’re the ones who put the love there. That last part is all your own magic,” she offered with a wink._

_“Oh lovies,” the woman sniffled, opening her arms and drawing them in for a warm hug. “Thank you both, so much.”_

There was a great sense of peace in the place, the air was light and comforting, secure. People were pouring in and seeming drawn to that, lingered, ordered a great many treats and drinks to prolong their stay and so Sara and Hermione were rather caught up in it all. When Narcissa was met with frustration, sorrow at her son’s behavior, she sought comfort in writing to her darling’s present self, met with further silence. Which was unusual for her, she _was_ rather much like a pup, so eager to jump at Narcissa’s call. Had her son’s upset reached her? Looking to Hermione behind the counter, she was smiling to her every customer and...looking distracted by something in the interim. Sara had already stopped her own work at one point to rest a hand on the girl’s arm, looked to be asking if she was alright, met with a smile and a nod. She kept catching Narcissa’s gaze but cross-the-room legilimency was difficult enough, with so many minds about? It was difficult to latch onto whatever was pressing Hermione’s thoughts just now, but whatever it was, led her to frustratedly sigh and sign _talk on my break_ , to the older Witch.

Neither did it help that her break was approaching at a snail's pace...and her present self did deign to write her.

_Sorry, something’s happening. Write as soon as I can._

And then, after a moment.

 _Love you_ punctuated with a small heart shape, so. That was of some relief.

She did try consulting her own memories of the day. They...were interesting in their own right, as Monday mornings saw she and Minerva free and clear, at least after her first period of First Years Potion’s. The elder Witch entered their favored staff room just a few minutes after Narcissa herself arrived, seating herself calmly across from where the Potion’s professor sat marking down grades into her gradebook. She was about to voice complaint she knew the woman would share in, that it was utterly ridiculous a teacher’s magical signature was not enough validation to allow them to merely make the records magically, a simple spell could have her gradebook full of accurate marks in an instant, but no, the only trace of magic allowed to be found upon their gradebooks was that which secured them from others opening or from magical alteration of any kind. However, before she could speak,

_“Lovely weather we’re having,” Minerva said, sighing tiredly as she seated herself, adjusting the drape of her robes about her legs as she sat back._

_“Perhaps pleasant enough for a bit of flight?” Narcissa returned the passphrase._

_‘“Oh, flight? With us, the Old Crowd? Perhaps, if we’ve cushioning charms,” the woman supposed. “It does get so dark so early, no sun in the sky past five now. It feels like last month the days stretched to at least eight in the evening.” An Order meeting, Cushioning Charms was an indication it would be rather a secure meeting, they’d little reason to believe a threat prevalent over their proceedings. In the same location as last month, 8pm._

“Will Lord Malfoy be in attendance?” Minerva wondered to Albus as she sat before his desk, the Order Leader informing his Deputy Headmistress of their meeting in the security of his office.

“We will be debriefing the Order in full, of his involvement, and how we plan to proceed with our foothold in his home,” the Headmaster said...so yes. The man sighed, “I would not wish to put Professor Black to discomfort but it is necessary, and her presence is vital, Minerva, you’re not to interfere, if she might be disinclined to show at forewarning her ex-husband will be in attendance...well we can little afford that at this juncture. I would prefer her ire and attendance, than her comfort and absence this evening. You’re not to speak a word of this,” he intoned.

“Oh Albus, honestly. I wouldn’t dream of it,” the woman assured. She would, however, openly think it, faux-wall dropped to lay the memory bare for Narcissa’s forewarning.

_“Winter holidays approaching so swiftly, the work can really pile up,” Minerva sympathized, “if you’ve need of assistance, more time to grade, I would gladly cover for you in my free period,” the woman offered. Ahh, their meeting. She would cover for Narcissa if she’d...need of more time, could not abide being in the man’s presence even in a room full of other Wizards and Witches who held Lucius in suspicion as she did._

_“It won’t keep me,” Narcissa assured, “Though do save me a seat at dinner.”_

_“Certainly.” There was a glimmer of pleasure at the thought of waving off the likes of Mad-Eye Moody from a seat at her side only to have Narcissa come to claim it. Oh yes, that would be something of amusement._

Well. That did nothing to answer her inquiries. If anything it set further anxieties in her, sympathy even, for her present self. The meeting would be...difficult to tolerate but she’d solid allyship with Minerva, at least. And too, Nymphadora would likely be in attendance, they’d yet to see each other face to face but Andromeda had affirmed that her daughter was aware her true allegiance. They would be properly introduced, her future self and her sister’s family nearer the holiday. It had gone rather well, with the young lady, Narcissa’s offer of securing potion for her Werewolf boyfriend...fiance? She was uncertain.

“Hey,” Hermione offered a bit breathlessly as she stepped within the now permanent privacy protections placed over their table, seating herself across from Narcissa, “business is pretty crazy today.”

“You’re well due an early break,” Narcissa commented, dropping a glance to her own wristwatch to note the time.

“I popped into the kitchen to see if Mrs. would take over for a second, I really needed to talk to you and,” she shrugged, “what we’ve seen of the wards is solid so far, but seeing Mrs. in them, interacting with all sorts of customers, especially the new faces we’ve in this crowd is what will really put them to task.”

Narcissa nodded her agreement. “You’ve an important development?”

“Mhm,” she affirmed holding up an index finger and then resting her head in her arms atop the table a moment, taking a moment to compose her thoughts and recover a bit before she sighed and sat up, reaching across the table and Narcissa gladly obliged her, taking hold of her hands. “So...something’s happened this morning it was...really weird and I’m going to talk to your present self about it soon, I figure showing you is the best route it’s...I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it.”

_“It is barely the second of the month, a disgusting amount of holiday cheer so early,” Professor Snape drawled as he entered his class. “A bit of rivalry will right that. Inter-house pairings. Alternate attacking and blocking. No Mister Malfoy this is not excuse to pair with your charming friends. Oh, this is insufferable.” the man sighed impatiently. “Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott. You’re to be paired accordingly, Longbottom, Finnigan, Abbott, Bones, Patil, Gryffindor’s Miss Parvarti.” Oh, well at least that left Padma available for Hermione to pair-...oh God, Lavender looked a bit out of sorts, nervous in the face of inter-house parings, Padma and Pavarti shared a look across the room and Padma was already coming to offer to partner up with the Gryffindor girl._

_“Awe, need a partner, Mudblood?” Pansy Parkinson sneered. Crap! She hadn’t been Occlud-_

“Your scar,” Narcissa rasped as she pulled back from the memory the girl offered, squeezing her hands, “Darling-”

“It’s alright,” she assured, “It...barely hurt this time, really. It was like a slap to my magic, nothing detrimental so...at least Andy’s sessions are apparently worth it,” she supposed.

Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief, and the girl looked to her with the question in her mind if she was ready to continue. She nodded, refocusing on the task at hand as she held the ones in hers more tightly. 

_She felt a retort building in her throat, that it was a shame Pansy’d no friends to pair up with but...she’d promised Narcissa she wouldn’t do anything to alienate the girl, and...well, she should hardly be the person to throw not having any friends into anyone’s face, after First Year. Besides, it would be much more satisfying, a great deal more annoying to the girl if her insult was met with indifference instead of indignancy. She smiled and said, “I do actually, thanks.”_

_Pansy scowled, letting out a small indignant sound as she took to the floorspace across from Hermione, to be in position for their dueling. She looked...a bit rough, to be honest. Dark circles under her eyes, wan and pale, like she was sick. There was a bit more hang to her school sweaters, the collar of her blouse wasn’t quite tight against her throat, looser, like she’d dropped weight. She didn’t feel quite like this would be much of a fair fight, not really. It was just class, practice anyway, so, “You can attack first-”_

_“Planned on it,_ Flipendo!” _she hurled a knockback jinx that Hermione only just deflected, Merlin! “Ventus!” she cast to distract with a jet of whirling wind that whipped at Hermione’s robes, sent her hair flying in her face, “Relashio!” oh, that was supposed to make Hermione drop her wand? Huh...she deflected it...and she was able to cast protection on her own person wandlessly now so she dropped her wand to let Pansy believe she’d the upper hand. “Flipendo!” she said again, just a millisecond after Hermione’s own,_

_“Aversum*,” she cast under her breath._

_Pansy yelped as her spell back-fired and sent her sprawled on her backside against the dungeon floor._

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa commended with some pleasure, smirk tugging at her lips, “did you come on your break just to impress me with your skills in wanded combat? Feigning Miss Parkinson’s success was...very Slytherin of you,” she complimented, she usually sat with her feet just nearly out of her shoes, rose one now to freedom to drag it along the inside of Hermione’s right leg.

“Narcissa! This is serious,” she reproached even as she smiled and supposed, “...I...could have skipped over the dueling part but...well, it wouldn’t do to leave you without proper context for what’s happening. Shush and watch, I have to get back to work soon.”

“My apologies, Miss Granger,” Narcissa offered with mirth, met with the girl huffing a bit, and wondering just what to do with the older Witch. The vows did press a bit, not painful, their vows never punished, Narcissa...was uncertain exactly why, it was her understanding that was the way such magical entanglement worked. But they did offer warning now, that her intention to drag their discussion further...she knew it would frustrate the girl, exhaust her even, and at present that would, in a way, cause harm. Oh, she was still tired from their work the other day, and too, while she wasn’t deeply depressed at the season, she was...entertaining some underlying depression that clung to her even still, at the month of December. She was tired, and trying, and stressed over whatever she was endeavoring to share with Narcissa now. “I am sorry darling, do please proceed, I’ll not interrupt you further,” she promised, bringing the girl’s wand-hand to her lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. The girl offered up a grateful smile that just met tired eyes...they would nap, when they returned home, Narcissa would see to their dinner. They would relax on the couch and read or watch whatever appealed until Xena’s hour was upon them. She was uncertain if good company would help or harm the situation, but she would drop subtle questioning to see if perhaps inviting Sara to watch with them, or if another visit to the Winter’s would cheer her. Anything that might release chemicals that imbued one with a healthy level of contentment, happiness that she might be struggling to come by on her own. She could not heal the younger Witch’s mind but...well she also couldn’t sit idle-by. 

_Pansy laid there for a moment unmoving and Hermione stood with some building anxiety, certain the girl was feigning now, just planning to lie still until Hermione bit and checked on her, and then she’d strike...but...well, worry she’d actually hurt the other girl won out so she picked up her wand and leveled it like she was prepared to defend herself but approached, “Pansy?”_

_The girl looked a little disoriented, blinked at Hermione’s voice and shook herself, sitting up, “Lucky shot, Granger,” she scoffed, moving to rise, “you won’t-” her voice faltered as she blanched and her legs trembled under her weight as she sucked in a harsh breath, and Hermione only just caught her by her elbow, dropping to her own knees to go down with the Slytherin girl and slow her collapse, oh Merlin, she looked like she might sick up and Hermione wasn’t certain it had to do with, “G-get your filthy hands off me!”_

_“Sit back, put your head between your knees and take a few deep breaths-”_

_“I- you aren’t-”_

_“I’m helping, you can accept it and keep from passing out in front of most of our Year, or you can suffer. Either works for me,” and when Pansy glared but sat back on her bottom, scattering a glance about to see if anyone much was watching, Hermione shifted to sit and act as a bit of a human shield between the Slytherin girl reluctantly seating herself with knees raised, arms propped atop them and she leaned forward, head bowed. Hermione busied herself with quietly summoning her bag and casting...first a glare in Professor Snape’s direction when the man arched a brow at them, he’d a student basically passing out in his class!_ She _was handling it! Before she cast for discretion and privacy, no one would pay attention to them and even if they did, their minds wouldn’t perceive much of what was happening, they’d look, be able to acknowledge they were there, but then avert their gaze and bear only the idea that they must be participating in class as regularly scheduled. “Here,” she said, holding out a slender metal water bottle._

_The Slytherin girl looked up, lip curling at the offer, “I’m not drinking that. You’ve probably-” Hermione uncapped the water and took a swig, met with, “I’m not putting my mouth on-”_

_“Scourgify,” she muttered, cleansing the canister before holding it out again, shaking it a bit, “There,” she offered, Occlusion in place, “Mudblood-germs free.”_

_Pansy took the offered water, sipping carefully and then gulping greedily until it was empty. Merlin, she...was she dehydrated? Hermione cast Aguamenti to refill the bottle when the Slytherin girl held it out to return it, nodding and Pansy glared at her before taking a few more sips of fresh water._

_“Have...you not been drinking-”_

_“None of your fucking business, Muddy.”_

_“Awe, that’s sweeter than Mudblood, am I growing on you?”_

_“Fuck off.”_

_Hermione checked her watch, “Hmm, I do have double Free Periods after lunch,” she supposed as if taking it as a suggestion on how to pass the time. A bit of laughter burst involuntarily from Pansy’s lips, the sound startling her so badly she raised a hand to_ smack _across her mouth to cover it, looking albeit horrified. “For now, that’s hardly appropriate classroom behavior. Think I’ll just stick to what I’m doing.”_

_“Which is?”_

_“...helping you. Have I not explained that already?” she asked, digging around in her school bag a bit more and then offering, “here. There’s chocolate chips in it and everything, it’s a delight.”_

_Pansy’s nose scrunched in disgust as she took in the wrapper around the granola bar Hermione was handing her. “Is that supposed to be food?”_

_“Sorry, the House Elf that lives in my messenger bag is on holiday, otherwise I’d certainly offer you a seven course meal with accompanying string quartet.”_

_The other girl huffed softly, “A seven course meal in Snape’s classroom? A Vampiric Organist is more fitting.”_

_“I didn’t know the Professor could play the Organ.”_

_More mouth covering, there’s a spark of delight and horror in the Slytherin’s gaze. “You- stop- stop being nice. What the hell is wrong with you?”_

_“Lots of things I’m sure. I think I’ll act how I want, being nice to you...especially after you’ve asked me to stop? Oh, that isn’t very nice of me, is it?” Hermione offered, unwrapping the granola bar, “Go on. I’m serious Pansy you...you should really go to the Hospital Wing, I think.”_

_“Well it's a good thing I don’t care what_ you _think.”_

_“Then it's a good thing the feeling’s mutual. Eat.”_

_Pansy growled but relented, taking a pathetic teensy bite between her front teeth like she thought the thing would be revolting. They weren’t like the treats flying off the shelves at Honeydukes, but they didn’t taste bad, they served their purpose, filled and fueled and offered a bit of pleasantness what with the bit of chocolate involved._

_“Snape’s going to start pulling points if we don’t get back to task.”_

_“I knocked you on your ass well enough, I’d say we pass for the day. I’m not scared of Snape,” mostly. Narcissa would murder him if he messed with her, she was pretty sure. “I’ve wards up, no one can much pay attention to anything we’re up to, as far as they know? We’re having the duel of the century. I won’t say differently if you won’t.”_

_“What the hell is your game, Granger?”_

_“Is that the Slytherin motto? Pansy, you’re a stuck up bigoted bitch. I don’t love you, you’re not my favorite person, but...any animosity between us? That’s your doing. I don’t have a problem with you except for when you make one. You’re...you're a girl, in...some kind of mess. In over your head and you need help. If all I can do is offer you a chance to sit down for a second, get some food and water in you? Then that’s what's happening. Defending myself and my friends from you doesn’t make me your enemy.”_

_Pansy glared and...something in her expression cracked, chin crinkling. “What the hell do you know, if I’m in over my head?”_

_“You’re...kind of a mess, right now. Pansy you- you seem like you haven’t eaten much of anything in weeks, you're dehydrated...when you have the ability to summon water, nevermind the fact you’re in a place you’ve access to food and water at will, anywhere. You don’t look like you’re getting much sleep. And you have this look like...I don’t know. Haunted, breaking? It’s worrying.”_

_“Scared Granger?”_

_“For you, yeah.”_

_“Why-”_

_“You’re not so different from Draco, or Blaise or Gregory or Vince or Theo or Daphne. You’ve been brought up in hate, expected to be on the path you’re on now without question since you were in diapers. And it's killing you, just like it was them. Draco turned his back on things for a reason, reasons you’re experiencing first hand.”_

_“Wh-”_

_“I know you’re Marked.”_

_“I am not!” she snapped and then she looked horrified that she’d said as much. “I- I- I’m just-” she shivered, fell silent._ She wasn’t Marked, Narcissa pressed that verification to Hermione’s mind. For Draco, his Marking was to lead to his grand mission for the Dark Lord. For Miss Parkinson? That mission was a method by which to prove herself, a Witch, worthy of the Dark Lord’s Mark, the first Witch in a generation to take on such a thing. The last had been Narcissa, at Lucius’s behest upon their marriage. That had been part of the appeal to the Dark Lord, this plan, allowing Narcissa to infiltrate Hogwarts to aid Miss Parkinson, having the last Witch he’d Marked shepherd in the next.

 _“You...you don’t have to, you know?” Hermione offered gently, “There’s always a choice. Even if you’d taken the Mark...even if you_ do. _You can always choose.”_

 _Pansy huffed a bitter laugh. “Choose? What? My parents would-” she swallowed her sentence. “I- not everything about it is wrong._ You people _put_ us _in danger. Polluting bloodlines and exposing our world to Muggles. They’re- they have all sorts of technology now! Spying eyes everywhere, how will our world remain secret and safe if some stupid Muggle cunt decides to film McGonagall coming ‘round for a chat about their filthy brat’s misplaced magic, for their stupid Spiderweb?!”_

_“...you...you mean the world-wide web? The internet?” Hermione asked with some amusement. “I don’t know, honestly. But...technological advances will happen no matter what. And our worlds...aren’t too far apart, not nearly enough for there to never be crossover. Muggles are always going to have cameras and the internet and the telly and news. The only way to really defend from those things is to understand them and develop magic alongside them. Who better equipped to prepare the magical world for that, than someone who comes from the non-magical one? Crazy things are posted to the internet all of the time, Pansy, if someone truly did catch magical activity? The majority would believe it's a camera trick, people don’t just jump to magical conclusions when they come up in a society that for the most part believes magic doesn’t exist. Anyone who believed contrary would be bogged down in conspiracy. There’d be no having the non-magical world banging down our door looking to burn Witches. And what if they did? What if, worst case scenario, the world at large discovered ours? We’re so entangled with non-magical governments their major powers wouldn’t act against us, and if they did? Absolute worst-of-worst? Yeah, we close up, hunker down, and work together to find a solution, either in total isolation from the non-magical world, or in discovering how to best reach out in peace.” Pansy just stared at her incredulously. “Like it or not, I am a Witch. I think about these things too.”_

_“Muggles fear what they don’t understand!”_

_“Pretty sure you do too. That’s what this is. You don’t understand, and what's more, you don’t want to. You’d rather play victim and pout in your little corner and let your parents and Death Eaters and the Dark Lord push you around, wallow in the consequences of that. Instead of standing the fuck up, literally and for yourself, and doing what you believe is right. Not for me, or your friends in Slytherin, or even for the War. For you.”_

_“Pr-Pr-Professor- I’d never- she wouldn’t let me st-”_

_“If you’re up to something, and if someone is helping you...have you ever stopped to consider the implications of that help? They are likely bound to help you, and hinder anyone who isn’t you trying to stop you...neither of those things mean that they have to stop_ you _from stopping you.”_

_“I don’t- just shut up Granger!” the girl slapped her hands over her ears, eyes clenched shut. “I don’t need to listen to this, especially from you!”_

_“Alright. But if…” Hermione sighed, sorting through her bag, and Pansy peeked to watch as the Gryffindor girl neatly folded a sheet of parchment in half before tearing it at the seam she’d made and then casting on each half in turn. “Here. You might never use this. You might banish it or burn it the second I give it to you. But if you need_ help _, Pansy, if you want out or...or even if you don’t, even if you’ve just...gotten in over your head and need someone to help you? If you’re ever hurt in all this, I don’t imagine the Dark Lord rewards failure, and the Hospital Wing mightn’t feel like an option. Whether it's to talk through this, about getting out or otherwise, or someone who can whip up a decent burn salve and wrap a bandage well, use this. Whatever you write on your half will show up on mine, and my magic will know if a message appears.”_

_“You’re a stupid bitch if you think- I- what makes you think for a second I wouldn’t use this to lead you into a trap?” she leveled the potential threat as she shoved the scrap of spelled parchment into her skirt pocket._

_“Oh no, I fully expect you might. No worries, I can take care of myself. I understand the risks. You don’t seem like you do though, they’re still catching up to you, how dangerous this all is, what you’re getting yourself into. The rewards outweigh the risks for me, if I can keep you from getting yourself killed or ruining the entire rest of your life over stupid mistakes you’re making to live up to your parents expectations of you?”_

_“Rewards?”_

_“You don’t think you being alive, having a good life is a reward?”_

_“I meant for you.”_

_“So did I,” Hermione assured. And then, “Well. We’d best get back to task, shall we?” and when Pansy sighed and nodded, Hermione cast to return the empty water bottle and granola bar wrapper to her bag before banishing it back to her desk as she dropped her wards and, “Orbis.” Which sent the Slytherin Witch loosing a startled scream as she sank to be stuck waist-deep in the classroom floor._

_“Granger!”_

“Darling, I know I requested you not alienate Miss Parkinson but to offer her such aid...you are to never go to her alone, if she does take you up on such an offer,” Narcissa insisted all but forgetting it was the present’s Hermione behaving in such a way. She would write the girl...and her memory offered little explanation as to why she’d excused herself when Narcissa wrote earlier, did it? At that thought offered to Hermione’s mind, the girl grinned.

“I could’ve just summoned my water bottle and a snack from my bag, not the bag itself. I felt your message come through, you should’ve caught a peek of my journal being open in my bag I think, I looked in just enough to make certain I had my hand over a clean line before blindly writing that I’d check in later.” Ahh, her message had been slanted a bit strangely, not quite perfectly sitting on the line she was using to guide her words. “And I don’t plan on going alone, you or someone would go with me if Pansy ever does reach out. Invisibility cloaks and all that are wonderful if she insists I come alone. She’d consult with you first, both of you. Plus…” oh there was the slightest mischievous smile tugging at her lips, “you saw my casting, Professor Black. You really don’t know what all I did?”

“You imbued the parchment with Protean…” there _had_ been a bit more flourish to her movements… “You...cannot go to Miss Parkinson’s aid, if you’ve not a clue where she is. And you can’t know that she would be of the mindset or ability to articulate her location to you in an emergency. Your bit of parchment, if it remains on her person…”

“Will keep me up to date on her current location, yeah. I don’t know that she _will_ keep the parchment on her, but if she does? No more needing to follow her to track her movements, we’ll know if she’s following you or creeping around your quarters or classroom, stalking Draco or something, or if she’s ducked into the Room of Lost Things...if Voldemort orders her someplace other than Malfoy Manor? It might help the Order locate dead drops and safehouses, meeting places your present self can’t physically tell us about and Lucius might have neglected to mention and even if he did, mightn’t be being entirely truthful about…” her nose crinkled at that as she smiled, “Jinsey’s grammar rubbed off on me at the end there I think.”

“Darling...you may speak however you wish, _that_ is utter brilliance.”

The younger Witch blushed. “It was my present self thinking on her feet.”

“... _you_ , thinking on _your_ feet, yes,” Narcissa was amused to find herself on the opposite end of this particular conversation.

“Why...why isn’t Pansy...I can get being upset, learning in full what being dedicated to the Dark Lord will require of her during Samhain can’t have been the most pleasant of things, she’s clearly struggling with it all, so I can understand maybe losing her appetite, but...why is she dehydrated?”

“I’ve...not a clue,” Narcissa said, she’d still not had much further interaction with the girl. They made the bare minimum effort to meet at the Room once a week, and these last few times it had been evident in Pansy’s mind she’d done little more than walk in, stare at the Vanishing Cabinet for the better part of a half hour before emerging and fuming that her casting still wasn’t working to fix it. “I’ve taken note, her lack of appetite. I don’t know why she would deny herself water...perhaps she’s entertaining some extreme paranoia? Fearful someone might interfere with her in some way?”

“...like, poison her or something? Who? And how?”

“There’s specified curses that can be directed at a single person and laced into water sources, but Hogwarts filters for those, naturally. Miss Parkinson mightn’t well know that, you’ve no idea of such precautions being in place or why they would be, so I doubt she does. Too, anything from the water itself to the goblet she might use could be tampered with to hex or curse or poison her. She’s...not making the sort of progress the Dark Lord would like, she knows eventually she will receive warning of some kind.”

“...poisoning someone is a _warning?_ Well. It’s Voldemort so, I suppose that tracks. Merlin, she has to be so scared all the time,” she sympathized. Of course she did, Merlin above. Clever as her manipulations were, she was genuine in wishing to aid Miss Parkinson if she did find herself in danger, injured or feeling utterly lost and alone and needing consoled.

Hermione looked over to where Sara and Mrs. Whitaker were working at the counter, the elder woman carrying on conversation with a new customer, cheerily chatting away and preparing their order. Oh, she looked to be radiating joy, carefree as she asked what brought them in today, blushing when she was paid compliment on her beautiful storefront. They seemed to have things under control, at least a moment more, the girl decided as she looked to Narcissa, squeezing her hands, “Are you okay? You seemed down, earlier.”

“My Dragon...he’s not responded since I’ve made the offer for him to visit us. Harry insists on consulting with him first and foremost before dedicating an answer. I fear...has he made any mention to your present self? Have I done something to spurn him?”

“No! Gosh, he...he hasn’t talked about you alot lately, but he hasn’t said anything negative, or seemed upset. We’ve big projects and exams coming up and...maybe he’s stressed about it, his options for the holidays? He wants to take the Weasley’s up on their offer of the Burrow, and Tonks has only written him a thousand times telling him he better show his ‘punk face’ at her mum and dad’s at some point during the break. He knows...well...that we’re involved. Maybe he isn’t comfortable, feels like he’d be interrupting us? Would it help, do you think, if I asked him, too? That way he knows for certain we both want him here.”

Narcissa offered a small frown at that. Her Dragon never denied her a thing. If he was going to, he certainly wasn’t about to hear the request from another. But, “If you wish to try...I do not know what else to do.” She’d been entertaining some idea of slipping into Hogwarts again, surely there wasn’t that great a difference between she and her present self that it would be noticeable were she seen at the school, and it was a matter of discretion either way, sneaking in and seeking congress with her son to have him look her in the face and explain his recent behavior.

...but...she would see him soon enough, apparently.

Hermione came around the table, withdrew her notepad from her waist apron as she sat in Narcissa’s lap, pad before them on the table so the older Witch could see as she wrote. Her initial greeting was met with immediate response from her son, they’d just gone to lunch, he was free to chat, how was she?

 _Really great! Listen, I know you’re wanting to spend Christmas at the Burrow with everyone, and drop in to see your Aunt Andy. Your mother and I were hoping maybe you could add us to the list? It doesn’t have to be Christmas exactly, just, sometime on your break, you and Harry can be let in on our location via our Secret Keeper, and we’d make sure everything is perfectly safe. There’s room for you both to stay and your mother and I really do miss you. I know that might seem strange, I’m literally sitting right next to you right now but_ _I_ _haven’t seen you since our little Bank Heist. I’d love to see you and Harry and it’d be a lot more fun to give you your Christmas presents in person. You shouldn’t have to miss out on Christmas with your mum, nor she with you, however that can be helped. And it’d feel a lot more like Christmas having you and Harry to celebrate with. Just think about it?_

There was barely so much as a moment's pause and then, _Alright. Yeah, I’d like to see mother too, and you. Potter’s been making puppy eyes over it since mother asked. If the appropriate arrangements can be made, if we won’t compromise the security of your safehouse, we’d love to._ And then, _You got presents for me, Granger?_

_A present, yeah, spoilt git._

_Stingy b-_

_Draco!_

_Beggar! Stingy_ _beggar._

_Alright. Stop playing with your broccoli and eat it, it's good for you. We’ll talk details as they develop._

_Stay safe._

_You too._ And then, _I love you._

There was something of a pause that Hermione giggled in, possibly at the memory of the look on her son’s face before he frustratedly jotted down, _You know how I feel!_ A moment’s more hesitation. _You too._

“He’s so cagey when it comes to that word, we’re working on him but still,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head before she turned a bit in the woman’s lap to look to Narcissa. “Cissa?”

“Nothing darling I- I am pleased he...heard you.”

“Hey...what’s the matter? He agreed.”

“To you, yes.”

“Oh...Cissa,” she pressed a kiss to the woman’s cheek, “I mean...he hasn’t said he’s upset with you, and I’ve asked, your present self has asked me to, both of me, to check. He’s just...I mean he’s sixteen? He’s growing up and he’s got this whole life he’s working to build right now and he’s got a boyfriend, and things about interacting with you are complicated given your mission. He might...just...be going through something? A...phase, where he’s trying to detach? I mean I booted my parents cross-continent.”

“To send them into hiding.”

“Yeah, from treacherous witches that might include me, I’ve had some doozies of puberty-induced hysterics. There were like three months Fourth Year where my mother couldn’t so much as breathe in my direction without my taking it as her being overbearing or criticising me because my whole system was screaming ‘I’m an adult now, I don’t _need_ to be told _anything_ ’ and taking major offense at anything that spoke to the contrary.”

“He...might be seeking to...detach himself from me?” Narcissa questioned, not caring for that idea at all. Oh, it was a part of growing up, someday...yes, he would lead a life that she mightn’t be a part of his day-to-day in, and she would be proud of him, love any time he could offer her, but...well that did not mean it wasn’t saddening. Made her wish with desperation she could steal away into the days when the whole of their day was dedicated to play and adventure with her sweet boy.

“A bit of teenaged rebellion at worst, likely just him looking to be more independent,” Hermione shrugged as she rested her arms on Narcissa’s shoulders, hands hanging as she looked to be considering how best to assure, “you’ll always be his mother, and he’s always going to come to you when it counts. You’ve made certain he knows he can do that. Give him time, we’ll see him in a few weeks, and by then he could be clamoring for your attention, tapping away at his journal to demand your presence from our kitchen because he wants his mother to get him a snack and give him a hug.”

“Is this a promise?” Narcissa wondered. Somehow if the girl could promise as much she felt certain it would absolutely happen.

“I mean, I can’t exactly dictate Draco’s personality, but it seems plausible enough,” she said, and then a smile spread at her lips, “and I’m absolutely capable of dictating my own actions. You’re always welcome to bring me a snack.”

“I’m uncertain if this is literal, or euphemism darling.”

“Both work for me,” the Witch shrugged, pressing a warm kiss to the woman’s cheek before taking her leave, returning to work.

...returning with a slice of creamy strawberry poke-cake that was certainly not a seasonal attention to the menu. Mrs. Whitaker had apparently made as much as thank you, and Hermione saw fit to indulge the woman in a piece to drown her sorrows in fresh whipped cream. It could perhaps cure all ills, she felt certain.

Their evening did lead to several interesting developments. One being the misfortune that Xena wasn’t to make an appearance outside the realm of their tapes collection. There was a break of some sort, no new episodes until the 9th...and then no more until the 13th of _January!_ The utter audacity this- this television company had! Hermione did appreciate the offer of lazing in the evening and she sweetly revealed she’d realized there would be no new episode this evening and thus secured Sara’s copy of...well it was presently Narcissa’s favored episode of the series, the finale of season one. They’d popcorn and warm mugs of hot chocolate, and they laid together on the couch, Hermione lying in Narcissa’s hold, Jinsey lying against the younger Witch, the Elf utterly enthralled in the episode as she did enjoy Xena’s cleverness and strength, both of which were heavily featured as she worked to free a city from tyranny and give medicinal care to the wounded, aiding the mate of a centaur nearing the end of her pregnancy. Narcissa was grateful the episode could be rewound and watched again, because no sooner had they settled comfortably, then their present selves developing memories caught their focus.

_Number 12 was dreary as ever, not the cheeriest of places for a gathering of the side of Light, it looked little different than a meeting of Death Eaters...decor wise, at least._

_Attendee wise, as well. Nerves twisted in her stomach as she stood just outside the kitchens, building the will to enter. There were many who were uncertain of her allegiance, distrusted her, but that was not so much the cause of her anxieties. She did not fear their distrust so much as...their seeing open weakness. What if she froze? What if she could not abide being in the same room as that man._

_She sucked in a gasp as someone- someone knocked into her! Their hip to her own and she was prepared to snap but-_

_“Miss...Miss Granger?” she questioned the mischievous Witch that had sidled up to her. “What are you doing here?”_

_“There’s a meeting, Professor, don’t you know?” she teasingly returned._

_“But...but you’re...Mister Potter and my son, Mister Weasley, they will none of them be in attendance.”_

_“Well, they are none of them, of Age, now are they?” she cheerily returned, oh, she’d delighted in surprising the older Witch._

_“Hermione dear? Oh love, it’s excellent to see you,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice called from the open door to the kitchen, “do you think you could grab a few more chairs from the hall for us? We’re in here like wands on Olivander’s shelves.”_

_“Oi!” one of her twin sons complained. Well, George she was certain._

_“Where’s the love?” Fred went on._

_“Where’s the_ solidarity?”

_“Repping another man’s business! The saying should be packed tighter than Skiving Snackboxes-”_

_“Or Bombastic Bombs-”_

_“Or Feathery Flamingo Flame Fuzzers-”_

_“-at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes!” they concluded in unison._

_“It's practically your grandchild, woman!” Fred complained, “It’s going to get you and da through retirement!”_

_“Not with an attitude like that,” George decided, “you run on to your precious Olivadner! See if he keeps you rolling in yarn when dad’s too old to putter around the Ministry any longer!”_

_“Oh you boys, hush!” Molly said._

_“I’ll get some more chairs Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione agreed, shaking her head as she strode down the hall, back toward...well, it was the magical entrance when one was coming for such a meeting, she’d been instructed to appear in the foyer. She’d held off as long as she could without being late, in the hopes...well she didn’t wish to risk running into Lucius in any form of closeness, coming or going, so as difficult as that made slipping into the kitchens, she hoped he was already there and seated, it would make it rather impolite for him to rise and disrupt his neighbors in trying to get past them to switch seats and be nearer to her, and she could take her place as far away from him as possible, as she was certain Minerva would endeavor to be. She almost wondered if she should aid Miss Granger in her chair chore, but she wasn’t...certain how they should behave before the Order, just yet. She was their ally, surely there was no need to keep up the pretense of their false aminemity before their members? But what if Lucius...he knew they’d alliance of some sort, that Narcissa had given Hermione access to her former home, but that could have been at Dumbledore's behest for all he knew. And if he realized what the younger Witch meant to Narcissa? Oh she shuddered to think-_

_Terror seized the breath in her lungs-_

Narcissa had stopped breathing herself until there were arms wrapping around her waist, Jinsey had moved to sit closer to the television, eyes wide and ears flopped back as she paid rapt attention to the scene playing out, and Hermione was now lying with her forehead against Narcissa’s breastbone, arms around her middle hugging her as she whispered, “Breathe breathe breathe, it’s okay, we’re in the middle of an Order safe house with about a dozen Witches and Wizards in the next room who would jump to defend me if I screamed. He would be stupid to do anything, and if he says something nasty that doesn’t much faze me. We’re all safe, we’re together and I’d never let him hurt you.”

It was not herself she was worried for as she returned the girl’s hold, burying her face in Hermione’s hair as she tentatively returned her thoughts to building memories.

_Hermione had only just taken up the back of a chair under each of her arms hoisting them to carry out her task, Narcissa’d the thought it was both strange that the girl hadn’t sought to do such a thing with magic and...interesting to watch, she wondered if they were heavy, just how much upper body strength did the younger Witch have? She’d caught glimpses of the hours she spent sparring her friends in practice for battle, the occasions she... dropped to do push ups, or some kind of exercise Narcissa had only seen from the girl’s perspective in her memories, lying on her back, hands behind her head, knees alternating their veering into her lower peripheral, to wake herself up, get blood and endorphins flowing so she could continue on with some focus as she pursued late night study._

_Her thoughts turned to unspeakable fear when, just as the girl was turning to face the hall, return to the kitchen, when there was a_ crack! _and Lucius appeared a bare five inches from her, startling the Witch as she stumbled back a step._

 _“Oh!” came the man’s own cry of surprise. Oh Merlin, the future’s Miss Granger had been apt in her assessment that the man was something of a mess. He was cleanly, neat enough, but not impeccable as he strove to be before setting foot out of their chambers. His hair hung frizzy, brushed but untreated, not as sleek without a hair out of place. He forewent a suit for a slightly wrinkled pale blue button up...when had he last worn something so bright? His trousers were pressed at the very least, shoes shined. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was pale, shrinking in on himself as he stepped back, hands in his trouser pockets, no cane in sight. Where was his wand then? “Miss Granger. I apologize. It is...a pleasure to see you again,” he flushed with some embarrassment, clearing his throat. “I do mean to apologize for...for startling you and...the state you discovered me in. I...appreciate your discretion and kindness. I do promise I’ve done as you instructed. Ceased drinking, my abuse of Dreamless Sleep. I’ve an assistant now, that...was an apt suggestion. I suppose you were the one to suggest the Hogwarts Elves invasion of my home? That is...a sound change. Clever even but I suppose that’s to be expected. Thank you for...however you handled that without...I suspect I would have heard something by now if word spread of my...being discovered in weakness.” Hermione’d nothing to say to that, she’d not much context for what he was speaking of other than she knew he thought she was her future self...well, that her future self was_ her, _and_ she’d _been the one to discover him when she went to rescue Narcissa’s light-stone. “You returned Narcissa’s stone to her?” was it an accusation? He posed it as a mere confirmation, but- oh! She should have dug more into the happenings of that day! Hermione insisted she’d not been attacked but how had she gotten her stone back, exactly? Narcissa assumed it was with some discretion, without bringing its presence to Lucius’s attention but...had that not been the case?_

_“Yeah, I did,” Hermione cooly confirmed. She should not take such tone- she had to do something, get the girl away from-_

_Lucius’s shoulders slumped as he breathed a sigh of relief, “Good. I’m grateful.” And then his eyes coasted over her, as if taking her in in full and Narcissa’s magic flared, wand dropping into her hand, finding herself finally unrooted from her spot and ready to- well she didn’t much care who saw what, she would not stand idle by while he- “Oh. They’ve need of more chairs? Are these all that need brought in?” he wondered once he realized he was keeping the Witch standing in the hall hoisting chairs in her hold._

_“Yeah?” Hermione returned with some attitude._

_“Do allow me then, Miss Granger.”_

_“I’ve got them,” she bitingly assured. No, no this- this was some- this was dangerous! She shouldn’t linger!_

_“Darling do come!” Narcissa called, horrified at her word choice, eyes widening the moment they left her mouth, even more when that drew Lucius’s attention, the man looking from one Witch to the other standing in the middle of the hall, surprise at seeing her plain in his face and then some confusion that had him halting like he was uncertain- oh she certainly wasn’t calling for_ him! “Hermione, _dear, you’re to sit with me. Come,_ now.”

_“Mrs. Weasley will say where she wants them,” Hermione said as she set the chairs down, already moving to join Narcissa as Lucius...took up the chairs under his arms as she had, instead of casting. He stayed rooted in place once he had hold, looking to Narcissa as Hermione came to her side and she hastily pulled on the girl’s arm to draw her to her side, moving the younger Witch ahead of her as she kept a wary eye on the Wizard who made no effort forward, he nodded, a single upward motion that came off as more an offer than an order, that she could go on and he would maintain his distance, remain standing there until she was in the room and settling herself. She pushed Hermione onward relishing in some relief that the girl was on her arm, safe and unscathed as they entered the kitchens._

_“The chairs dear?” Mrs. Weasley questioned as they stepped into the room. Her expression melted in sympathy, “Oh, oh I’m sorry. Lovey I heard you were hurt at Halloween, Ronald and Draco assured me you were fine but-” oh she felt some remorse at requesting something that might have taxed the girl, maybe her shoulder still ached or her magic was uncooperative. “Do go ahead and find a seat if you can-”_

_“Chairs are coming,” Hermione promised as Narcissa pulled her along, made a beeline for- ugh. There was a single empty chair beside Minerva, she- she did not want Lucius nearing the girl again even if it was to offer her a seat!_

_“Narcissa. Miss Granger,” Minerva greeted, looking at the girl over her glasses with some sternness, even as she smiled, some amusement there like she was feigning catching the girl out of bounds, “This is a bit off the beaten path of your Prefect Patrols.”_

_Hermione offered a soft gasp, “My apologies, Professor, I must’ve got turned around!” and then at Narcissa’s hesitation to sit she whispered, “Go on, sit down, I can stand behind your chair, we’re so packed in it won't matter.” well she didn’t much care for that either but she hardly wanted the attention she might draw if she remained standing and she was pleased Hermione was so determined to stay with her._

_Alastor Moody took up more than the seat alongside the empty one but with Narcissa seating herself between he and Minerva, the man muttered a derisive grunting sound and he lumbered to his feet the long table scooting forward with his efforts as he rose to move away from her as if she were something foul. Well, that was more than fine, now Hermione-_

_“Oi, judgey much Mad-Eye?” Nymphadora Tonks sniped, cracking her bubblegum. She stood on the opposite side of the table and down a ways to Narcissa’s left, at Remus Lupin’s back. Oh, the man looked a bit tired still, it’d been little more than a week since the last Full Moon, the woman was rubbing his shoulders_

_“Oh hush, you whelp!” the man snapped back at her as he sought seating elsewhere...to find none, save for what Lucius Malfoy was currently bringing in, well then, that hadn’t quite gone to plan for him, had it? “What the devil-”_

_“Alastor! Lower your weapon,” Albus Dumbledore’s voice boomed. “Lucius Malfoy is here as a guest and he is unarmed.”_

_“Got two chairs, that’s dual wielding in Muggle Wrestling,” Fred Weasley, seated directly across the table from Narcissa and Minerva alongside his brother._

_“Bit clumsy going to give Mad-Eye the old one-two,” George said._

_“Fredrick,” Narcissa reprimanded quietly, looking to that twin before putting eyes on the other, “George, do be hushed.” There was something that felt like an altercation at hand, building to some violence between Moody, Albus, Lucius at its center._

_“You’re out of your damned mind!” Alastor Moody was shouting into Dumbledore’s face...as best he could, given the height difference._

_“Alastor, if you would step into the hall with me…” the Headmaster said, leading the man from the room. Well then...everyone began chatting amongst themselves. Their meeting derailed for the time being. Lucius had several sets of eyes on him and he looked a bit hapless until Molly Weasley bustled over to him, instructing him on where to set the chairs._

_“I’m Fred,” George said to Narcissa, catching her attention, addressing her naming them._

_“I’m George, gosh Professor.”_

_“No...you are Fred,” she assured. “The brother claiming your name, is George.”_

_The pair squinted at her as if suspicious before disapparating- who raised these children?! Who told them apparating at the table was appropriate?! They reappeared a moment later, switched of seat, and she arched a brow at them. “You are still Fred,” she informed the twin she made eye contact with before looking to his brother, “And you are still George.”_

_“Witch! She’s a Witch! Narcissa Black is a Witch!” the twins called out in put-on panic._

_A small smile tugged at her lips. “It is my understanding your mother is likewise a Witch.”_

_“She can’t tell us apart on Ginny’s life,” Fred said._

_“Gins the favorite, not ‘cause she the baby-” George went on._

_“-smallest head in the family, tiniest little thing, not like Ron’s melon-head.”_

_“Like a Quaffle that thing.”_

_Nymphadora had ducked a bit to whisper something Remus nodded to, upturning his head to smile at her and she kissed him soundly on the lips before pulling away to disapparate from sight. What shared parenting book had passed between Andromeda and Molly Weasley? The man was a little wide eyed...jaw working in a way that looked uncomfortable given the expression on his face. Oh. The woman had left her bubblegum in his mouth, good heavens. He blushed with some embarrassment as if uncertain how best to dispose of it and settled on gulping it down in the instant before the woman reappeared, startling the daylights out of Narcissa!_

_“Wotcher Mione!” the woman greeted as she appeared in the seat at Narcissa’s side but addressed the girl she’d only just beaten into claiming the empty chair as Hermione had...apparently been distracted by the disruption of their leaders and then watched with keen interest as Narcissa proved her ability to tell the Weasley twins apart, it had stalled her realization she could sit by Narcissa. Nypmhadora reached out and took the younger Witch’s hand, Hermione letting out a little surprised yelp as the Auror pulled her into her lap. The girl giggled as she settled, Nymphadora’s arms wrapping around her waist, resting her chin on the younger Witch’s shoulder as she raised one of her hands to offer, “wanna stick?” she held up a pack of gum, sliding a foil wrapped length forward with her thumb._

_“Tonks, Remus is right there and it's rude to proposition people without dinner, at least a good drink.”_

_The woman let out a light, carefree, wild sounding laugh, oh Merlin, it twisted at Narcissa’s heart because- goodness she sounded just like Bella had in her youth, before her Marking and Marriage and Azkaban. “Of gum, you nutter!”_

_“Do you know how much sugar is in that stuff?”_

_“Yeah. S’why I chew it. You biting or not?”_

_Hermione accepted a piece, unwrapping it and folding it in half before popping it into her mouth._

_“Auntie dear? Interest you in a piece?” Nymphadora wondered, offering the pack to her._

_Her? She...did not think she would care for the so-called treat, it seemed a bit disgusting to her, to chew on something continuously but… “Why, thank you, Nymphadora.”_

“Oh gods, Andromeda’s spawn is making me chew _gum,”_ Narcissa complained to the Witch in her arms.

“Mmm, yeah, I’m there too you goof,” Hermione laughed a bit, resting more fully against her, oh. It seemed like she might be near dozing. Narcissa did love that the girl felt so comfortable, indulged in stroking her hair a bit, trailing a lazy path up and down her darling’s back with her free hand. She’d been tense with worry when they were in the hall with Lucius. Narcissa almost hoped...well sleep would just put her more fully into the memory, she wasn’t certain if that was better or worse. Still, the girl made no indication she was put to discomfort with Narcissa’s ministrations, so she let it be a comfort, being able to hold and offer love to the younger Witch in the here and now, feel the certainty that they were safe. They were. This would be fine.

_The woman’s nose wrinkled with some disdain at that. “Most everyone calls me Tonks.”_

_“And your mother: Nymphadora,” Narcissa insisted, accepting the foil wrapped gum, unwrapping it to fold it in half as Hermione had, breaking it cleanly. Minerva looked a bit amused, some sympathy when Narcissa seemed a bit reticent with it, and the woman kindly made theft of half the gum stick she popped into her mouth. Narcissa was about to follow suit but she didn’t wish to speak with her mouth otherwise occupied, and she felt she should offer, “You’re named-”_

_“Is something to be proud of,” her sister’s child rolled her eyes at her!_

_“-nam_ ed, _after a powerful Witch. A Muggleborn, like your father.”_

_“...say who to the what now?” Nymphadora questioned, incredulous. She knew well, obviously, her mother’d no adversion to Muggleborns but she’d no frame of reference for the name she despised. Oh. It was understandable, she supposed. Andromeda..._

_Narcissa quietly cast, her Aunt Misapinoa’s privacy ward, so none could perceive just what they were saying outside the immediate area of herself, Minerva, her niece and the Witch in her lap as Narcissa gingerly explained, “...it is...it is a sore subject for your mother. Nymphadora was a...friend of our father, your grandfather, Cygnus.”_

_“Yeah, I know granda. Well. About him.”_

_Narcissa nodded. “She was a dear family friend for a great many years, they attended Hogwarts together, our parents and Nymphadora Acaster. She...was sorted into Slytherin, caught on early the disparity that her upbringing would cause and...thus, true to her sorting, conducted herself as a Pureblooded Witch. Forged a convincing family lineage she produced for example in her First Year, claimed her last name was the result of marriage, that her mother’s maiden name derived from a Pureblood family that fled the Isle almost a hundred years prior. They suffered a great loss, a curse settled on their family and a great many of their children perished as a result of one of their elder members...there is some debate whether it was an incident or not but they were considered responsible for the loss of a child, a young Wizard, and his family leveled a curse that sent the offenders family to ruin, their children perishing so long as they remained in the British Isles. They relocated and broke all ties here, and have never returned, except in the falseness Nymphadora provided, she claimed to be of their line, that the curse had been broken and her family reticent to return to British society, had allowed her to go forth and return their lineages legacy of attending Hogwarts, to initiate their tentative reconciliation, if the curse didn’t rear itself and leave her slain in her years of attendance, her family would more heavily consider becoming acquainted with Britain once more, thus excusing a societal absence from her family, while allowing her to conduct herself as if she belonged to the most desireable escholn of Pureblooded society.”_

_“Oh my God,” Nymphadora breathed, “did it_ work?”

_“Without flaw once Father got involved. The Blacks had a distant cousin in their family, when they fled. He knew well it was…”_

_“Total bullshit?” her niece offered._

_“Precisely. He looked Nymphadora in the eye, leaned in to whisper he knew well she was lying, and then turned to face their peers and confirmed her story was utter truth, slung an arm around her shoulders and claimed his Great Aunt had written to ask he look out for the girl who was technically some distant relation of his, oh wasn’t it wonderful to be reunited. In the aftermath he insisted that as he’d covered for her, he deserved to be let in on what he was covering for, and she revealed her true heritage. The game went on from there, she and father had a beautiful, blossoming friendship that derived from their misleading the host of Slytherin on her upbringing, aiding her to learn how to conduct herself as a proper Pureblood Witch so mannerism and customs and magical understanding or lack thereof did not out her. She was not unlike Miss Granger, considered one of the most promising Witches of her Age, she developed a great many of the protection spells you use in your line of work, Nymphadora...I think she would have liked that, it would please her to know her work guards the life of her namesake.”_

_“She’s...not around anymore, I take it?”_

_Narcissa shook her head. “She maintained her farce through her schooling, and afterward. She was well accepted by Pureblood society, a prize to be upheld for her beauty and wisdom, her power.”_

_“Surprised she’s not my grandmother...oh, but granda knew she wasn’t Pureblood,” Nymphadora supposed, looking albeit...unsettled her grandfather held such bais that even as he loved his friend, her blood would make him overlook her for marriage._

_“Yes. I’m...uncertain my father would have gotten past that, enough to sire heirs. She had…” Narcissa worked it around in her mind, “She had close friends, and she brought dates to galas and family gatherings but father said she was ‘unattainable’, that was how he always described her. She used the word too, like a matter of pride, Bella-” her voice caught in her throat, “your other aunt, she always idolized that about her, until the end. Thought it marvelous the woman was so independent. She was, but...well, given the context of adulthood, she was asexual, held some interest in the romantic, but romance isn’t quite what sells in Pureblood society, especially not on its own.” Narcissa shook her head, refocusing, “She never married, but she was considered part of our family through her friendship with my father and their supposed bloodline ties. She and my mother...despised each other. Mother was always jealous of their relationship and Nymphadora...saw my mother for who she was.”_

_“Mum doesn’t mention her.”_

_“As well she shouldn’t. Druella Black...was a major bitch,” she borrowed terminology the future Miss Granger had once used to describe her mother in their writing. Oh it was a bit of fun to see Nymphadora grin wide at her aunt’s use of foul language. “Our Aunt Nymphadora loved us, terribly so, from the moment my eldest sister was born, until I myself came into being, and we all three of us adored her. She was...well, the closest thing we had to a pleasant feminine role model in our lives. Andromeda loved her to pieces, wrote her constantly, followed her around whenever she came to visit, just idolized the woman, became interested in Healing because of the woman’s work in magical protections.” She sighed. “...our Mother...I do not wish to disrespect your mother’s wishes with you, if she doesn’t wish you to know certain aspects of our upbringing I wouldn’t disclose them but to summarize, our mother was cruel.”_

_“...cruel?”_

_“Abusive. And a Witch well imbued in the darkest of arts. That is all I will say on the matter. Nymphadora...saw our mistreatment. She often begged father to take us from Mother’s care...it was the only offer of marriage she ever entertained, she pled that if he wanted to uphold some sort of strange standard of marriage and children, leave his wife, marry her, there would be no need to mix their blood when he’d three heirs of his own, he would never have to lie with her, consummate their bond if her blood purity bothered him, she’d no interest in doing such a thing with him. She did everything she could to make herself a presence in our lives, intervene with our mother. To the point she broke...Pureblood etiquette. Called my mother’s behavior to the attention of the authorities at the Ministry.” The details were not for her niece’s consumption, neither did she wish to reference her eldest sister further, but Bella had nearly died. It had been Nymphadora, Andromeda aiding her, that had been the only reason her eldest sister saw the age of thirteen._

_“That broke ‘Pureblood etiquette’?” Hermione questioned._

_“It is...grave disrespect to question how one chooses to bring up their child in the way they should go,” she quoted in tones of disdain. “The methods our mother used were...approved in our society. Considered illegal by the Ministry, however. Mother banished Nymphadora took out an order for her to be not legally allowed anywhere near our estates, would not abide her being so much as mentioned in our home, ”_

_“...now mum mentions her every day,” her niece supposed with some pleasure at the idea her naming was...vengeance of a sort, rebellion on her mother’s behalf. “So...that’s why she’s never mentioned her to me? She’s sad they lost touch?”_

_Narcissa swallowed. “It…” she took a deep breath. “It was a difficult time in our lives, the Ministry getting involved, it only...made things a great deal worse for us in the long run. And what was worse...the woman sought to aid us with the intention of making rescue of us, was certain she could get our mother imprisoned for her crimes, and then she would step in, care for us, we…we craved that, wanted it with everything, with all our hearts. Andromeda especially. And then...well, Teddy came into the picture.”_

_“Dad?”_

_“Yes. And at first Andromeda made no mention of him. Until she got the idea she could torment mother from a distance, then she lauded her flirtation with a Muggleborn boy, did not care who saw or what was said of their relationship at school. She...I believe she thought our head of House could secure her for Winter Holiday, but that was not the case, mother made it clear Hogwarts could not keep her daughter. She was punished, and in the aftermath...Nymphadora came to her aid. Father brought her in secret, fearful as Mother refused to allow a Healer, certainly not after the Ministry had only just relented their case. I was not privy to this, but when your mother and Nymphadora were alone...and Andromeda explained why her mother was so very upset...she lamented to Nymphadora that she realized she truly loved your father, she hadn’t meant to, you realize. It started as something of a game with her, she didn’t think...growing up as she did, the concept sounded like a matter of impossibility, that we could even find so much as a spark of attraction in someone born of Muggles. That is of course utter nonsense,” Narcissa wanted to kiss the Muggleborn seated in Nymphadora’s lap like she wished to breathe her next breath. “But it was how we were raised, our only understanding to be had. But enduring such punishment and discovering she would endure it again and again if it meant keeping your father in her life? She realized she loved him with all of her heart and she thought...something must be wrong with her, that was utter insanity, in her opinion. Nymphadora asked if she loved her, if my sister, myself, if we loved our Aunt, even now as she was estranged, and Andromeda offered assurance that we did, absolutely. And she disclosed her own status, the truth of her lineage, that she was Muggleborn, and she loved us with all of her heart, was every bit a Witch as we were, lauded by Purebloods for her power, but only because of a_ lie.”

_“Did...mum freak out?” Andromeda tentatively wondered._

_“No. No she...promised she would never breathe a word to another living soul. Unfortunately...Mother discovered Nymphadora coming to Andromeda’s aid. Our aunt dropped her wand, surrendered, promised to leave peacefully, that she would not cause further issue with the Ministry, she just wanted to make sure Andromeda was alright, made no mention our father had summoned her. And in the heat of argument, trying to calm mother down when she began railing at the woman, at Andromeda, yelling and ranting so that it drew all of us around to see what was happening...Father stepped in, interjected and insisted it was his fault, that he’d called her here, which was a grave miscalculation, that he called her there had Mother insisting the woman was stealing not only her children, but her husband, that he wished she was his wife, and the idea only sent Mother enraged more than I’d ever seen her, her anger in that moment second only to the upmost rage I’ve ever seen her entertain in my life.”_

_“When mum ran away?” Nymphadroa supposed._

_“...when Andromeda defended, in the next instance, that such a thing was ridiculous. Father would never want Nymphadora as a wife...she was just a Muggleborn.” Narcissa sought to explain, defend her sister, “She was a child, under duress, trying to fix the problems of adults that should not have been, nor should she have been involved in them but through their actions she was forced to be. The entire situation, it was none of it her fault, she thought she was diffusing the situation, she was so young, so ill equipped to handle it. She thought Mother would find relief in that, realize the woman was nothing of a threat, let her go in peace and that would be the last we would ever see of her until we were adults. Unfortunately it was the last we would ever see of her, because her revelation…”_

_“Oh hell.”_

_“Heaven, I hope. Mother murdered Nymphadora Acaster in cold blood, while the woman was unwanded, aiding her child. She named you after a woman who would have been glad to die for her love of us, defending us, loved us fiercely, gave us example of a powerful Witch, what a true mother should be like. Our first real example that the ideas we were raised in were utterly false.”_

_“How...how did your mother not land in Azkaban?” Hermione breathed._

_“Nymphadora was outed as a Muggleborn, her lineage revealed,” Narcissa fell silent, the girl didn’t need to know the woman’s family had been hunted in the aftermath by Blood Supremacists. Father only just barely made it in time to make rescue of her dearly beloved Muggle nephew, steal him away from Muggle London to secure him with distant family elsewhere, the rest of her family had not been so lucky. “That...while the Ministry has seen improvement, and disapproved of Mother’s parenting methods, there has been bigotry against Muggleborns, a lack of care in cases involving crimes against them. In this case...Mother had made it plain even in a legal sense that the woman wasn’t supposed to be on her property, anywhere near her children, Nymphadora was trespassing, a liar, and...ultimately Mother received a heavy fine, had to do...something some sort of community service.” Not that Narcissa had seen the woman do any such thing. “All our aunts previous claims were discredited, Mother spun it that if she was lying about her identity, she could be lying about everything, and the Ministry seemed to take it as...a mistake, to have pursued my Mother with their case over our treatment, made it up in letting her off without so much as threat of Azkaban.” Narcissa swallowed, she’d revealed a great deal more than she meant to, perhaps this had been unwise but- but the girl had to know, “Your name is something to be proud of. It was chosen for you because of love, and to imbue you in the magic that woman left in this world, to instill in you blessing to lead a life in power and progress,” Narcissa leaned in, shooting a look over her shoulder to look to Remus Lupin seated chatting with Arthur Weasley before meeting Nymphadora’s gaze and whispering, “something I know, you live up to very well. An Auror, someone who lives to her own convictions despite norms? She would be proud you bear her name, and you should be proud to bear it.”_

_The young woman was silent, staring at Narcissa for a moment. And then, “...if...if you call me Nymphadora...yeah, I’d be okay with that. Uh...thanks.”_

There were tears on her skin, where Hermione’s head rested, the younger Witch sniffling, a bit of tremble to her frame. “Oh darling,” Narcissa soothed.

“God, you were so young and- she was so awful to you and-” a little sob escaped her, “I’m alright just- all of me is sad about this, so it's a little doubled for me. I’m so sorry you lost Nymphadora.”

“Well, I maintain things she instilled in me. And I’ve regained her, in a way now, haven’t I?” oh _Merlin_ to know her sister’s child after all these years was blessing beyond belief. “If you wish to focus on something else, I can maintain watch of our memories, my love,” a smile tugged at her lips when the head against her chest shook determinedly. Stubborn. But that was to be expected.

_“Oi, ‘mione,” Fred Weasley said from across the table as Narcissa’s wards cleared. George let out a low whistle to beckon the young Witch’s attention. They’d not heard the content of their conversation but they could see Hermione’s upset, staring at Narcissa with unshed tears glittering in her eyes, and now she tore her gaze away to look to the pair who snickered for all their thoughts were rather identical in the moment, that they neither one of them would permit Miss Granger be left to tears if they could help it, before they raised their right hands out from under the table to reveal in their palms, identical...yo-yos. Ones Narcissa had grown increasingly familiar with as she’d a great many living in her desk drawer at Hogwarts, confiscated from her every class._

_The twins proceeded to cast out their patented_ Screaming Yo-Yo’s _down the table, to fly and scream directly into the unsuspecting sallow face of Severus Snape who turned his head to stare into the red yo-yos spinning an inch from his large nose with icy disdain, while Hermione gasped and slapped a hand to her mouth to cover- oh just the sweetest bit of laughter, Narcissa had to catch herself from showing some visible sign her heart was melting in her chest for this Witch. The screams from their yo-yos sent the Order’s Witches and Wizards jumping in startle, Albus and Moody bursting into the room, all of them drawing their wands at the fright, save the Witches the twins sought to entertain...and Lucius. The man startled, jumped in his seat, cast a wide eyed searching gaze down the table and even reached on reflex like he expected his wand to come into his hand but...truly did not have his wand, any wand on his person, he would have drawn it, even if he’d been endeavoring to conceal his weaponry._

_He was, however, concealing his thoughts, which was not unusual save...well it was very unusual tonight. He maintained no faux-wall over his thoughts, he openly occluded, the image of his choice laid bare, not hidden behind false thought or blackest pitch, so any who might look would know he was hiding his mind...in a way that felt tentative like taking a reprieve, a deep breath before stepping up to a podium to deliver a speech, lay words bare to be heard by all, and with Albus Dumbledore returned to the room...he did so now, laid his mind bare, she caught just the barest glimmer of thought that he was relieved the screams had been something of a prank and not an emergency, as the man turned his gaze on the Headmaster. What was so very strange, aside from the fact Lucius Malfoy, for the first time in nearly twenty years left his mind open to anyone...was his chosen occlusion image. She’d caught sight of it in passing, in times when...usually there was a great deal of turmoil, either an argument or he was in a pique of rage and his concentration would break, his faux-wall would fall to reveal the image lying underneath, and for the entirety of their marriage, that image had been that of his study in Malfoy Manor...well it had still been Abraxas’s study at the point his mind produced, it was the image of an evening in his father’s study, fire blazing in the hearth the only source of light in the room, a table between two armchairs bore a glittering decanter of magically-distilled pitch-black Wizard’s port from northern Portugal Abraxas adored, they gifted him a bottle every holiday, every birthday. Lucius never cared for the stuff, she thought she would have to start gifting it to the host of their acquaintances to be rid of their supply of it after the man’s passing, but Lucius took up drinking it in the wake of his father’s death. The port was always the focal point he fixated on to build his faux-wall, not the liquor in crystal decanter, but the port in the glass at its side, waiting to be sipped...occasionally, it was. There were times Lucius’s Occlusion image included that of his father, seated in his favored chair before the fire, reading and sipping at his prized port, he would appear there from time to time as Narcissa just so happened to bear witness to his image’s sudden arrival before her husband would throw up his faux-wall once more with vehemence. The man’s image there became something of a permanent fixture, after his passing, he was always present in the image Lucius produced to steel his mind, such was his grief at the man’s loss. She supposed it gave Lucius some peace, that even as someone as vile as Abraxas Malfoy may well be cast to Hades in his death, at least in his son’s mind, he was forever at peace in his favorite place with his favorite drink._

_His office was his image for nearly two decades and...now it was changed. Or...well, it was more like it was changed_ back. _Lucius had not often Occluded in Narcissa’s presence in their youth, only ever to surprise her with something, a gift or a ‘spur of the moment’ date he’d meticulously planned to ensure all was perfect. But when he had, it had been like this, no faux-wall, his image visible, and it was the view of a rolling field drenched in morning light, tall feathery green grass, clear blue sky, and a great many peacocks roaming throughout, his focal point the train of pristinely white wings dragging the ground to trail the path of the single albino peacock in their midst. It was this image he bore in mind tonight, the sky a bit darker like a cloudy afternoon, the field of grass still maintaining its height but green withered to dry brittle brown, and it's only occupant was that single solitary albino peacock._

 _“As you’re all well aware,” Albus Dumbledore addressed the room as he came to sit at the table’s head, Moody grumbling quietly under his breath as he fell into a spare seat near the door, “this is Lucius Malfoy. For the past month, Lor-” the Headmaster cleared his throat, opting for, “_ Mister _Malfoy, do forgive me Lucius my boy,” he apologized, looking to Lucius who nodded before he continued, “Mister Malfoy has been aiding the Order in operations to prepare us for eliminating the threat the Dark Lord presents once and for all. As of Sunday eve, Malfoy Manor has become the base of operations for Voldemort and his inner circle. Through Mister Malfoy’s cooperation, we’ve access to infiltrate his home as needed, and a few carefully selected Hogwarts Elves have been planted to staff his home in the stead of his family’s former Elves, so we might have overlooked eyes and ears on all parties at all times. He forewarned us of their plan to gather and make use of a vanishing cabinet to infiltrate Hogwarts, and overthrow the powers that be both in our school, and the Ministry. I’ve been in meeting with a few of you, to discuss this matter before opening the floor to the whole of the Order. Tonight we will be discussing how best to respond to this threat. I would have Mister Malfoy debrief you on the details of the Dark Lord’s plot. Lucius?”_

_Lucius cleared his throat, rising from his seat with some uncertainty as the Headmaster gestured for him to address the Order, gaze coasting along the long table at what had to be nearly twenty Order members watching him. There was a bit of tremor to his hand as he reached as if to pull something from an inside pocket of a cloak only for him to realize he’d not worn one, and he blanched momentarily, mind working. He’d taken notes, apparently, and neglected to bring them, he looked to the Headmaster who nodded, and Lucius softly called, “Tadby.”_

_A small House Elf popped into the room at his side...dressed. In proper clothing. He’d shiny black shoes, properly pressed black trousers, a white ruffled shirt under an emerald green vest, dark black waistcoat, his head adorned in a short black woolen top hat. “Assistant Tadby is here!” he cheerily announced, “Lucius is being forgetting his notes but Tadby is being bringing them! Is Lucius needing spectacles?”_

_“I have them, yes,” Lucius assured, withdrawing...rectangular silver spectacles she’d not seen in Merlin, how long? He’d perfect vision, but they were reading spectacles in the sense they aided keeping letters pinned to their appropriate place and positioning on the page whenever he looked upon them, he’d a disorder not unlike what Vincent Crabbe entertained, Miss Granger had confirmed as much, called it Dyslexia. Narcissa hadn’t found the word for the condition but in her Fourth Year, Lucius’s Fifth...O.W.L.s had been approaching and he’d been fraught with stress, slowly sinking under the weight of his workload and incapable of keeping up, work took hours to get through, she’d need to go over his every bit of homework to ensure he’d not lose points for misspellings, he sunk his marks that year terribly from in-class writing, since his fiancee couldn’t very well sit at his side during tests and correct him when he mixed up p’s and b’s and d’s, the occasional backwards e. Narcissa listened to his frustrations, he swore up and down it was not intentional, or laziness on his part, but letters and numbers behaved in this way when he looked at them, and she saw as much in his mind, Merlin, it was disorienting! She’d examined how his mind processed materials he read and used her understanding of it to make spectacles that would amend this. They did, though he never wore them outside of Hogwarts, or the occasional time he’d been in Black Manor and had read, but he was cagey when it came to wearing the things in Malfoy Manor whenever she’d the rare visit before they were wed. His father didn’t quite believe his son’s impairment, thought the things ridiculous, she had to make a second pair after Abraxas Malfoy banished the first. Lucius never wore them in the manor after that...even when it was theirs. He always insisted on her assistance in reading things or...well as time went on, he relied on her aid less and less, she thought...perhaps he’d found some other remedy for his Dyslexia, in the months leading up to their divorce, he’d had little issue reading the paperwork involved, draft after draft of negotiations._

_“Oh good, Tadby was being wondering where they was!” the House Elf was relieved his master had the things on hand as he held out the scroll of parchment to the Wizard. “Is Lucius needing anything else from Tadby?”_

_Lucius was shaking his head as he settled his glasses on his face, catching his hair between the frame and his eye, clenching it shut to keep the strands from making direct contact with his eyeball and he raised a hand to fidget with it, and the House Elf made an affirmative sound and snapped his fingers, the Wizard’s hair drew back out of his face to be held in place by a silvery band, to make rescue of his eye and unobscure his view...and other’s of his face, oh. Bella had struck him, slashed the side of his face with her knife, there was a paling scar there. Hermione drew in an audible gasp, it had come up that he was the one to stop Bellatrix...good. It was a benefit he was marked. The man had taken Bella’s knife, and the Dark Lord saw fit that he should keep it, as penance and repayment for Bella’s forgetting her place and injuring a Dark Wizard, her sister had complained of it the last time she caught the woman alone after Samhain, in passing after Narcissa debriefed the Dark Lord as to Pansy Parkinson’s progress. His being marked by the knife gave him motivation to keep it out of commission, or he himself would be just as much a victim as whoever else it was used upon._

_“Thank you, Tadby,” he said “You’ve the rest of the evening to use as you see fit, I can manage myself from here. I will see you at breakfast.”_

_“Tadby will be returning!” the Elf cheerily assured before disapparating from the home._

_“What the bloody hell was that?” Moody groused. “Since when does Lucius Malfoy house a free Elf and give them the night off to boot?”_

_“...my assistant, Mister Moody,” Lucius calmly informed. “I’d need of aid with day to day affairs, as I hired Tadby at the apt suggestion of Miss Granger when the Order sent her to check my home’s wards, I saw fit to honor her ideals for Elvish welfare.”_

_He’d the image of the future’s Hermione in his mind, fierce and snapping,_ “This isn't kind! It's basic human decency not to leave someone to suffocate on their own vomit! And it’s not for you. It's...I don’t trust you. In fact I hate you, I hate you so much I could-” _she sighed sharply._ “But you’re doing something important and worthwhile, or at least you’re pretending to. And if that’s all this is Lucius Malfoy, if you’re just _pretending_ , I will make sure you regret it, I swear to God,” _she threatened fiercely, oh Merlin above._ “You will rue the damn day you ever fucking heard of me, if you hurt Harry or Draco or Narcissa.” _the memory snapped to,_ “...you’re going to sleep this off, and then you’re going to get out of bed, clean yourself up, and act like a damn Wizard. Learn to pick up after yourself, stop drinking the day away, and for the love of _God,_ Lucius, _scourgify!_ It’s _three syllables!_ Use it! Hire your own House Elf to help keep things tidy if you must, better yet, a personal assistant, help you keep your shit together since you apparently can’t take care of yourself worth a damn.”

“What?” the future’s Hermione questioned Narcissa, peering up into the woman’s face, a little smile spreading on her own. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Lucius will apparently rue the damn day he ever fucking heard of you?”

“Oh, he remembers that?...good. I won’t have to remind him if I have to make good on my promise.”

Merlin. She well understood doubled emotion when dealing with developing memories but she had a new appreciation for it, between she and her present self’s response to seeing Hermione lay fierce protection on them, their son, before their ex husband, she had to remind herself that Jinsey was in the room with them and the poor Elf had already been subject to their antics to keep from making claim of the girl on the spot. At least _she’d_ the ability to tend such frustrations, oh, she would not let the younger Witch fall asleep tonight without something of a reward.

_Her present self had to avert her gaze, squirming in her seat, mind full of the memory of the single kiss she shared with the future’s Hermione and the longing to pull the present’s Hermione into the nearest nook in the house to share the same. Working alongside one another to aid in Hermione’s preparation to test out of her class, rid herself of Narcissa as a professor over her was nothing short of the lovliest sort of torture she’d ever endured. To know the girl was hers, but she could not have her, not yet. Constantly testing the boundaries of that testiment, hands lingering when they passed things to one another, the swell of the younger Witch’s chest against the space between her shoulder blades as the girl would hug her around the neck from behind when Narcissa would be seated the side-desk she had for over-flow of texts and grading and...Hermione, when she used her office for study, voice soft in her ear as she made question of what they would study today, reaching to examine whatever text Narcissa already had out and open before her on the tabletop._

_Lucius’s claims had the whole of the table looking to Miss Granger who sat entirely uncertain just how to respond._

_“Yeah, thanks for that ‘mione,” Nymphadora said breezily, hugging the girl in her lap a bit more tightly as she jostled her a bit by bouncing her knees. “I might’ve roughed up the wards when I went ‘round dear ex-uncle Luci’s to check them myself, tried changing mine to just ‘Tonks’ but all I did was scratch the shit out of them. Hermione’s only one of the greatest ward-writers I know, brat owes me favors,” at least she did now, “and I figured if anyone can see and understand the damage, be able to fix it if I messed up my own permissions to enter the manor? She’d be it.”_

_“You sent the child alone?!” Molly Weasley questioned incredulously._

_“It was back before move-in day,” Hermione spoke up, “no worries. And I wasn't alone. Mister Malfoy was...a gracious host.” He hadn’t blasted her future self off the map for intruding upon his home, at least. Lucius had blanched, looking uncertain if he’d stepped in something, hadn’t been supposed to mention her checking the wards before the Order, and then grateful she’d...had ample opportunity, reason even if she felt vindictive over his misstep, to disclose whatever mess he’d been that day, the weakness she found him in, and instead remained guarded with it._

_“Tonks,” Kingsly Shacklebot offered in complaint._

_“Oi, I had her back,” Nymphadora shrugged, “Kitchen Floo permits all Order Members coming and going from the Headmaster’s Office. But I wanted to make sure I could still apparate in on a Death-Eater bitch if I need to. Can you imagine? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Nosed just minding his evil business and bam! Facefull of Tonks!” her jesting got a series of groans from around the table, Fred and George cackling with laughter their mother shushed them for._

_“Boys,” Arthur Weasley gently reprimanded, and his sons smiled like mad even as they ceased their laughter._

_“That was some ace parenting,” George quietly commented to his brother._

_“Oh yeah, dad’s totally gonna get some for that,” Fred agreed._

_Minerva’s wand whipped in Narcissa’s peripheral as she cast the twins tongues stuck-fast to the roofs of their mouths. “Honestly you two.” and then she looked to the head of the table, “Mister Malfoy, you were saying?”_

_Lucius swallowed nervously before looking over his notes and clearing his throat. “Th- the Dark Lord aims to have Hogwarts infiltrated by Death Eaters before the school year is out-”_

_“We’re aware,” Elphias Doge drawled impatiently from down the table. “Albus just said as much.”_

_“And now Mister Malfoy is speaking,” Remus Lupin offered calmly but the slightest edge of challenge to his voice as he stared the elder Wizard down, “perhaps we should let him?” before he turned his gaze back toward the end of the head of the table, catching Narcissa’s gaze for a split second that revealed how badly the sweet man wanted Lucius’s turn-of-coat was genuine for Draco’s sake, for all their sakes really. This could make or break the Order, their standing in the War, entrusting the man._

_“Ohhh my Jesus,” Nymphadora spoke quietly in conspiracy with the younger Witch in her lap, “look at my mister tough-guy. God I wanna snog him. Don’t you wanna just snog him?”_

_“I’ll pass,” the girl whispered her polite decline, “more a Witch girl.”_

_Nymphadora’s, “Mmhm, yeah you are, Hermione Jean,” had Hermione blushing, her entire face and neck burning red._

_“Go on, dear,” Molly Weasley called encouragement from where she sat. “Death Eaters are to infiltrate the school. How are we to stop them?”_

_“...well Lady Weasley, I...I would actually propose that you don’t,” Lucius said. “I...would propose a trap,” he softly cleared his throat. “The Dark Lord wishes his most elite to infiltrate the school, the most powerful of his inner circle. The likes of the Carrow siblings, Bellatrix Le- Lestrange,” he avoided looking anywhere near Narcissa’s direction, speaking to condemn her sister. Azkaban had already broken her mind, it would do nothing more to her as it stood, neither did Narcissa rightly care, not the present’s Narcissa, anyway. If she was imprisoned, she could not lay harm to Hermione. “Fenrir Greyback, others he’s yet to prescribe, they will infiltrate Hogwarts through a Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Lost things. If the Order allows this to happen, lies in wait? I believe they can be apprehended, lay no harm to the school and its students. The cabinet could even be moved elsewhere, to a safer location away from our children, just after their co-conspirators report the cabinet is in working order, where you could secure them, either in your own custody or…” he swallowed, nervous. “I will be working closely with them in the coming year, I will make record of their crimes, there are...there are already several modes of documentation I’ve secured of their work in the past few years, to appear with the Order’s leader upon my death, should that predate a day the Order could hand them over to the Ministry, record of their current offenses, no chance of statutes of limitations being their saving grace from Azkaban, to see them behind bars instead of obtaining control of the school.”_

_The table erupted in animated discussion, clamoring over one another as the Order Members sought to parcel out just how to take such a plan in mind. Most argument was whether or not they could trust the source, but some held voice to question of how they might successfully execute his proposed plan._

_“I want immunity for Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione spoke up when things grew quieter, and at her interruption, all fell silent._

_“What deary?” Molly Weasley questioned._

_“I want immunity for Pansy Parkinson. I...I think there’s a chance I could get her to work with us. She’s...struggling the same way Draco did, before he defected. I think if I had time, I could get her in on this plan. And regardless, even if she doesn’t I...think that so long as the school itself isn’t actually infiltrated and students are hurt or worse, as long as she...doesn’t go through with anything that gets anyone killed, I don’t believe she should be held responsible for her conspiracy. She’s not even of Age, and she’s under severe duress. Anyone in her position would be doing what she is, she shouldn’t have her record ruined or life upheaved by a stint in Azkaban.”_

_“Why are we letting children sit in on important Order business?” Moody wanted to know. “Come back when yer old enough that bein’ put over a Wizard’s knee for talking out of turn is nothing but good fun.” What nerve!_

_“Alastor Moody!” Minerva shouted, just short of a roar, heard over the outrage of several Witches and Wizards decrying the man’s crudeness._

_“Miss Granger is of Age and a recognized, valued Order Member, Alastor,” the Headmaster said. “Her input is sound. We have all been young, made mistakes that could see us damned to this day if not for mercy and redemption. Miss Parkinson is a student, young and in crisis, if Miss Granger believes she can be swayed? I see no harm in trying, nor do I hold issue with absolving her in the aftermath so long as none of our student body is brought to harm. Thank you, Hermione. Twenty points, upon our return to school, for empathetic House Unity.”_

_Minerva seemed smug, pride shining in her eyes as her hand slipped by under the table to dole out a congratulatory pat to Hermione’s thigh. Oh, was that sort of contact acceptable? She might test as much when next the younger Witch sat alongside her in study._

_Did she deserve to, was her primary concern, at the moment. Narcissa had been talkative enough at the start of their meeting but...she’d not voiced a word since it started, not even in defense of her love. She wanted to challenge Alastor Moody to duel in the street for being so crude with her! She was more than a handful of decades his junior, and that wasn’t the sort of statement he should be making to any Witch regardless of age! But she sat, the only bit of reaction she mustered was, she discovered, she’d reflexively reached to grasp hold of Hermione’s forearm, like her magic had sought contact for the purposes of disapparating to safety. She wanted to protect this girl with everything in her so why did she sit silent?_

“You don’t have to defend me,” Hermione had said to her a mere hour after she returned from work, the day after Narcissa Black was revealed to be her new Potions instructor. They were seated together on the couch, the girl had sank down alongside the older Witch, propping her feet up on the couch and flinching as she realized she’d nearly settled them uninvited into Narcissa’s lap, curled her legs closer to herself but the woman shook her head, allowing the bit of contact, it was all she could do at the moment, she would take what she could get.

“...pardon, darling?”

“Our vows. ‘None shall harm you unmet by my wrath’? I think...when I vowed it, I meant physical harm, but I just...I just realized it could mean verbal, too? And that you might mean it that way when you vowed as much to me. Either way...you’re on mission, your present self? You’ll be surrounded by people who could speak badly about me at any moment, would attack me on sight. I don’t want you getting hurt or worse because our vows compelled you to speak out of turn or jump to my defense immediately upon an attack or something, when biding your time or letting me defend myself would work out.”

“That- you can’t-” she _could_ , she already _had_ , given Narcissa verbal permission to ignore her vows, but, “I don’t want you living in the fear I mightn’t defend you-”

“Narcissa...I won’t,” Hermione assured, gentle smile at her lips. “...you’re always quick to say you would always defend me, I don’t need magic vows to know that’s true. I trust _you.”_

Narcissa gulped, nervous to accept such trust. Nervous because she already held as much in return, but to offer that fact? “I trust you likewise, Hermione. You needn’t defend me.” Needn’t, but she would, oh she always would. _She didn’t have to work within her vows in this regard but she should still- she_ wished _to do_ something. _So why didn’t she?_

 _Alastor Moody grumbled...something, under his breath, that began with the phrase, “If she’s grown enough to be in the Order, then she’s grown enough to…” his voice was lost to Narcissa’s ears, but not to those immediately around him, the man suddenly made a garbled choking sound as he reared back in his seat, grasping at his throat, prosthetic eye rolling in rapidfire circles as he struggled...rather pathetically given the man wasn’t_ choking, _he’d suffered a similar fate to the Weasley twins, having his tongue latched firmly to the roof of his mouth as Lucius leveled him a critical stare,_

 _“That is_ no way _to speak of- that is no way to speak,”and then the Dark Wizard blanched, looking to Albus. “I do apologize, I understand I wasn’t to cast.”_

_“The condition of your being here was the agreement to come without a wand, we’d some understanding you can cast in limit without it and...well, a little Langlock is more than due,” the Headmaster assured, looking to Moody, “as you cannot be trusted to guard your own tongue I believe it fitting Mister Malfoy has seen fit to do so for you. We will be discussing this later, Alastor.”_

_“Bout time someone shut him up,” Nymphadora muttered._

_“Indeed,” Minerva quietly agreed._

_It dissolved into a matter of discussion, everyone voicing their opinion on the matter, how they believed it best to move forward how they felt they could contribute. There was some reticence to believe Lucius’s intel but Albus assured it had been well verified. Most found little issue with the idea of trapping the Dark Lord’s allies, allowing the man to believe his plans were being pulled off without issue only to lose key followers. Minerva saw fit to mention that Hogwarts did have certain protections, ones that she and the Headmaster could strengthen, more they could lay upon the Room of Lost things if they found moving the Vanishing Cabinet was unsound, she absolutely did not want any of the student body coming to harm, but the bit of risk was well worth the reward of turning the War more in their favor. Merlin, if Voldemort had been successful in doing as much…_

_It struck Narcissa rather harshly, the realization their future selves...must have lived through a time such a plan succeeded._

_“Narcissa?” Albus questioned from the head of the table as Minerva finished giving her input. Ahh, they’d gone up one side of the table, and down the other so, she was next she supposed._

_“Why are we asking_ her _input?” a Wizard...Doge, questioned as if she were a thing of disgust. He was one of the Wizards in charge of monitoring the welfare of Harry Potter while he remained in the Dursley home...one of the several Witches and Wizards at this table who turned a blind eye to their abuse. Narcissa had little issue returning his rude interruption with an icy stare, but she’d not even opened her mouth when-_

_“As she’s one of the closest people to the situation, actually working the mission we’re discussing, her input is invaluable. Your input is polite participation, parroting Kingsly’s insight, interesting as he spoke just before you,” oh stars, she- she could forget sometimes that Hermione Granger was fierce across time, her Present Self no less so than her Future. Merlin, “Professor Black has gone to great lengths to help us, put herself to danger she lives in every day, betraying the Dark Lord. She’s been working with the Order for months now, and if you deigned to attend meetings with any regularity, you would know that.”_

_“I’m not needed at every meeting-” the man argued._

_“No. You aren’t,” Hermione cooly assured before she looked to Narcissa, coolness melting as she offered an encouraging smile, “You were going to say, Professor?”_

_That hadn’t been a matter of difficulty. The man barely raised insult and the girl had seen fit to defend her, executed that wish. It made Narcissa wish the 20th was upon them already and...guilt niggled at the back of her mind as she focused on the task at hand._

_Narcissa softly cleared her throat, “Thank you, Miss Granger. I...believe the plan to be sound. If needed I believe I could aid Hermione’s desire to work with Miss Parkinson, guide her to participate as our ally in this regard. I could likewise offer needed manipulation as plans develop and change, do simply keep me apprised.” She’d plans to beseech the Dark Lord, as there was a great deal of stall in the progress of Miss Parkinson’s mission, if she could convince him she had reason to doubt the girl’s resolve...it would be ‘_ his’ _solution, giving her leave to test the girl. Give her room to be able to speak freely and be able to speak to sway her from working with the Dark Lord’s goals in mind._

_“Excellent, excellent,” Albus said. “Ahh, it seems we’ve a bit of overlap in our seating arrangements. Let’s move from top to bottom shall we? Miss Granger?”_

“Are _you a top, Mione?” Nymphadora whispered her teasing directly into the younger Witch’s ear, sending her blushing her embarrassment, “Ow! Witch!” the older Witch quietly complained when Hermione pinched her thigh in retribution._

_“I agree with the plan. I...I’m good at warding, casting and drawing them. If we can get Pansy on board or...wait until she’s finished interacting with the cabinet herself, I think, given time to study the cabinet myself, I could figure out how to ward it from transmitting back, so it’s a one-way thing, keep them from retreating...if Mister Malfoy can get us accurate counts of how many people are being sent through I could probably even make a cut off, where the cabinet will only allow so many things to pass through before closing the connection...maybe- sorry. I just, there’s a lot of ideas happening, those are the most helpful and pertinent at the moment so.”_

_“What if we want the cabinet for our own advantage, to send our people through to their end?” Doge sniped._

_“It’s warding...I can make it, I can also break it. Especially with drawn wards, that’s as simple as a physical break or alteration.”_

_“Oh yeah, ‘mione’s_ tops _at drawn wards,” Nymphadora spoke up, “Check it,” she invited as she drew up her right arm to pull back the sleeve of her auror’s robes and reveal her wand sheath...nearly identical to the one the Future’s Hermione had sent Narcissa, save the leather had been treated to be a deep orange color, silvery designs drawn across it in the younger Witch’s steady hand, for those at the table to examine, Hermione offering a soft, embarrassed sounding,_

_“Oh.” Why was she blushing?_

_“_ ...you _make our wand sheaths?” Doge questioned uncertainly._

_“I er...yeah?” Hermione offered, shy and she spoke as if seeking to assure the other Order members at the table the effort was competent, “Mine always works good for me, and Tonks’s worked out well so...I offered, and the Headmaster got me supplies.”_

_“Oh my dear, you remembered my favorite color!” Molly Weasley cheerily announced, realizing_ that _was_ why _her Order designated wand sheath was in fact her favored color which...surprise of all surprises, was red, “Arthur and I adore ours!”_

_“We do, we do,” Arthur Weasley voiced his agreement, “Quick on the draw, armed with these. However did you know my favorite color is yellow?”_

_...considering his rapt obsession with the Muggle use of ‘Rubber Ducks’? “Lucky guess,” Hermione offered._

_“King and I’d’ve been toast without ours,” Nymphadora informed them, “Arseholes in Knockturn almost got the drop on us when we were on patrol, Merlin that place was a hotbed, night before last.”_

_Now Narcissa’s words were restrained, voice held captive in her throat when she opened her mouth to warn her niece-_

_“Knockturn is-” Lucius halted his warning only to look to the Headmaster to ensure he wasn’t speaking out of turn, but the man nodded, Narcissa caught the impression in the Headmaster’s mind that he did not want a full disclosure of where their camp was keeping the second Vanishing Cabinet, as to avoid any brazen ununified attempts at trying to take control of Borgin and Burkes, that would be unwise she supposed. But Lucius offered, “Nymphadora, there will be increased activity in Knockturn Alley until the Dark Lord’s plans have been dealt with. They will defend the area...vehemently. I understand you’ve no control over where the Ministry sends you, but it is dangerous, more so than usual, to patrol there. You’re aware the alley just off of the apothecary there? If ever you find their defense overwhelming, therein lies a method of escape.”_

_“...the deadend?” she returned doubtfully._

_“Along the left hand wall there is a portkey of sorts, a permanent fixture, thirteen bricks in, around eye level. Touch it, and you will be ported to the furthest most edge of the Malfoy estate, your arrival won’t be announced or detected. It’s a discreet spot, used as such, by Death Eaters to take leave of Knockturn and apparate elsewhere if they’ve no business in my home, if anyone hears your arrival, it will do little to grab attention. From there you and Mister Shacklebot can Apparate to safety.”_

_Nymphadora shared a longish stare with her partner before Kingsely nodded and she offered, “...thanks.”_

_A handful of confirmations and offers of contribution later, the whole of the Order had their assignments, knew well the plan, and Albus announced their dismissal. Lucius was the first to take his leave, and Nymphadora smacked the side of Hermione’s bottom as she said,_

_“Up we get. Gotta see a man about a…” her mind drew a blank, “let me up I wanna go home with my boyfriend already.”_

_“Alright!” Hermione laughingly relented, rising from the woman’s lap, only to yelp as Nymphadora gave her a shove that sent her flailing, falling against Narcissa’s chair. She caught the girl, bracing her arms, knees against hers, face just a bare inch from her own._

_“Nymphadora!” Narcissa reprimanded as Hermione righted herself, “She could have fallen!”_

_“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re such a good catch, Auntie dearest,” Nymphadora said with a wink, moving toward Remus who carefully approached now that the crowd was dissipating, the room emptying steadily enough, only a few stragglers stopping to make conversation, the Wizard offering a hand to his girlfriend as she neared and drawing her to him, quietly asking if she was prepared to depart._

_“Well. This has been quite the evening,” Minerva sighed, seeming to prepare herself to rise. “Miss Granger, you’ll be returning to Hogwarts? Narcissa?” and when they nodded. “I wonder if perhaps you ladies might enjoy joining me for a cuppa. I find it difficult to quiet my thoughts directly after a meeting, especially when there’s so much to plan, and I was hoping perhaps we could discuss your plans to study the cabinet, Miss Granger?”_

_“Oh!” Hermione chirped, looking to Narcissa as if uncertain if their answers should be contingent upon one another’s but, “I...would love to, Professor.”_

_“Certainly, Minerva,” Narcissa agreed, “that sounds splendid.”_

* * *

“Come along then, ladies,” Minerva said, sighing as she rose from her chair, “Let's be off, shall we? As you’ve neither one of you been to my home before, I’ll see us safely there, once we’ve spoken with Albus.”

“We...can Apparate to your quarters, Professor?” Hermione asked, confused.

“As the home I reference is off campus, yes Miss Granger. I usually spend my evenings in my off campus home, should I be needed, any student coming to my quarters summons me to them as a student approaches the door.” ...truly? Narcissa hadn’t realized the woman...well, she lived in Hogwarts, she supposed, but she didn’t realize that wasn’t quite her primary residence. But then she did not often speak of her homelife. Not in a way that struck Narcissa as that the woman found her life outside of her work unpleasant...but something to be dearly, dearly guarded. “My home is secluded and most recently, Secret Kept,” she said as she led them toward the head of the table where the Headmaster was only just rising from his own seat. “Albus.” There was a look shared between the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress as they communicated silently.

“Ahh, Minerva. Yes, if you ladies will follow me,” he said, gesturing for them to take leave through the kitchen door. They stepped into a nearby sitting room Narcissa recalled from her youth...Sirius spent many an hour in ‘time out’, Bella many an hour...usually right alongside him, though even then she taunted him for his own punishment. The Headmaster warded for privacy before he keyed them into the Fidelius Charm, informing them, “You may be aware of the property that resides in Sutcombe, Holsworthy, Devon County, United Kingdom, under the ownership of Millie McGonagall-Finnigan.”

A smile twitched at Narcissa’s lips. “Millie MicGonagall-Finnigan?” she questioned teasingly, amused at the nickname and...curious. Minerva never mentioned she was married let alone...to a Finnigan? Hermione suppressed laughter that came out as muffled giggling, and to her faux-wall...to Narcissa, she offered the thought that ‘Millie’ might be silly sounding for such a stern woman, strange that it would be short for ‘Minerva’, but the more obvious nickname of ‘Minnie’ would be that much worse, given the Muggle implications, she produced the image of a...strange...artistic rendition of what she supposed was to represent a mouse?

“Some relation, I’m afraid,” the woman tiredly sighed. It was enough to draw a gasp from Hermione who questioned with utter incredulity,

_“Seamus?!”_

“His da is my nephew through marriage, poor man.”

“...oh, his wife didn’t disclose she was a witch until, um...” she caught herself bringing it up as it occurred to her it might be a deeply personal family conflict Mister Finnigan was able to chatter about with abandon because he was deeply entrenched and thought it a matter of intrigue.

“Until they were already wed, yes,” the Professor shook her head. “What Saoirse did was more than reckless. An entirely selfish thing, but the Finnigans are...very Catholic, she feared he would hold to his religion’s views on Witchcraft and revoke his offer of marriage. Of course that could have ended so much worse, Merlin help her.” and then, “Well then, thank you Albus. Would you care to join us?”

“Oh, I believe I’ll leave it a ladies night, but do give your family my love,” the Headmaster said.

“Certainly,” the Professor assured before turning to Hermione and Narcissa, “We best be off then. Miss Granger do stand between us. Are you comfortable with side-along?” she made certain to verify before moving to initiate any such thing.

...the offer had the younger Witch blushing, nodding, “Yes, th- that’s fine Professor.”

Her blush only deepened when the Witches locked arms around her so Minerva might most securely pull them through. Narcissa caught her eye and was elated when the girl met that with further communication through her faux-wall, entrusting the older Witch with her thoughts...embarrassed as they made her. Apparently First Year Miss Granger’s Professor crush was at her back, arms locked with her current Sixth Year Professorial crush. It felt silly that the idea the younger Witch had a crush on her was thrilling. She was _only_ pursuing a harsh regimen of study to rid herself of the one hesitation to move forward with any sort of deepened relationship, after all.

 _Gods_ how did 18 days feel like an eternity? She felt nearly ill of her anticipation, if not for...well, admittedly there was something thrilling about it all, knowing how they felt, knowing those feelings were known between them, but maintaining platonics, abstaining from romantics until Miss Granger was more appropriately distanced from her, as a student.

They appeared at the edge of property, Narcissa’s feet planted firmly in the dusty road. There was a distant rumble, mechanical puttering that sounded vaguely familiar, her mind took her to memories of her arm in Lucius’s, nervous that her son was out of sight as he was made to walk behind them they made way from the nearest apparation point to an opera house or theatre...automobiles. The more pressing sound she heard just now was Hermione loosing a startled, horrified gasp before she _pulled_ the older Witch directly against her, Narcissa’s arms wrapping around the younger Witch’s neck to steady her weight against the girl who lifted her feet just off the ground to whisk her around and plant her safely in Minerva’s front yard...and then she looked perplexed like she’d expected some danger that hadn’t arisen. Which was a bit baffling, it was a quiet country lane in the open wilds of Devon. Peaceful, the homes weren’t packed in like she’d heard some of her Muggle-born students describe their suburban or city homes, apartments sounded horrific to her. This? Was nothing short of comfortable. There was an open field across the lane, a house just on the horizon, and to her right just a stretch of wood she couldn’t perceive neighbors through, the nearest neighbor was down the lane to her left, and even that was only just in-view. It struck a beautiful balance between seclusion and connection to feel the safety of both ways of life.

“Sorry, Professor,” Hermione offered as she released hold of the woman blinking down at her with startled surprise-mixed-delight, needless as it was, it was entirely thrilling and...soothing, all at once, the safety and security she felt in the girl’s protections, even of the unnecessary variety. “Er, I heard a car.”

“...car?” Narcissa questioned. Like a train car? 

“Automobiles,” Minerva clarified, “It’s a safe enough area, we rarely get people whipping through with abandon of all sense.”

“Oh,” Narcissa said, looking to Hermione, “I do thank you for seeing to my safety,” she caught herself before uttering ‘darling’, she felt certain if she used that particular term of endearment just now it would be a shade too revealing to their present company, speak to every bit of adoration she felt for the younger Witch, so she opted for, “Miss Granger.”

“I apologize,” Minerva said, sounding weary. “Given recent circumstances, as my home has a Floo connection directly to my quarters in Hogwarts, I’ve taken every precaution, I expanded the Apparation boundary around my home, this was the nearest I could bring us on my own property. I should have brought us into the field but the sound can startle the cows when they are out at pasture.”

“Never apologize for what lengths you go to protect your home, Minerva,” Narcissa intoned, reaching to take the dear woman’s hand, squeezing gently. “I do appreciate the trust you extend, welcoming us here. I...I trust you know I hold no bigotry for your spouse. Your husband is...a Muggle?” she supposed with some caution.

Minerva looked wholly amused, eyes twinkling with mischief of all things as she assured, “Oh, no, I’ve no Muggle husband to speak of.” It felt like some joke going over Narcissa’s head and it frustrated her to no end how very well her dear friend could Occlude...she had to be, she was most certain, but the woman was so very skilled at the act, her faux-wall so very clever, impeccable Narcissa...would not realize it was a faux-wall if she was not presently in a place of great importance that never crossed the foreground of the woman’s mind, preparing to introduce them to someone dearly beloved she never so much as mentioned in passing word or glimmer of thought.

The house was quaint, much smaller than any Narcissa had been entertained in before, two stories and cottage-esque, pale misshapen stone cemented together, rust colored scalloped shingles on the roof. There was a small red automobile in the gravel driveway, its shape vaguely reminiscent of an insects shell...verified that it was a ‘Volkswagen Beetle’ by Hermione’s mind, the girl thought it wild, the idea the Professor might drive such a thing, a feeling of disbelief filling her mind, a type of disbelief that she hadn’t entertained since primary school, running into a teacher out of bounds and realizing they didn’t live in a cubby under their desks, they had actual lives outside the premises. Narcissa supposed even as she grew up attending private schools where their teachers could often board if they so chose, there was the impression they existed only within the classroom and dining halls...in the halls proper only ever to catch students out of bounds after hours.

They entered the home to find a younger girl, maybe all of fourteen standing at the stairs just off the entry in a long fluffy lilac bathrobe, raven hair peeking out from under a silken blue headscarf in...box-braids, she recalled the term from when Anathema styled her own hair similarly, on this girl her braids fell neatly to her hips. There was a pale yellow labrador, not unlike Earnie Macmillian’s Patronus, he’d displayed much to his own embarrassment and Neville Longbottoms when the Hufflepuff had been discussing the concept of Silver Messages with Harry Potter and...ended up casting a ghostly dog to trot up to the timid Gryffindor boy with a declaration of affection. The genuine article was presently panting contentedly at the young girl’s side, stopping when she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, a deep brown hand curled against the fur at the back of the dog’s neck momentarily as the girl turned when she heard them enter, hazel eyes not quite meeting the group of Witches standing in the entryway. “Mum?”

Oh Merlin... _mum?_

“Good evening sweetheart,” Minerva greeted warmly. She...the woman was a _mother!_ Merlin above, her child was just gorgeous! “I’ve guests just behind me, a fellow Professor Narcissa Black, and a student, Hermione Granger. Hermione, Narcissa, this is my daughter Angela, her service dog. Good evening Tobias,” she greeted the dog whose tail began wagging rapidfire as he looked up at the Witch addressing him.

“Oh! Narcissa!” Angela said with some laughter in her voice, she stepped nearer, reaching out and the Professor went to meet her, taking her hand and squeezing gently before stepping aside and releasing hold of her daughter’s hand which went more toward Hermione as she said, “It’s a pleasure, I was wondering when I’d get to meet Mum’s work-wife.”

 _Work wife?_ That…

She realized three things as she caught a glimpse of the girl’s mind she backed away from for politeness sake, it wasn’t her place to be an utter stranger and know this young lady’s mind in any capacity. But the flash she got revealed firstly, she was entirely non-magical, a Muggle in full, secondly the title of ‘work-wife’ was nothing romantic but entirely complimentary something she should feel honored to be considered, that Minerva found her such a kindred spirit she felt them a unified force in their work, and thirdly, she was wholly blind. She...could perceive when the light around her was great, and little else. Narcissa hadn’t realized there was a spectrum for blindness, but it was rather vast she came to find as she started teaching. She’d a First Year, Mister Aahan Dara, who’d the ability to cast even targeted spells by discerning the world around him in shape and shadow, bright colors could be perceived, some more easily than others. Hermione had aided her in adapting Narcissa’s spell that summoned ingredients and tools to her student’s workbenches, so that it could remain the same for the rest of her students while Mister Dara’s tools and ingredients appeared at his workstation organized in the order in which they were to be used from left to right. While it was vital for students to learn which ingredient was which on sight, there was no reason in the world to randomize the blind Wizard’s tools, and he would come to learn the difference between ingredients safely, at his own pace, should he develop his ability to discern with his other senses without incidentally harming himself with their more caustic ingredients, she would offer the challenge of sorting for himself, but until then, it was far too great a risk he might blow his cauldron, fill the potions laboratory with virulent fumes. Too, the girl had found the most clever way around the protections on their teaching robes to keep them from being capable of being cast upon and tampered with magically.

_Her first week at Hogwarts was winding to a close, Friday. She’d only just come to the teacher’s lounge in search of reprieve after the close of her lesson with her First Years. Faculty often ate lunch in the Great Hall, it was somewhat expected but...well Minerva McGonagall had missed dinner hour twice this week. Missing a single lunch hour should not be a mar on her record and she was...perhaps a bit overwhelmed, her week...her month, really, catching up with her. Between the stresses of her mission, her newfound job, the pressing fears she held living in Lucius’s home while she divorced him, the sudden change from steeling herself, being grounded in her determination to abstain from eating until Lucius relented in seeking to have her rid herself of her parental ties to Draco, she did not need food she needed her son swinging to...need of Miss Granger, the realization she could utterly rely on her in absolute, following her advice on the matter to manipulate the Dark Lord into admonishing Lucius for seeking to break Narcissa’s legal claims to Draco, for breaking his own because of the benefit she brought to mind, that they would have access to him when he was at his most vulnerable, ill or injured and in Hospital, a perfectly compromised position to be returned to the Dark Lord for punishment in. Her manipulations had nearly backfired, Lucius had wondered at getting his willingly relented rights back, upon finding such a devious plot Narcissa had no intention of acting on, sound. Anathema had ‘people on it’, and word had only just come to Narcissa, a message waiting for her in her office in her friend’s hand, stating that the department of Wizarding Child Welfare had a firm policy on returning rights to parents who abandoned their legal ties to their children. As Draco was nearly of Age, the department would defer to him, on whether or not his father could have such rights back, to which he assured them he most certainly could not, and oh, Narcissa was so relieved but she felt ill of her remorse for the worry and confusion that must have placed on her son, the fear his father was seeking ties to him and the confusion as to why, because surely it could not be of love but...well, children have that mysterious inherent hope their parents might truly love them, it had to ache to face uncertainty and wonder ‘what if?’ it was some sign his father had forgiven him and found some love of his son still stolen away somewhere in his vile heart, the horrible conflict of craving that bare bit of love, a scrap he starved for when he deserved nothing short of a feast._

_So, Narcissa had sought the empty teachers lounge for a moment of solitude to recover. It was not the manor where Lucius could be expected at any moment, he wouldn’t dare deign be seen with her at her place of_ work. _It wounded his pride to no end, that she’d a job now, and the rumor mill was turning with talk that Lucius had bankrupt them, that they would be paupered and cast from their long-held home, turned over to Gringotts while they fled to sanctuary in her quarters at Hogwarts, not a knut to their name until her next paycheck was doled out. No teacher would disturb her here at lunch hour, she didn’t think, and...well, no students could enter the room except with express permission. She could sit in safety and silence, and not think, not be concerned what her husband or the Dark Lord or her sister or Pansy Parkinson or some colleague or student might see._

_She was almost annoyed with herself, even as the thought lightened something in her, when the moment she was seated in her solitude, she longed to write Miss Granger. Because...she could sit, and maintain the respite of her lone venture, even if the girl, future or present, was at her side. She was someone...with whom Narcissa could stand to be alone, together._

_Though Narcissa was shortly no longer alone, much to her despair._

_“Oh!...Professor Black,” Minerva McGonagall greeted, guarded, a pale pink...box? In her hands. It was made of something strange...plastic, she believed Miss Granger would call it, it was a material Muggles made things out of, dreadful stuff. The Deputy Headmistress held a pale pink rectangular plastic box and atop it there was a gloss like the translucent tape in Miss Granger’s memories, that she used to adhere ends of paper strips together, before looping another strip of paper through and taping its ends to link them in a chain for some crafts project. Tape shone atop the lid of the box and as it was turned a bit away from the elder Witch, she could see it was lining the edges of a perfect square of yellow paper, sticking it to the lid and adorned with...dots? A series of dots in different formations._

_She would later forget she’d seen such a thing atop the woman’s lunch, she’d not found reason to question it or make note in the moment, but upon the arrival of appropriate texts for Mister Dara, she would come to learn the dots were Braille._

_“Professor,” Narcissa returned, dipping her head in a nod of acknowledgement. Why was the woman looking at her so strangely? She felt her brow furrow, “Am I to be posing for a portrait, Minerva? Shall I smile or do you prefer something more stoic? Oh, exposing just the barest hint of ankle, or heavens sakes, a_ shoulder, _that would offer something_ salacious.”

_It was unjust, her sharp tone but she was tetchy in the moment, upset at being disturbed in her peace only for that disturbance to be a woman who did not trust her intentions with the Order or as a professor at this school, who stared at her like she was something of spectacle!_

_...because she forgot, she was. Narcissa’s robes were a garish, near blinding shade of what Hermione termed ‘neon’ orange._

_“I apologize for staring I just...Merlin that’s rather a gay hue for a dreary Friday afternoon. However were your robes altered, might I ask? Have their protections been compromised?” the woman offered with some mild concern, more so for the fact she herself should be on guard for mischief at her expense if a student had the ability to tamper with their robes._

_“Entirely intentional,” Narcissa assured._

_The woman huffed a laugh, “Oh, certainly. Come, there’s no need to be embarrassed, if a student is seeking to undermine you they’re to be corrected and their methods discovered so they can be defended against.”_

_“Contrary to popular belief I am capable of moments of utter truth. Your skin is dry, your concern insufferable, and my fashion choice my own doing, save...well, involvement of Miss Granger who was kind enough to aid me in figuring out how best to alter them. As the color offends…” a swish of her wand had the elder Witch startling, and her robes returning to their school-designated black. That was a bit amusing, all she’d done was wordlessly cast to banish the small slender silver needle slid into the hem of her robes. That had been entirely startling for Narcissa, Hermione bursting into her office to shout about how very unfair her detentions were. The shouting did not startle her, it was Hermione, she knew well it was pretense and the girl’s future self had communicated her present self had made a discovery she was excited to share, to expect her any moment. What she hadn’t expected, was that when she went to meet the girl, berate her for raising her voice as she closed shut the door, the younger Witch offered up a blinding, brilliant smile and dropped straight to her knees...up turning her head after fighting with the hem of her robe, and maintaining that smile as suddenly Narcissa’s robes turned lime green in a bit of mischief as she informed her, she ‘figured it out’. She charmed the needle, inserted it in uncharmable clothing...and the charm interpreted the robes to be part of the needle, and spread over their protections, leaving them unbroken, merely layered beneath garish green, and now, orange._

_“Why...whyever would you wish-”_

_“If you must know-!” she realized she was yelling and Narcissa sighed, centering herself and speaking more calmly. “I...apologize. I was seeking not to be disturbed, I am tired, that does not give me leave to be disrespectful. We’ve a student, he is in your House, Minerva, First Year’s Mister Dara?”_

_“Aahan?”_

_“Yes. He’s visually impared, but he can perceive light, shadow, distinguish larger shapes and forms and he’s the capability for a range of color. That garish shade of orange is the color he sees most easiest, so it is the color I wear when conducting my First Years’ instruction, so he may know where I am at all times he might need me.”_

_The woman stared at her wordlessly for a moment, gaze full of something heavy Narcissa couldn’t interpret before she asked, “Would you do me the favor of enlightening me as to how I might attire myself likewise during my lessons with Mister Dara?”_

_“...of course. Though I must warn you some good natured needling is involved.”_

_That got her something of a confused look until she summoned the needle into her hand and demonstrated slipping it into the hem of her sleeve._

_“Miss Granger figured that out?”_

_“She did.”_

_“...I am pleased...you are genuine, in your work with her. I...well I confess I fully expected every one of her detentions to appear on her record...her House points to plummet but...well she received rather a surprising allotment her first day returned to school.”_

_“She is my ally...an ally to others. She exhibited great care and represented Gryffindor to the letter of what your House means. Bravery, loyalty, compassion.”_

_Minerva looked to be considering something, though what, her mind did not give away. “Narcissa...have you plans for lunch?”_

_“Solitude.”_

_“Well, if you’re willing to share your solitude with me...I am willing to share sustenance with you. Starting here can be stressful, my M-” the woman cleared her throat, “my loved ones were rather fearful for me as I ran myself ragged in the adjustment, my first year teaching...finding friendship in Albus Dumbledor was something of a salvation, in my work life. It wont due to skip meals and run yourself into the ground. I came here to enjoy my lunch from home as the House Elves and our co-workers frown upon outside food being eaten at table,” she said and when Narcissa gestured vaguely to the empty chair across from hers, the woman was seated, opening her plastic box and casting to remove stasis so...oh, Merlin, Narcissa went red as her stomach growled audibly but stars it smelled heavenly! full of sizable portions of roasted vegetables, a portion of perfectly cooked fluffy white fish, and then separately there was a serving of sweet potato mash, and medium-rare steak. The box was two-tiered, apparently packed with lunch and dinner in mind as there was an Order meeting later but the woman assured she’d just nip to the Great Hall for something quick beforehand, Molly Weasley usually provided something at these affairs anyway. Narcissa was incapable of joining in their meetings just yet but as she was thefting the woman’s intended dinner...her detention could be post poned a half hour to allow the older Witch more pleasant company than Severus Snape for her quick meal._

_“You prepared this?” Narcissa wondered with some fascination. She’d never...well, she had met Miss Granger. She’d never interacted with another Witch, save for her, sociably who had such a skill. Her bite of fish practically melted in her mouth with savory spice, the barest bit of sweetness that made it sing._

_“...no, but I had my most reliable chef at hand,” the woman assured with some mirth._

Oh! The woman...had held moments she was unguarded by minimal degree. The name Angela broke through her faux-wall...meaning the name invoked a great deal of emotion in the woman, her dear love of the sweet daughter that sent her mother to school with proper meals for her busy day. Narcissa had caught the barest hint of that emotion but...well, she’d a chef so talented, she would have love of them likewise, looking back she was bemused at her naive, being so surprised to hear the other Professor was wealthy enough for a professional chef on staff.

Narcissa reached immediately to take the girl’s hand to shake it, “It’s an honor to meet you, Angela. A beautiful name. And you’ve quite the handsome...service animal?” she more questioned than stated, as she guided her hand more toward Hermione’s direction before releasing it. The girl made it sound like the dog was a member of staff...a body guard perhaps, unless Muggles found some way to train dogs for tea service.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hermione said.

“Same,” Angela assured. “Toby’s my Guide dog. I know my way around the house well enough he’s technically off the clock if you’d like to pet him?”

“Oh is he?” Minerva wondered drily, smile tugging at her lips, utter fondness in her gaze as she supposed, “So you’ve cleaned that sty of a room? He won’t have to guide you safely to bed?”

“He’s a sweet creature,” Narcissa softly complimented as she gently scratched the top of the Guide dog’s head, smiling at his excitement being petted between her work and Hermione’s petting soft fur along his back.

“He’s the best,” Angela said before insisting, “It’s organized chaos mother, everything is exactly where it should be and I know where everything is.”

“Well then,” her mother said, “I’m glad you won’t have need of me to _accio_ your trainers or bookbag come morning. Perhaps I’ll get to sleep in.”

“I wish you would sleep in,” the girl returned, turning toward the woman and reaching, hand making contact with her arm and she drew nearer to rise up on tip-toe to press a kiss to her mother’s cheek, “you work too hard. We missed you at dinner.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I’d a meeting.”

Her brow furrowed at that. “But you ate, right?” she fretted. Oh, she projected the thought, worry and something that spoke to disappointment in herself. She’d utterly forgotten her mother wouldn’t be joining them for dinner until the woman didn’t appear. She’d gotten caught up in some school project the night previous and then sought bed early when she...goodness was the girl ill? She’d entertained horrible rolling pain in her lower stomach, sought something called ‘Motrin’ and laid down, found it difficult to rise in the morning between fatigue and cramping and the dread she’d something messy to deal with even as she’d prepared the night before...oh. The poor dear was minstrating. She’d gone to bed early, stayed in bed late, during times she would have otherwise dedicated to preparing meals to lighten and aid her mother’s schedule.

“Yes.”

“Good. Saved you a plate just in case, wrapped on the counter. I can box it up and put it in the fridge if you want it for lunch tomorrow.”

“...did you aid in preparing dinner this evening?” her mother wondered with some caution.

“Mm...no, sorry,” Angela regretfully informed her, “The damage was done by the time I got home from practice. Sammi’s mum says ‘hi’ by the way. But the good Lord gave us frozen lasagna and garlic knots for a reason, the house is still standing and I saved you a piece that I couldn’t clack out a beat on with my fork. All the bread is...tastefully charred on the bottom though.” Ahh. Angela being Minerva’s most reliable chef did imply there was...a less reliable practitioner of the craft in this household. Oh, but it sounded like her dear spouse had tried.

Minerva shook her head, smiling her amusement as she took her daughter’s hand and raised it to her cheek, the upturn of her lips just felt against the edge of the girl’s palm, and she smiled wide at her mother. Oh, she loved the woman so, and that love dearly returned and- oh gods as her witness, if any harm befell this household despite the protections at play, prophecy be damned, _she_ would be the Dark Lord’s demise. “Thank you lovey, I'll see to preserving it for lunch. Would you care to join us for tea?”

“Care to? Yes. Will I?...can I take a rain check? I’d love to chat up your work-wife and favorite student but I’m knackered. Practice was rough and we...might have gotten into a competition to see who could plank the longest. I won. I might die...but I won’t die regretting it.”

“Honestly,” the woman offered laughing reprimand. “You’ve a football match this Saturday?”

“Yeah, last one before holiday,” Angela said. “I absolutely promise not to share the warming blanket with any of the girls and I’ll love you for exactly forever if you bring it.”

“Ahh, well, if it’s to secure your love eternal...I’ll truly consider it,” the woman promised in warm conspiracy. Then, “The charms on your trainers and gloves are still holding?” she checked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Well, off to bed with you then. Have pleasant dreams,” the woman wished her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she quietly offered, “I’ll send you up a cuppa, to help send you off.”

“Thanks mum,” she turned more toward the other Witches. “It was nice meeting you.”

Narcissa’s “Likewise,” overlapped Hermione’s, “You too.”

“Toby, come boy,” Angela instructed, and the dog went to her side, walking alongside her as she made her way upstairs.

“Your daughter is _beautiful_ , Minerva,” Narcissa complimented, “football is…?”

“A popular Muggle sport,” the older Witch explained, “where teams kick a ball back and forth across a field seeking to kick it into their team’s designated goal.” She offered up a mental image to her faux-wall of her daughter at play, sliding in the grass as she kicked the ball out of the near-kick of another player in a different color uniform’s foot, and into the range of one of her own team’s players. Someone called out a word that signaled the ball was gone and the thwarted player thankfully halted before she could kick the girl in the grass before her, even as she let out a frustrated growl, _“Shite!”_ she hissed, reaching down, _“here!”_ and Angela’s arm waved momentarily before knocking against the offered hand up and she was hoisted up onto her feet. _“Lucky,”_ her rival assured her. How rude! That- that had not been luck, that had been a feat of skill, Narcissa was certain!

 _“Loser,”_ Angela challengingly teased in return before racing back into the thick of the game.

Well, that certainly looked a great deal safer than Quidditch, there was no one offering Draco a hand up when he struggled to maintain his seat on his broom! “Popular? Huh, perhaps the Headmaster would consider making efforts to make that an alternative option for extracurricular activity at Hogwarts next year.”

“...Draco...isn’t likely to ditch Quidditch in his final year,” Hermione said as if she truly hated to break the news to her.

Well, “A mother can dream.”

“Hmm, yes,” Minerva supposed, “but...well, it is no Quidditch but if you knew the number of times I’ve nearly broken the decree to cast cushioning or...knock-back jinxes on the more violent players, you’d have little interest in it as an alternative. Her friend Sammi just returned from being out of last season’s games from injury she entertained, it took the whole of summer holiday to recover from a break in her right arm, her clavicle,” the woman shuddered, though a smile tugged at her lips, a small bit of laughter in her throat when she recalled, “Oh Merlin bless that girl. I rushed the field to...well, the referee called a time out but my call was superior I believe, made certain no one crowded the girl while medics were called. I told her to lie still, I believed I could see bone and my hand to Morgana herself, the girl looked down and said ‘looks the same to me’.”

“Merlin, Muggle sports are truly so violent?” Narcissa fretted as Minerva began leading them further into the house.

“Oh darling, Rugby gives Quidditch a run for its money, I believe if you witnessed a match you would feel that much better about Draco’s position as Seeker,” she assured. As they neared a living room, that was quiet but the moment they could be heard just outside a woman’s voice sounded,

“Burned she said, the audacity! I swear I followed the instructions directly!” an older woman was seated in a plush armchair by the fire in the living room, insisting her culinary innocence...to a grey and black striped cat perched atop the coffee table, looking up at her with interest, offering a soft mew in response. “Oh don’t give me that, Minerva. I- oh!” the woman said as she looked up at the arriving Witches, feigning startle. “...oh there you are. I thought you were home an hour ago!” she said with some mirth, a playful lie. In her mind it was clear it was a running gag of sorts. The cat, a kitten, had been found small and sick, abandoned and living huddled beneath their porch. She couldn’t abide their attempts to reach her, to take her up and bring her into the house to safety, and Minerva had been anguished at that, stilled her wife’s...her wife! This woman was her Muggle _wife!_ She stilled her wife’s attempts to reach for the kitten just out of their grasp, and the Witch shrank down into her animagus form, taking the kitten up by the back of her neck between her teeth and rescued her, took her into her home where she maintained care of her in her animagus state until such a time that when she returned to her true form, the kitten knew well it was her, trusted her care, that of her wife. She looked so much like Minerva’s form, it became commonplace for her wife to strike up conversation with ‘Minerva’, knowing full well the cat was not her wife, often while her wife was just in the other room. “Genevieve! You promised to signal me if you’re not Minerva!” she shook her head as she smiled up at the smitten Witch, “Rotten cat, what can you do?”

“Oh, it's the cat who's rotten, is it?” Minerva wondered, bemused as she went to the woman’s side and crouched to _kiss_ her! “This is my wife Millie. Millie, this is my friend, Professor Narcissa Black, and my student, Hermione Granger. We’ve just come from a meeting, I invited them for tea.”

“Work-wife and Golden-girl!” the woman declared them, “Oh, my Minnie speaks of you both endlessly! Do please have a seat! Shall I put the kettle on?”

“Allow me, won’t you darling?”

“I can boil water!” the woman insisted.

“But can you?”

“Can _you?_ Without magic?” her wife countered.

“Well I like that. A challenge?”

“I dared you to marry me, Minerva McGonagall. I’ll just as easily dare you to brew perfect tea, without use of magic,” she said, holding out her hand.

“And I’ll just as easily rise to the occasion,” Minerva returned with confidence, placing the hilt of her wand in her wife’s hand for the woman to take, and then she turned to look to Narcissa and Hermione just...rooted to the floor. The girl’s mind was reeling, open and Occlusion down as she grappled with new information, that McGonagall had a daughter. And a dog. And a cat. And a _wife._ And her world was pretty well rocked, she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover. One day her Transfiguration Professor lives under her desk, and the next she’s got a beautiful countryside cottage with an entire non-magical family living in it. 

“Well? Come now, don’t just stand there. Sit, sit!” Millie cheerily insisted. “Make yourselves comfortable.Those robes they make you wear, I swear. Do feel free to send it to the coat rack, Minnie’s charmed it so when a school robe is dropped in our home it appears there. Oh, honey, do you not have a coat?” she fretted as she looked to Hermione. Oh Merlin, it looked like she was getting ready to ensure the Witch didn’t leave her home without a proper coat if she didn’t own one.

“I didn’t plan to be outside at all, it’s back at the Tower,” she assured as Narcissa dropped her cloak as instructed, met with the girl falling silent. Well, verbally. _Oh Merlin, it’s skin-tight emerald green dress day. A blessed day by all accounts but God help_ . Narcissa felt her face warm, embarrassed and then flattered, when the girl’s mind went to how she’d been filling out a bit more since she started at Hogwarts, at first she’d heard it as insult but...no, the younger Witch was pleased. _Thanks Future Self. Merlin bless me._ Hermione’s Future Self kept sending sweets the woman enjoyed religiously, more often than not when Hermione was around to ‘ensure her Future Self had assurance she was eating them’ she did! That was her sole motive for only partaking of them in the girl’s presence! Well, that and she enjoyed sharing them with the younger Witch. And she enjoyed her company. And implimenting the bit of torture that was watching Narcissa enjoy the treats so thouroughly, seeking to invoke a similar reaction in the younger Witch that the elder had in Hermione’s delighting in icecream. 

“Good, good,” Millie said to news the girl did own a proper coat. Hermione gestured for Narcissa to go ahead and be seated on the loveseat across the coffee table from the armchairs, before sitting at her side. Their cat...Genevivie, she bound across the table and launched herself into Hermione’s lap, settling comfortably before looking up at her expectantly like she was committing some Azkaban-worthy offense by dawdling in petting her. Millie smiled as Hermione pet the sweet cat, though she took more interest in, “Minnie?” she called, “Has Hogwarts updated that God-awful dress code or were you just a horrid prude? The uniform is greatly improved I daresay perhaps you could-”

“I will not entertain your utter nonsense I am several decades past traipsing about in short skirts.”

“But you’ve the gams of a twenty-something!” Millie insisted. “She does. Goes on runs with our Angie-love every morning.”

“We just met your sweet daughter,” Narcissa said, “She’s an absolute treasure Millicent.”

“Millie, if you please, short for Maleficent. Funny that I’m not the Witch in the relationship...not magically speaking, anyway,” she offered with a wink. “Oh, God we love that girl...” she held up an index finger as if to call the room to silence before listening carefully and then there was this sound coming from the kitchen, water pouring and...some sort of crunching sound. “...Minerva Athena McGonagall. Are you in the good crisps?”

Further crunching, slower, and then a muffled, “No.”

“Bring them here when you bring the tea, woman, honestly! Where the devil did you find them?”

“She hid them in the bloody proving drawer!”

“Which one’s the proving drawer again?” the woman wondered, mind truly drawing a blank as Minerva reappeared from the kitchen, a tray bearing a tea set, some sort of parcel under the Witch’s arm.

“Small silver drawer to the right of the oven, love.”

“How on earth did you think to look there?”

“I didn’t...I summoned them.”

“Summoned them?”

“You only put restrictions on my casting to brew tea, I did that non magically. Figuring out where our dear daughter has taken it into her head to hide our crisps—she insists they’re bad for us,” Minerva saw fit to explain before informing her wife, “is a feat unto itself that requires, consistently, the use of magic to perform. As I am a Witch...”

Narcissa startled when Millie sucked in a loud, hash gasp that spoke to utter shock, and that was before the woman looked her wife in the face and questioned, incredulously, “ _You’re a Witch?!”_

Minerva did little more than raise a brow at the woman and drawl, “Someday you’re going to do that bit, only it’ll be because you’re senile and I won’t know to put you in the home.”

“That’s precisely the plan dear, if you don’t realize I’ve gone ‘round the bend, you’ll simply keep me.”

“Don’t be so sure I won’t ship you off just to err on the side of caution,” Minerva warned.

Millie sighed dreamily, smiling up at the woman, “God you say the most romantic things.” Minerva shook her head, doling out a kiss to her wife’s forehead before seating herself in the armchair alongside hers, holding out her hand to have her wand returned, and then she cast to serve their tea, the fifth cup on the tray vanishing entirely, cast upstairs to her daughter as promised. The cat in Hermione’s lap mewled rather loudly before dropping from her perch to dart off, paws thumping on the hardwood floors to bound from the sitting room and up the stairs like she were following the magic at play. Millie’d a fond look on her face as her thoughts revealed their daughter usually dawdled with settling for bed even after she’d dedicated herself to the task, hearing the clatter of her tea’s arrival usually prompted her to finally seat herself in bed and relax, sip at her beverage until she was ready to lie down and drift off. The tea heralded the cat’s beloved human lying down, which meant she could laze beside her and the dog she apparently held some amicable candor with.

“May I ask how long you two have been...married?” Hermione tested the word, uncertain before she sipped at her tea.

“Mmm, eighteen years,” Minerva said, “fall of 78-”

“8-8-78. For synchronicity and memory’s sake,” Millie chimed in.

“If by memory sake you mean it aids your forgetting the date…”

“One time! I forgot _one_ time! _Sixteen_ years ago!” Millie defended, lip pouting as she whined, “I was publishing my thesis!”

“Oh yes because aiding in the research linking tobacco use to cancer was _so_ much more important than our second anniversary,” Minerva drawled, a smile on her lips as she teased her wife, pride in her mind as she thought of the woman's work, she was less guarded now that she was seated in the security of her home. “Our legal ceremony took place in the Wizarding world, of course, though we entertained a vow renewal on our anniversary when Angela turned five, and realized through tell of our wedding day, to her great despair we _neglected_ to invite her to our wedding...four years before her birth.”

“She wept buckets,” Millie said, looking utterly heart-melted at the memory, “she was so very sad she’d not been included. She was very excited she got to officiate our ‘proper’ wedding. Oh God, wasn’t she the cutest?” 

“She was,” Minerva warmly agreed. Oh Merlin, she caught a glimpse of a sweet, smaller Angela, standing on a white step-stool to be better seen standing before her mother’s under an arch of autumn leaves and sunflowers, a white sweater dress that fell to her ankles, shiny white flats on her feet, hair bound in two ponytail, low at the back of her head, they were bound high in their lengths by several layered rings of pearls, before the rest puffed out freely from their captivity in spilling fluffy curls. Her two front teeth were missing from her toothy smile as she lisped to proclaim her mother’s _“We-newed paw-tners ‘n wivesth! Now kissth!”_ giggling sweetly before needlessly covering her eyes to offer her mother’s shared kiss a bit of privacy. She went on to explain, “Our marriage is partially recognized by the non-magical government, in that we’ve the rights the magical world extends, and they...simply comply and have no clue as to why, nor do they question it. Well, adopting Angie took more direct involvement between magical and non-magical governments but they got the job done.”

“You adopted her?” Narcissa asked with some interest. Minerva nodded. 

“Her mother was my college roommate,” Millie said, “her father was one of my best friends, Minnie’s as well. We’d go on double dates, he’d jest that we were all three of us there for him of course, when we were met with speculation that seemed...threatening. We were her godmothers. Mothers period after...well. We’d a double date they didn’t show up to. They’d left Angie with a sitter to take their first night out after becoming parents and were involved in a terrible car crash. She’d no other living relatives, and we couldn’t bear the thought of her facing the potential dangers of being placed or adopted by people we’ve no clue what sort they are. Minerva invoked her magical rights as godmother and the Ministry stepped in to handle transfering Angela to our custody.”

“That is honorable. She’s beautiful and strong, well loved.”

“We love her to pieces, Minnie frets over her so.”

“We had her maybe a month when we realized she wasn’t following our faces or objects we held to her, and Millie began always talking her through being held, speaking softly when we came into her nursery, calmly announcing one of us was about to pick her up, even though she couldn’t understand, it seemed to make her feel better, prepared her to be held and understand it was by someone there to care for her, because it seemed like it startled her, she’d be frightened just being picked up all of a sudden. We thought it was...some sort of anxiety, not being able to process what had happened in her short bit of life.”

“Losing her parents and coming to be cared for by two barely familiar white women, surely she must think she’s been kidnapped,” Millie jested lightly. “But when we brought it up with her pediatrician they concluded she was blind, startled and scared because she’d no visual cues as to what was going on around her. Minerva pored over every available resource on the subject. I don’t think she slept the rest of Angie’s first year of life, she was just...walking around, baby in one arm, book in the other, trying to tackle the triple cultural difference.” 

“Someone had to hold the girl, what with all your reading and notetaking,” Minerva defended. Oh yes, raising a non-magical child who would face systemic racism, and ableism, at least she’d some familiarity with the life of non-magical persons, coming up in muggle society, but having to prepare her daughter for inequity she herself could never face...Hermione looked relieved the women were self-aware enough to realize the responsibility they had.

“Well, she’s a remarkable young lady,” Narcissa assured, “Minerva has shared her cooking with me in past, gods above-” oh, she stopped, taking a sip of tea to moisten her throat before clearing it and offering, “I...Minerva says your family is Catholic? I’m only vaguely knowledgeable about the religion from time with Miss Granger, is it rude to mention another pantheon in your home?”

Millie stared at her momentarily before throwing her head back and cackling, laughing so hard she had to catch her breath, tears in her eyes she had to wipe away with the tips of her middle fingers, “Oh lovey, my word. No, no, never you fret. My family is Catholic but I’m an agnostic lesbian married to a Witch raising a child out of what Catholicism would consider wedlock.”

“Agnostic?” Narcissa questioned curiously.

“I acknowledge there might be a higher power, but I’ll need them to pop over for tea and explain just how worship of them benefits me and mine before I start paying credence to them,” Millie neatly summarized. “You can reference whoever you care to love, Minnie’s got gods she worships, Angel’s got her own measures of faith. I believe in compassion, myself, and my girls, that’s what guides and gets me through life, if your gods do the same for you? I’m happy you have them.”

Narcissa nodded. “I was saying your daughter is quite the splendid chef.”

“She really is, don’t know where she gets it, I’m hopeless, Minnie knows her way around a kitchen but Angel just has such a knack for it, always has, even her little Easy-Bake Oven cakes coming up were to die for. We keep her rolling in fresh ingredients and spices and she spoils us whenever she’s got the time to cook.”

“Is it something she’s considering a future career in?” Narcissa wondered, Merlin, she could think of a handful of star-awarded chefs who would...offer up resistance, reluctance, but in truth be absolutely delighted and excited to mold a chef with so much natural talent and potential were Narcissa to speak a word in their ear, and they were to try the girl’s cooking, themselves.

“Oh, you know how the youths are,” Minerva chuckled, “She’s being pulled in about a hundred different directions it feels like, most days. Cooking, professional soccer, she’s a heart for activism in the host of her communities, for women of color, people of color, the rights and protections for those who are disabled. We can’t keep her from a protest for LGBT rights. And she got a taste for officiating our vow renewal, if-”

 _“When,”_ Minerva assured her wife as she placed a hand over her own on the arm of her chair.

 _“When_ we’ve the legal right to marry, Angel has an interest in truly being ordained so she might officiate same-sex marriages.”

Merlin that...sounded more or less as muddled as Hermione’s own talk of her future study. Post Hogwarts she’d a variety of interests she wished to pursue, several differing ideals for her future she’d the freedom to explore. Options, just as Angela apparently had and felt free to pursue. It...well it struck Narcissa she’d never felt such freedom before. Never, in her youth, had she held dreams or aspirations outside the realm of that which was given to her, her path had always been laid out before her, strict and planned and she’d always been so convinced it was a path she was glad to follow. She never once thought outside the realm of doing anything other than becoming Lucius’s wife, rearing their children, ultimately child. Was that...abnormal? Or some...further form of abuse? That she’d been so thoroughly conditioned, held to such a strict standard, that she was wholly incapable of even _dreaming_ to do otherwise? Could she have had aspirations? Would she have been capable of more original thought in her youth, had her life taken a different course?

...she did not lament where her life had taken her. She mightn’t have dreamed of teaching, but she thrived as such. She certainly never dreamed of love after Lucius, let alone to a Muggleborn, or kinship with the Head of Gryffindor house. But both things suited her more than she could be capable of imagining.

It wouldn’t be until quite some time later, that she would realize she’d slipped her hand over the one resting lax beside her on the loveseat.

“Oh, that would be beautiful to have your daughter officiate your own legal non-magical marriage,” Narcissa said.

“Would you marry me a third time?” Millie wondered to her wife.

“I rededicate myself to you daily. A formal ceremony celebrating that fact?” Minerva gave it a bare moment’s thought before offering in conspiring assurance, “I find that more than agreeable.”

“And here I’ve only been rededicating myself to you when I forgive you for mocking my culinary prowess.”

“A near daily occurrence so I suppose that suits,” Minerva teased with a wink. And then, “Millie, my love, we’ve Order business to discuss, I must ask that you give us privacy.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” was her wife's returned refusal, sipping at her tea.

“Oh dear, well, I did try,” Minerva supposed, smiling her approval as she looked to Hermione and Narcissa, “did I not make a most valid effort?”

“Oh absolutely,” Hermione assured, nodding her agreement, as if in conspiracy with her Head of House. Whatever was on?

Ahh. Oh, how very Slytherin! Her entire motivation for inviting them there laid with Minerva...not technically being allowed to discuss the Order’s business _with_ her wife. She could, however, not help it at all if she was overheard discussing the topic with their guests, two members of the Order she was putting in the after-hours effort to work with, for their cause.

To bring her wife assurance, that she’d not been assigned some perilous task, keep her appraised to the mission at hand, and just how involved she would be...reinforcement for the reasonings behind their home’s securities. Though Minerva did take pause as the thought occurred to her to ensure,

“We can...speak of this, in your presence, yes, Narcissa?”

“Of course we can!” Hermione was swift to ensure, voice heated with insult on Narcissa’s behalf, “Narcissa wouldn’t-”

“Miss Granger,” Minerva huffed a laugh, “I meant her vows.”

The younger Witch deflated at that, blushing. “Oh. Er, sorry.”

“So long as we stick to what we learned tonight and the mission moving forward...maintaining no direct speech saying this is an effort to stop the person I aid, specifically, there should be no issue. If there need be talk of that, in direct terms? Allow Miss Granger to handle as much.”

Minerva nodded at that, vaguely curious, she had wondered why Hermione felt safe mentioning Miss Parkinson by name in their meeting, speak of swaying her allegiance before Narcissa. She drew the conclusion that perhaps it was Miss Granger’s status as a student that offered her protection, or perhaps...it seemed to dawn on her then, that Narcissa’s earliest most gift of points to the girl might have been prompted by her rescue and care of Draco when he defected, that Narcissa had dedicated herself, magically, to not bring harm to those who aided her son. It was near enough in correctness without touching the truth of the matter, that Narcissa did not feel compelled to offer correction.

Millie twisted dark hair between her fingers, grimacing as Minerva informed Narcissa and Hermione...her wife by her remaining seated at her side, that if the Order did not move the Cabinet from Hogwarts, she planned to close the Floo connection between her home and the school before the Order executed its plan to capture those seeking to infiltrate their institution. It was the first time as they spoke that she interjected herself in their conversation.

“What if you need to escape?” she fretted.

“Oh!” Minerva said as if startled, “Millie, I didn’t realize you were listening-”

“I’m serious, Min. Angel and I could be out of the house if you’re worried-”

“Darling, we have several different plans of escape for any given mission, safehouses at our disposal. I would hardly lead them here, regardless. This is our _home_ , the only one Angela has ever known. If we needed to uproot, yes, we could, she would learn the layout of a new house, but I will do everything in my power to keep us here.”

It was then Narcissa was made aware she’d taken Hermione’s hand in her own, because the younger Witch’s hand slipped out from under hers. “I might have an idea, Professor, if you’d give me a moment?”

Minerva nodded, “Of course, Miss Granger.”

Narcissa shouldn’t have felt perplexed when the younger Witch summoned her journal, but she was seated right here! Was she seeking confirmations on events of the future with Narcissa’s future self?

Oh. There was a moment of writing, a few instances of back and forth between Hermione and the future’s Narcissa, before the girl looked up from her journal to the Witch at her side, putting her line of thinking, her inquiries and answers into her faux wall.

“Oh you most brilliant Witch,” Narcissa breathed her utter approval, face warming when she realized perhaps that was a touch too affectionate. She cleared her throat, seeking to explain as she looked to the couple across from them, “Miss Granger has devised a way we can ward your home from Death Eater entry.”

“We develop it together,” Hermione insisted. And then she startled as she spoke in future tense. “Developed,” she laughed nervously.

Minerva merely looked amused, raising a brow as she said, “I must say, I’m rather surprised you can form coherent sentences at this point, let alone devise such brilliant plans. Miss Granger, I do understand that you are of Age, curfew is my only domain, I can’t much instill you with a bedtime I must insist you take a break from burning the midnight oil in our common room and instead...sleep.”

Narcissa’s stomach dropped. “You’ve not slept?” she worried, looking to the shying younger Witch. “Darling is it the nightmares? You were absolutely to come to me if they plague you, make you incapable of resting, that is our understanding.”

Oh. Merlin above. Perhaps it was better, when she found herself incapable of speaking up on the girl’s behalf, like she had earlier this evening. If she didn’t speak, she couldn’t reveal personal perils Hermione would prefer remain private. Oh gods, if she revealed something so personal to outsiders, with Lucius in her stead?

There was a hand in hers immediately, squeezing, not harshly, but tight, grounding, “Hey. It's okay...everyone has nightmares,” Hermione was offering assurance, catching Narcissa’s eye, pressing her thoughts to the older Witch’s mind to assure, _I’m not mad._

 _...you aren't?_ Narcissa’s thoughts wondered in return.

_Not at you._

_...then...at someone?_

The girl nodded slightly. _Me. That my ethos about our relationship keeps us from acting on anything for..._ her gaze dropped to her wrist watch. _17 days, 4 hours and 26 minutes. If I wasn’t such a goody two-shoes, I’d drag you off to the good professor’s bathroom, snog you proper to prove I’m not upset with you. Oh well, I suppose we’ll soldier on._ Oh, there was such amusement in her mind as she thought, _You’re really pretty when you blush._

And then the traitorous Witch looked to Minerva and offered, “I’ve been having nightmares about Samhain, when my magic was attacked. Narcissa...understands the magic involved, is able to to give me actual verifiable assurances that it won’t happen again, when my brain tells me otherwise,” she explained, as if to assure her Head of House that she _would_ have come to her, it was a matter of realm-of-knowledge, not a lack of trust in Minerva’s care, that being incapable of sleep due to nightmares sent her seeking the potion’s Mistress. “That’s not what’s kept me up, I just...don’t want to bother the other girls trying to sleep, by studying in the dorm. Too knackered to absorb much of anything tonight, so yeah, I’ll go to bed earlier than I have been.”

Minerva regarded their joint hands momentarily, Occlusion back in full force, and then, “Well...you are working rather hard to remove potions from your curriculum. You usually do wish to adhere to the rules...I...trust you _are_ adhering to them?” Hermione blushed softly, nodding. “Well. I can hardly take issue. How old are you, dear?” she wondered to her wife, “Twenty two?”

“I am every day of forty-fivel!” Millie offered in argument. “You’re only ten years older than me, you cradle robber!”

“Oh, I thefted you from the cradle, did I?” Minerva wondered as if that was the first she’d heard of it, “and here I thought it was your unrelenting pursuit of me for the better part of four years, that led to your capture of _me_.”

“I pursue you to this day, Minerva McGonagall! For the _best_ part of these past twenty five years!” and then she looked to Hermione, “Minnie’s always going on about how brilliant you are. You and Narcissa have developed a way to ward against Death Eaters?”

“Yes. We can do it here if we have your permission to? May I examine the wards you have on your house already?”

“Absolutely,” Minerva readily agreed, “I- shall I give you a tour, Miss Granger? Narcissa?”

“Please,” Hermione said, jumping to her feet, drawing her wand.

“Certainly,” Narcissa agreed.

“Can I watch?” Millie whispered to her wife with some interest.

“I don’t see why not,” Minerva supposed with some amusement at her wife’s enthusiasm to see magic at work even after spending a majority of her life married to a Witch who practiced rather regularly before her wife and daughter.

They led them through the home, Hermione casting to examine their wards, test them to take note of how they reacted. The kitchen was much smaller than any she’d seen, save her own in her quarters in Hogwarts. There was an assortment of paper tacked to the...bizarre cabinet that hissed at Narcissa as she passed, sent her gasping quietly and grasping at the nearest wrist. Hermione was focused...watching and listening to the warding, her casting sending the sounds they made in response to her diagnosis and testing spells chiming directly in the younger Witch’s ears, she’d not heard Narcissa’s fright but the woman grasping hold of her gave her reason enough to spare her a glance she used to offer her a reassuring smile and slip her wrist from her hold to take hold of the woman’s hand. 

“What’s up, hun?” Millie wondered, looking to Narcissa. “Oh...Minnie said you don’t have a lot of experience with the non-magical world. That’s just the refrigerator. It keeps foodstuff cold, freezes things in order to preserve them.”

Oh. It preserved things and...hissed to ward off any who might tamper with their food? Did it think Narcissa some enemy? Surely it didn’t think such a thing of Miss Granger?

All the same, Narcissa moved from trailing just behind the girl to walking at her side, putting herself between she and the ‘refrigerator’ in the event it raised defense.

It wasn’t until they returned from the upstairs, to the foyer that Narcissa realized she herself had been distracted, listening to Millie offer information as they passed through their home on the differing technologies Narcissa mightn’t know about, something called a ‘telly’, which the future’s Miss Granger had already teased her was something she would come to adore, though she didn’t know why, it wasn’t exactly a work of art, the large wooden box thing with a strange glass face Millie pointed out. They’d laid eyes on every room of the house, cracking open the door to their daughter’s bedroom just enough for Hermione to examine any specific wards Minerva had placed there, to alert her if her daughter’d need in the night and too, something of an alarm that was meant to wake the girl on time, gently rouse her in the mornings by casting breeze through the room, fill it with false sunlight the girl could perceive, as opposed to the blare of a muggle alarm startling her awake, a sweet bit of magic Hermione examined the intricateness of, how everything was wound and woven in the room before turning back into the hall to resume their tour. Ahh, but yes, distracted. Narcissa didn’t realize as much, until they were at the bottom of the stairs and...the pulling sensation she’d been feeling in her forearm and letting go unnoticed, grew.

Oh honestly. It was wise, they could seek their future selves guidance on when Death Eaters infiltrated the school in their timeline but...that was _their_ timeline. Pansy Parkinson could take up some inspiration tomorrow eve that spawned the cabinet fully repaired and have Death Eaters descending upon this home before they could execute plans to return to ward it.

“Darling, have you need of assistance?” Narcissa fretted.

“Almost done,” Hermione said, before looking to Minerva, “Professor, if I might borrow just a bit of your magic, a moment? I’m weaving the magic from the Mark into my warding so it knows what to expel, but your house mightn’t accept my wards since it's only familiar with your signature. Having some of your magic involved will mesh them securely.”

“Oh!” Minerva said, startled before she tentatively reached out to rest a hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

There was the feeling of magic settling around them, and Narcissa watched as the wards accepted their new protections with little hesitance.

“...did it work?” Millie wondered. Oh, she was exasperated with herself, that she’d expected something more impressive in execution than merely watching the girl walk around her house with a stick in hand, but she’d not been able to see just what the Witch had truly been doing, the lines of protection she’d drawn throughout her home. Minerva regarded Narcissa with some confusion, that the woman wasn’t being compelled or...ejected from the home, caught between the conclusion that either somehow the casting had failed or it allowed Narcissa’s presence because it was her Mark that had been used.

“Hermione’s casting is certain, Minerva,” Narcissa assured, “but if you wish a test...you could always invite dear Severus through your Floo. I only ask you inform me ahead of time and allow me access to your quarters at Hogwarts, that I might witness his fantastical eviction from the network, endeavoring to enter your home.”

“Ahh, perhaps for Christmas,” Minerva supposed with some amusement.

“You okay honey?” Millie voiced gentle concern, her gaze on Hermione drawing Narcissa’s eyes to the girl who nodded as she leaned her head to rest against Narcissa’s arm.

“Just tired,” she said, assuring, “Everything looks like it's holding well but if it slips or you feel uncertain about it, don’t hesitate to have me check. You’re safe, and I want you to feel that way.”

“Oh God, she’s like a miniature you,” Millie whispered to her wife.

Minerva’s gaze on them softened, “Thank you, both of you. I can escort you back, but you’re free to use my Floo yourselves,” the woman offered, extending trust.

Trust that was dearly tested, oh it took everything not to cross some boundary with the younger Witch the moment they appeared alone in the quarters allotted to Gryffindor’s Head of House. They were pleasant, a bit bigger than Narcissa’s own, that might have been due to her station, or the size of her family. She’d caught a few impressions from the minds she was with tonight that the McGonagall’s did spend time here together, when they’d all breaks, time off. Yule and a few weeks in the Summers, one at its beginning, a few at its end before the start of term, so Minerva could keep to her duties to the school while maintaining relaxation with her family. Approaching from the outside, yes, Muggles held some difficulty perceiving the school for what it was, but being given inside access, entering the school from the inside, made it so Millie could see her wife’s quarters plainly, her daughter did not hear wind whipping through aging ruins*.

She did wrap an arm around the younger Witch, but that was...well she’d not swayed so much as caught her footing when they emerged from the Floo, but it was better safe than sorry, was it not? “Darling?” Narcissa softly questioned, drawing the girl’s face up by her chin so she looked the older Witch in the eye. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”

“I’m okay. Definitely sleeping in tomorrow.”

“If you were to join me in my quarters you’d have no reason at all to rise to go to the Great Hall for breakfast.”

“Narcissa Black,” the girl smiled as she reprimanded the older Witch. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Darling...I really must apologize for tonight.”

“...the...part where we got to sit together? Hold hands?” she questioned with some confusion, “Or do you mean you’re sorry we warded McGonagall’s family home because, yeah I feel just wretched about it too-”

“You were disparriaged!” Narcissa lamented, “You were insulted egregiously by Alastor Moody, that- that _Doge_ fellow was unpleasant as well and- I said _nothing-_ ”

“You didn’t have to? Everyone was on Moody for being a creep,” Hermione shivered, “and Doge is just a prick, he was more so to you-”

“And you defended me! Immediately without question. If Lucius had appeared less than a foot from my person, you would have-”

“He’d be through a wall. Because he’s _hurt you_ Narcissa. And who knows what he might take it into his head to do when it comes to you, he might think he can get away with it, in your case, even with the Order at hand. With me...he was in my territory, full of allies he can feel certain would defend me. And one of those allies is _you,_ Narcissa. I _know_ if he’d actually _done_ something? He’d be toast.”

He would be dead, Narcissa hoped. “I should have done more.”

“Narcissa...when’s the last time you spoke up in a meeting with the Dark Lord?”

“...never, dear. I’m hardly suicidal.”

“So your only experience with meetings like the Order’s are...well, none really, but the only experience you can relate it to? Is _that_ . You speak when you’re spoken to. That’s exactly what you did tonight. Tonks started chatting you up? You talked. Mcgonagall, the Headmaster? You were set. _They_ initiated space for you to feel safe to speak in. Someone directed garbage at me? Well, they weren’t speaking to you, were they? That’s...well I’d snap at anyone being vile to you, but I know you can hold your own. But part of why I spoke up for you, is because you mightn’t feel you can stick up for yourself, that it would be speaking out of turn and bear consequences you didn’t feel like risking for you. If someone says something nasty to you in a Death Eater meeting I’m sure you just have to take it.” She usually had to be grateful. Consider degradation, to be correction.

“Miss Granger.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“I would very much like to kiss you.”

“I would very much like to kiss you,” the younger Witch softly assured. And then she smiled, full of mischief. “So...I’ll see if thinking about it a great deal before bed influences my dreams to manifest as much where it's perfectly respectable,” she said, stepping from Narcissa’s hold and moving for the door.

“Miss Granger!” Narcissa complained. 

The younger Witch smiled over her shoulder. “What?” she wondered laughingly, drawing the door open to take her leave, “Have a pleasant evening, Professor.”

“You as well, my darling. Get some rest.”

There was precious little time for resting. The next several weeks were some of the busiest Narcissa had endured in quite some time, even yule seasons of past held less hectic schedules. Planning and attending yule festivities had always come with the aid of House Elves. Here she...well nothing quite so festive, but grading piled up, she’d a great many students seeking aid with upcoming mid-year exams. Hermione’s need of tutelage was the only opportunity they had to seek each other out, in person, the hour or so a day she could join her in her office every day, a mix of business with almost torturous pleasure, though truly, their work kept them well occupied, that of their joint effort in the girl’s comprehension of Sixth-Year Potions, and...the efforts for the Order. There was one day, in particular the girl came in with her mind open to Narcissa, revealing her previous evening’s affair.

_Ron and Hermione had only just walked Draco back to Slytherin, Pansy had gone off at the end of their rounds and...as far as they were concerned she was part of why they felt the need to still see their friend was safely returned to his House, so that sorted. She usually either hung back or went on ahead to avoid walking with them when their routes came together at the end of rounds. They were nearly back to Gryffindor Tower when the low foreboding chime rang in her ear. What? She’d needed to differentiate between her other journals and...Pansy’s parchment._

Ditch Weasel. Astronomy Tower.

_“Hey Ron, did Blaise seem down about something earlier?”_

_“Huh? Oh, yeah. Something’s up, he won’t talk to me though,” Ron said, brow furrowed with worry as he wrenched a hand at the back of his neck. “Wish he would...you...you don’t think it’s ‘cause of um...what we talked about at Hogsmeade? Oh man, if- if I messed that up-”_

_“No, Ron! I...I didn’t hear anything out of line, Blaise didn’t seem upset at all with that. That was the weekend, something seemed up with him, you know. Today. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it because we were there? Were you able to catch him alone?”_

_“Not really…” he grabbed her hand to draw her wristwatch up to see the time. “I’ll head back after we get to the Tower-”_

_“Go. I’ll be fine,” Hermione assured. “Let me know how things go.”_

_“You sure?” and when she nodded, “Thanks, ‘mione,” he said, turning on his heel and bolting down the hall._

_She pulled her journal to the Future’s Narcissa from her bag, writing as she walked._ Hey, are you with future me right now? I need a favor.

Name it darling. What can I do?

Ask her to keep an eye on her memories right now? You’re...well, you know where you are. _She’d merely been taking the evening to grade! Holed up in her office the whole of the evening, taking her dinner there, she could have withstood interruption!_ I don’t want to disturb you needlessly but I promised I wouldn’t handle it alone if Pansy calls me. She wants to meet, if my future self remembers anything going sideways, have her contact present-you?

Miss Granger I assure you I did mean for you to be better armed with allies when pursuing liaison with Miss Parkinson. I will do as you’ve asked but I am also writing Harry to join you, maintain his distance but being near at hand and prepared to aid you should this be a trap. Please be careful darling. 

Will do. _She must have been because Narcissa’d no message on the topic._

_Pansy Parkinson was standing at the very top level of the deserted Astronomy Tower, leaning against the side of the lookout, over the campus below. She startled when Hermione approached, wand whipping from her sleeve to level at the Witch who held up her hands to show she’d no wand at play._

_“Fuck. S…” perhaps it might have been the start of an apology but she opted for, “Startled me, Granger.”_

_“Next time I’ll wear a bell,” Hermione snarked. Then, “...you wanted to talk? Or are you hurt?”_

_“Got anything decent in your ugly bag?”_

_“No. But my perfectly wonderful messenger bag has...an orange and two granola bars. Water?”_

_They ended up seating themselves at the tower’s edge, Hermione, to Narcissa’s relief, seating herself safely from the very edge of their location, Pansy seating herself with one leg curled beneath her, the other hanging- ugh. It was such a terrible drop. There were wards, students couldn’t fall from such purchase, but it was still a terrifying sight, spoke to danger that wasn’t there. Pansy ate a few orange slices, eyeing the granola bars Hermione left in offering before her as she sipped at the canteen of water._

_“Why don’t you cast Aguamenti?”_

_“Wand checks.”_

_“And? There’s any number of reasons you could cast-”_

_“Yeah well, the real one feels obvious to me, and I’m not risking...I can’t let them know I’m scared.”_

_“...having evidence you’ve been avoiding potential poisoning might...let them in on that,” Hermione supposed. “Pansy, why...why would they try to poison you?”_

_“I’m not moving fast enough.”_

_“So slowing you down by putting you in Hospital is-”_

_“Punishing me to kick my ass into gear once I’ve recovered might seem faster to them.”_

_Hermione nodded. Alright yeah, that might be a thing. “I could have someone on the Elf staff make sure...Pansy they already watch out for things like that, tampering and the like. No one would let something like that through.”_

_“Like the Elves give a fuck what happens to me.”_

_“Dobby would. If I asked, he’d make sure your food and drink aren’t messed with.”_

_“Who the hell- you mean the Malfoy’s defect Elf?”_

_“The very one.”_

_“You know his name?”_

_“I know your name, don’t I? And I don’t even like you. Dobby’s actually nice to me.”_

_“I am being nice to you Granger. You’re still sitting up here with me and not dropping to your death as we speak. I haven’t even called you mudblood yet.”_

_“Oh my God, you’re over a thousand years old? Well that explains your attitude, being a cranky old bitch. Huh, you’d think founding Hufflepuff you’d be mellower.”_

_“What?”_

_“Helga Hufflepuff warded the Astronomy Tower in 993.”_

_“Whatever,” Pansy scoffed. And then the girl was nervous, bringing up another Hufflepuff, “...you um...you talk to Finch-Fletchley any?”_

_“Justin?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“...um...I mean Muggleborns don’t all know each other, Pansy. We don’t have a social club or anything.”_

_“Well_ sorry _I don’t have your social calender memorized.”_

_“You...Draco made some sort of remark, about you dating?”_

_“Past tense. It wasn’t...we weren’t da- it was just-”_

_“Why are you asking?”_

_“I just...wondered how he was today, that’s all,” she said quietly, gaze directed to her lap as she fidgeted with the wrapper of a granola bar._

_“...did something happen?”_

_“Something was supposed to.”_

_“Pansy?” oh hell she- those were tears! She was crying! “Hey, what- what’s wrong?”_

_“If you tell anyone Granger, anything about_ anything _, I’ll kill you.”_

_“Deal. Hey, come on, you...you wanted to talk about...this? I offered, and I mean it when I say things. Come on. I’ll listen. What...what was supposed to happen? I won’t tell anyone.”_

She didn’t, not even Narcissa. Her mind pulled away from that portion of memory, the younger Witch refocusing trying to sort through to get to the next bit of pressing information she felt Narcissa should see but...well. Regardless, Narcissa’d the appropriate context, when she considered it. It was early December…

The child she’d been...encouraged to...possibly made to, Narcissa now realized...abort at the start of Summer break, conceived months prior with the aid of an unnamed Hufflepuff, according to Rowena Parkinson. She...could have been welcoming that life into the world now, Narcissa supposed. Oh Merlin, she did have some compassion for the girl on the matter. She was terribly young, it was such an awful burden to bear especially if there had been something of love, longing for the option to...maintain that life. How could Rowena- she knew how, she’d not wanted her bloodline tarnished. But if her daughter had- it was a difficult thing, foolish even, but that did not make it _wrong_. It just made it difficult. Raising a child at any age was a feat, her youth would complicate things, her...personality was another, but that was not for Narcissa or anyone, truly, to judge. If she had wanted that for herself...she should have been allowed to pursue it.

_Hermione felt sick. She was seated nearer the edge now to hold Pansy’s hand, but Narcissa was certain it was not her fear of heights making her feel ill. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Does...Justin…”_

_“He knew. Was excited. I might’ve been too I dunno,” Pansy shrugged, wiping furiously at her face with the back of her sleeve. “We haven’t...talked much since start of term. He doesn’t...he doesn’t want me working with…”_

_“The group of people who would gladly see him and his family tortured to death?” Hermione offered deadpan._

_“Yeah,” Pansy blew out a sigh. “I...I know maybe...maybe they aren’t right. I know people don’t...deserve to die just because of Blood. That...there isn’t much difference, magically, between us. But Muggles,” she shuddered. “I mean how did your parents handle you being a Witch? They didn’t try to turn you over to the Church or kill you or anything? Justin says his freaked whenever he did magic but...they didn’t try to hurt him or anything and that sounds…”_

_“...no one much goes hunting Witches anymore. My parents were always a little thrown by wild magic but they never got upset with me over it. And when it was finally explained that I was a Witch...for them, it felt right, like something clicking into place, ‘yeah, she’s a Witch, that explains’...well, a great many of the things they loved about me.”_

_“Don’t…” Pansy worried at her lip, “You-Know-Who um...he’d hurt them, you know. If he could. Had people on it, looking for them but it never turned up anything. Just...you should keep your guard up.”_

_“Yeah I um...I know. Thank you for warning me though.” Pansy just shrugged, still refusing to look at her. “Justin’s really sweet. And it sounds like he loves you.”_

_“Shut up, he does not!”_

_“Slytherins are real messed up when it comes to the ‘L’ word, huh? Seems like a problem with Purebloods, really. Pansy...he loves you, it's okay to love him back. It's okay to want differently from your family, from your leaders.”_

_“That’s easy for you to say.”_

_“It is. I was blessed to be born to people who’ve always given me the freedom to do what I think is right. To find myself allied to the side of the War that matches my moral alignment. It’s hard to step away and do what you feel is right, Draco’s proof of that.”_

_“He...he defied the Dark Lord...to his_ face! _He’s- he’s an idiot and...and I...I could never be…”_

_“That stupid?”_

_“That brave.”_

_“You’re talking to me right now, that took courage. And sitting high in the Astronomy Tower, like, I know we can’t fall but…” she shivered, “not a fan of heights. So, you’re braver than even me, on that count.”_

_“Oh…” Pansy looked over the edge of where they were seated and then back to the other Witch, sniffling as she scooted closer, enough to prompt Hermione to scoot back so they were further from the edge. “I’ll um...pick somewhere better next time. If- if there is-”_

_“I’ll appreciate it.”_

_“Could’ve said-”_

_“You might have changed your mind about seeing me.”_

_“So?”_

_“...I’m glad you reached out, Pansy.”_

_“Whatever. This is stupid I don’t even...I don’t know why I did, really.”_

_“I lured you with snacks, if you think about it. Now that you’ll have Dobby watching over your food and drink…I guess I’ll have to rely on the fact you might actually want to make a change.”_

_“Don’t count on it.”_

_“Don’t tell me what to do.”_

_“You’re a lunatic. Seriously, I think you give Lovegood a run for her money.”_

_“How much money are we talking?”_

_Pansy stared at her for all of a minute before a smile twitched at her lips and she broke out into laughter that had her throwing her head back to expel her exuberance before disolving into giggles she sought to stifle, “Stupid...you’re so stupid, Granger.” She shook her head, “This was stupid,” she supposed._

_Hermione shrugged. “Maybe. But if you ever need it again, you know how to reach me.” and… “the Professor, too.”_

“I just- you’re who she’s directly working with and...she’s petrified, Narcissa, feels like everyones watching her every move and _you’re_ actually in charge of that. Realizing...you’re really on _her_ side might make all the difference. You know?” she licked her lips, nervous as she averted her gaze. “I...I don’t want to put you in more danger, oh God, if- if she takes that-” she struggled to find her words momentarily, “I hope I worded it carefully enough she can’t take that to someone on the other side and hurt you with it.”

“You were splendid, darling. I will do my utmost to assist your effort, it is tenuous, we’ve...a relationship where we must be guarded from one another, for fear we might report any perceived weakness to the Dark Lord. I hope your talk lent to her understanding, that she might, in time, know she could have a true ally in me, if she chose to cease working to aid the Dark Lord.”

"I feel awful for her," Hermione confessed, lip quivering as the hands Narcissa had taken hold of trembled. “God, her parents are just vile.” 

Narcissa could not abstain from pulling the younger Witch into her hold, wrapping her arms around Hermione to offer comfort. Merlin, she loved this Witch. “We will do whatever we can, whatever is in our power, to aid her. Darling, we are working together in this endeavor, are we not?” she felt the girl nod against her shoulder. “There is nothing we are incapable of, when we work as one.”

Hermione sniffled softly, nodding again. “Yeah. Yeah there isn’t,” she agreed, relaxing momentarily before she sighed and pulled away, “Thanks,” on her lips before they were pulled into a brilliant smile, utter warmth in her gaze as she looked on Narcissa’s face and let loose a peal of giggles.

“Darling?”

Hermione shook her head, smiling brightening as she reached a hand to rest on Narcissa’s jaw, thumb brushing at the corner of her mouth in a movement that had Narcissa’s throat going dry, staring at the girl in waiting anticipation, thinking she might be about to break the boundaries she’d set when Hermione amusedly questioned, “Chewing on your quills again, Professor?”

...quills? “...perhaps?”

The girl giggled, pulling her hand away only to lick at her thumb and then return it, brushing at the edge of the older Witch’s lips- oh. “Looks like it, just a bit of ink is all but...there,” she said, meeting Narcissa’s gaze. “All better.”

The...the 20th...could _not_ arrive soon enough. Merlin, the only thing that made her capable of rational thought, of resuming her day when Miss Granger offered such torment and then took her leave...was Mister Zabini storming her office demanding advice, of a most unacademic sort.

“You have to stop mother!” was the sentence that just barely preceded the sound of her office door _slamming_ against the wall, causing her to jump in her seat, Merlin!

“Mister Zabini! Control yourself!”

“Th- this is an emergency!” the boy insisted, albeit apologetic, “I...I didn’t mean to startle- can- may I come in, Lady Black?”

“Professor, please, and yes. Darling do come in, sit down and take a deep breath. Whatever is the matter?”

Blaise closed the door gently behind him before carefully taking the offered chair across her desk from her own, hands clenching into fists in his lap as he tried to cease their trembling.

“Darling...has something happened?”

“Mother wants to meet Ron.”

“...yes darling, she’s said as much…”

“She wants to have him _over!_ For _Christmas!”_

“Blaise, adore you though I do, I’m not seeing the issue at hand, and your dramatics-”

“It isn’t dramatic! He’s Ronald _Weasley_ ! He’s not- he’s not the sort of person mother expected me to pursue, I’m her _mimo_ , she’s going to _kill him!_ And I- I- can’t- he-” Blaise stammered out before shouting, “I can’t lose him! He’s _perfect_ and _I- I-!”_

_Blaise was nervous as he entered Three Broomsticks, he didn’t need more than a second’s glance to spot the blazing beacon that was his boyfriend. Brilliant red hair...brilliant smile that broke out on his face the moment he saw Blaise approaching._

_“Saved you a seat,” he said, rising to his feet to greet him, a warm hand on Blaise’s arm, lips against his momentarily before he gestured for Blaise to take the chair across from his. “Ordered for you, if that’s alright? Warmed butterbeer, dash of cinnamon. It’s wicked cold out today, and you sounded a little stuffy at breakfast and I know you don’t like getting sick...well, no one does but,” he shrugged, blushing, nervous. “Mum gives us something similar to keep from catching cold, clears my head right up faster than Pepper Up.”_

_Would it? Yeah, he uh...got colds easy, not the viral sort so much as just, rubbish congestion that always drained into his chest, and it wasn’t sexy or wise to continuously dose pepper-up. Preventing them was the best route. And… “Thanks, yeah colds aren’t fun...can’t bind* when my chest is congested.”_

_“Bind?”_

_“My chest. To make it appear flat. That’s...that’s why we stopped, the other day. I...didn’t want you to see it, without proper context first.”_

_“Stop...oh,” he blushed, “I...I was a little worried I’d done something. You didn’t want me to see your...binding? That...doesn’t sound very comfortable-”_

_“Believe me I’m much more comfortable than I would be without it.”_

_“Really?”_

_“I- I-”_

_“Hey. It’s okay,” Ron assured, reaching to take Blaise’s hand resting on the tabletop, “...honey, why’re you so nervous? It’s me. I don’t care what you wear. You could show up in a cloth sack with a sock on your head, as long as you’re happy?” damn it, Weasley smiled even wider, when a smile tugged at Blaise’s lips. “You’re the handsomest Wizard I’ve ever seen.”_

_“I was designated Witch at Birth,” shot from his lips half-bidden. He wanted to say it just- not quite so nervous, delivered like a spell cast in haste, nothing calm or smooth or graceful to soften the statement._

_“Really?” Ron asked with some amusement. “Huh. Healers can make mistakes too I guess. You know my hair was stark white when I was first born?” he shared conversationally, “Didn’t turn red until I was a few months old, threw mum and dad for a right loop.”_

_“No Ron it- I- it was a mistake but- well they couldn’t know any different at the time. For all they could account for I...was most likely a Witch.”_

_It was something agonizing to watch it click into place, realization dawn in the ginger boy’s face. Oh Merlin he felt sick, this was stupid, foolish, he shouldn’t- he shouldn’t have gotten involved with him. At least this was happening now. Yes. Before things went too far, before he couldn’t recover. Breaking up now would-_

_“But...you’re_ _a Wizard,” Ron said as if to verify that he understood._

_“Yes. Just, I wasn’t considered one when I was born.”_

_He nodded slowly, working it around in his mind a moment more before he decided, “Well, the statement stands then,” Ron said, “Healers make mistakes. Glad it's sorted now. He/Him’s right, right? I haven’t been er...what’s it called? Misgeniuning you?”_

_“...misgendering, and er...no, you haven’t,” Blaise carefully assured._

_“Whew,” Ron heaved a sigh of relief, squeezing his hand, “thank Merlin. Thank_ you _, for er...trusting me.”_

_“You...you’re okay with everything? I’m...I don’t look- I bind and I-”_

_“Hey. Blaise. Love, you’re_ you. _Handsomest Wizard I’ve ever seen. I’ve never...before this yeah, Wizards never really did much for me, much. No bloke’s gonna just see Viktor Krum and not wonder if they’re jealous of him or the girl he’s with. Realizing I liked you er...well, at all, let alone as more than just for friendship, was a pretty big shock for everyone, especially me, finding myself er...liking blokes enough to get serious about one. I...had assumptions about you that uh, I thought I’d be phased by at first, but when I thought about it, I didn’t much care what you had going on underneath your clothes,” he huffed a soft laugh as he offered his conclusion that, “I just knew I really wanted to be the one taking them off you. This doesn’t change anything in that regard. Whatever you’ve got going on, if it's a part of you? I’ll love it, it's amazing,” he said, shrugging as he softly assured, “you’re amazing.”_

_“You’ll...love...”_

_“Well I love you, don’t I?” oh gods...oh gods that again. He’d said it before, just- just casually! ‘I love you’, just like that! He hadn’t even done anything just...they were lazing on a couch in the common room and Blaise snorted at some stupid pun the boy made and he was met with a declaration of love! And when all Blaise could do was stare at him like he’d grown a second head he realized what he said and...just smiled and promised he meant it, said it was ‘cool’ if he didn’t feel the same, couldn’t say it back yet. He was there already, and he’d wait for him. It was fine—he said as much, and he meant it, waiting was fine with him...because he loved him. “Only thing I don’t love is how much you’re pushing yourself with this, honey you’re obviously uncomfortable, I mean gods, you’re shaking,” he said, taking hold of both Blaise’s hands, squeezed to comfort, smoothing his thumbs along the back of his hands. “You...wanted to talk to me here because you were scared, right? Wanted to be in public? S’how Avery came out to their parents, but um...it's a bit too public for you to feel comfortable getting into everything, huh? It’s okay. You want everything out right now I’ll cast for privacy, Madam can be mad at me all she wants,” they weren’t technically supposed to be about much magic on their school trips, privacy wards were more likely to be used to conduct school disapproved mischief than anything else. “But if you’d rather not? We’ll get to everything in good time._ Our _time. This was a lot, you trust me, so let me prove I deserve it. Okay? Stop being a jerk to my boyfriend. Let him relax and enjoy his Butterbeer already. Calor*,” he softly incanted to warm Blaise’s drink again._

_“I love you.”_

_What the hell did Ronald Weasley need warming charms for when his smile could warm the world to Spring? Blaise was pretty sure they’d leave to find the snow sun-melted and earth-woken warm air on their skin when Ron smiled and steadily returned, “I love you too.”_

“She’s never going to approve of him and I-”

“Will calm down. Darling...your mother has only resorted to becoming a _suspect_ of murder in the event of unwanted union. She loved your father. She loves you. Once she sees Mister Weasley for who he is, that he has accepted you in full, loves you so? She’ll come to accept him. I can’t imagine your mother truly disliking any who love you.”

“I don’t...I don’t know. Gods I- Ron wants to come home with me and- I just need it to go well. I don’t want her convincing him to break up with me or worse.”

“Your mother would not do a thing in this world to hurt you!” Narcissa reprimanded. But, “I can speak a word in your mother’s ear, if it would soothe you, little Prince. I’m very pleased, the pair you make. I’ll make certain she knows as much.”

“...really?”

“Truly.”

“Yeah. Yeah if you um...talk to my mother, and think it's safe...I’ll feel better about it. Thank you, Professor Black.”

“We’re in my office...but it is private, and we’re discussing a personal matter. You may call me ‘Narcissa’ still, darling. We’ve lost no candor, I hope, these past few months?”

“As long as you can forgive me, for not making good on my word. You’ve been divorced over an entire month and I’ve not even thought of how I’m going to formally propose to you yet.”

“Oh darling, I believe you’ve your hands full with Mister Weasley.”

“Mother says you have a secret lover.”

“...a secret love, yes.”

“With Witchly pronouns, I’m told.”

“Indeed.”

“Mother’s practically dying of her curiosity.”

“Well she’s young for a Witch, but she’s had quite the spectacular, full life.”

“I’ll offer her your sympathies,” Blaise drawled, amused. 

Narcissa smiled warmly, nodding as she encouraged, “Please do.” And then there was a familiar pull on her magic...from the present’s Miss Granger, having written her. “If you’re well darling, there are matters I should attend to. Do have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

The days leading up to Winter holiday were full of her journal chiming throughout her waking hours, short, sweet messages from her darling wishing her a pleasant day, posing question if she found herself stumped while Narcissa was otherwise occupied—she’d written such a question the day her message came through at the end of the woman’s impromptu meeting with Mister Zabini—to...the occasional ‘platonic’ compliment that often met her each morning by the time she reached the head table, having walked the length of the center aisle through the front entry of the Great Hall. The 20th?

 _So...you_ _want_ _me to pass my exam, right? Because those trousers say otherwise, and the thigh-high boots are in absolute agreement with them. Aren’t you cold in that blouse?_

_Magic darling, I assure you I’m quite comfortable._

There was a bit of pause and then, _You’re certain I should test today? I’m ready? I could wait until start of term in the new year, spend winter hols dedicated to stu-_

_You will spend winter holiday dedicated to myself, and relaxation, I thank you kindly. Not a day more, Miss Granger, do you understand me? You will take your test and you will pass it, so help me. You’re well prepared._

_Well, I had a pretty great tutor. Smart, cunning. Not too bad in the looks-department, either. Tall, blond, devastatingly gorgeous. Definitely deserving of a kiss for their efforts._

Miss Granger wrote this. Caught Narcissa’s eye from her seat at Gryffindor table. And then smiled and turned her head to press a kiss to her son’s cheek.

Her offer of _Cheeky, Miss Granger._ Got her an audible hoot of laughter she caught from the head table, sent the girl giggling into her hand.

Fridays held three class periods for their Seventh Years, so Miss Granger entered the potions laboratory to the sight of excited Fourth Years, eager to be done with their final lesson before the start of Winter Holiday, their focus only rendered on the task at hand because of its theme.

Well. Their focus _had_ been rendered. A great many of her students looked up when, upon closing the laboratory door quietly behind her, a single student peered up from their project to see who intruded and greeted with great cheer, “Hermione!” which set off a ripple effect in her classroom, a cacophony of greetings to the Sixth Year Witch.

“Hallo, don’t let me distract you guys, you’re doing so great, whatever it is, smells...amazing,” she offered sweetly enough, the classroom did have...aroma to it. Pleasant if it wasn’t so very strong.

“Likewise do not be a distraction to Miss Granger, she is here for important testing,” Narcissa intoned from the head of the class, met with,

“Yes, Professor Black!”

 _Hermione_ , a Witch, Natalia Davidson, signed to the Gryffindor girl as she made to pass by, stopping to look to at the Slytherin.

“Yeah Nat?”

_Look look look, I organized my workstation before I started working like you told me to, it really helps, even Professor Black says I’m doing much better now! And the gloves you found me work so great! I can touch the stirring rods and things now. We’re making perfume and cologne for presents! Dads will share anyway so I’m just making them one, they like Sandalwood. I’m still making two though, smell?_

Hermione leaned forward when the girl pointed to the cauldron nearest the aisle, and took a careful sniff, “Oh wow! That smells great, your dads are missing out. You’re keeping it?”

She nodded, giggling and blushing, bouncing in place momentarily hands grasping and clenching in a reflexive move of habit the excitable Witch was prone to before she signed, _It's not for them. Good luck on your test!_ Her hands faltered momentarily as if she were thinking and then, _Remember to believe in yourself! You studied so you know that you know the material! Take deep breaths if you get overwhelmed...oh! Don’t be afraid to be wrong, second guessing yourself usually leads you to replacing the right answer with the wrong one anyway._

“Thanks Natalia. If I don’t see you before you leave, I hope you have a great holiday.”

_You too!_

“Professor Black,” Hermione greeted neutrally as she reached the head of the classroom.

“Miss Granger. If you’ll follow me,” she cleared her throat, “I expect things to continue as they have been, in my absence.”

“Yes, Professor Black,” the host of her students responded.

“This way,” Narcissa said, leading Hermione needlessly to her office, she’d been there nearly every day since her decision to take this test. With the door closed behind them she took hold of the girl’s wrist to still her from moving immediately to the side table. “I’ve cleared my desk and warded it soundly, you may use it for your testing, but the moment you are seated, observational wards will activate to monitor your testing. You have two hours in which you can complete the written portion, and three hours in which the whole will be used to successfully brew your three key potions, do remember-”

“I’ll start the one that will need most of the time allotted to brew before working on the others. I’ve got the timing down precisely,” she promised, offering upturned hands to reveal silvery stains on her fingers and palms, a few healing burns, places where she’d incidentally sliced her fingers in practice. Oh, her darling was utterly dedicated to this, had worked so hard. Narcissa took hold of her hands and rested her forehead against the younger Witch’s closing her eyes to offer up,

“You’ve studied, worked so very hard for this my darling. May Apollo bring you sufficient light, Vesta’s flame heat your cauldrons blazing, and Minerva lend you steady wisdom to guide and guard your precious hands. And so it is,” she affirmed, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead, hands squeezing before releasing them. And then she caught herself feeling amused with, “...Minerva herself will be along shortly, when the wards alert her you are on your final questions, to supervise your potions brewing should incident arise.” She would also be grading the girl’s written portion, a favor on their behalf as all things considered it would not be just for Narcissa to grade a test where a single answer could tip the balance between whether or not the younger Witch was freely hers. “And I will see you at dinner.”

“If I pass.”

“When you pass. And even should some entirely unlikely event occur...you’re still to join me, Miss Granger, is that clear? We will handle it, as in all things, together.”

Hermione smiled, taking a deep breath and nodding her agreement. “I love you.”

“I love you likewise.”

...she dearly loved when, as she resumed watch over her class...her day planner began filling with _Correct. Correct. Correct. Half-credit. Correct_...their future selves working together to offer confirmation the written portion of Hermione’s testing was going well, given that the future’s knew what the present’s was writing, and Narcissa’s future self knew well the answer key.

Her students were just beginning to clean up when Minerva entered the laboratory, nodding to the few who acknowledged her arrival, and she gave Narcissa an encouraging smile before slipping back to her office. Oh Merlin, she had to steal a glance at her day journal to look over the confirmations of how well the girl did to quell the panic she felt at the Deputy Headmistress arriving a mere hour later. Utter perfection, save perhaps two. Twenty five percent of her success rested with that, the rest? In her brewing.

There was soft tapping, an index finger against the edge of her workstation, sweet giggling when she looked up to see, “Ahh, hello Miss Davidson. I trust all is well?”

The girl blushed deeply, nodding as she signed, _Yes Professor Black. Hermione is still testing?_

“Yes dear.”

_Well I hope she does super super well! Will you tell her I say so, and hope she has a happy Christmas?_

“I suppose I could pass such sentiment along.”

 _Thanks! Um, daddies will pick me up tonight, so I won’t see her at dinner or the train tomorrow. But she says she’s not leaving yet for holiday...anyway! Here! This is for her!_ she signed, before withdrawing the glass bottle she had carefully tucked between her elbow and her body, resting it to clink softly against the countertop, an action she blinked at and repeated to produce the sound thrice more before she was satisfied, smiling shyly as she left the bottle of perfume be to explain, _She helped me a bunch this year so I wanted to thank her. I’m really glad she thinks it smells pretty!_

“I’ll make certain she receives your thoughtful gift. Have a pleasant holiday, Miss Davidson.”

_You too!_

She dedicated her next three hours to getting every last thing out of her way, anything that would intervene with her Holiday plans. Miss Granger would _not_ be leaving on the train to return to Kings Crossing, to the Burrow, just yet. Ronald would be leaving this evening with Blaise, departing to the Zabini’s manor in Italy, Draco and Harry were...departing on the train tomorrow, to be picked up at the station by Teddy Tonks. They would pay visit to Andromeda’s home and...then spend the first few days of their break with the Future’s Narcissa, Hermione.

The Present’s would remain at Hogwarts, until Christmas day drew nearer. And then she, along with Harry, Draco, and Mister Weasley would be reunited in the Weasley household for Christmas proper. Until then?

Oh gods she prayed her brewing held true. In the meantime...she was wholly consumed with her work, seeking to get as much grading finalized so she could reasonably spend the next few days dedicated to sweeter things until she was left alone in Slytherin dungeons, awaiting her students’ and...no-longer-student’s return from Winter break. Then she would still have a reasonable amount of work, to keep her occupied in the interim. 

There was a gentle rap at the laboratory door before Mister Potter’s head popped around the opening door and peered in, smiling his relief at finding a student-less classroom, being able to greet Narcissa with open warmth,

“Good evening, Professor!” he said as he approached, cheery...even as she caught the briefest glimpse of Draco seated at the end of a couch in the Tower’s common room, turned away from Harry, as if turning his back on him as he bitingly insisted,

_“No. For the last time, Harry, I’m not going with you. If you want to risk it, go ahead, but I won’t,” he sighed as if weary. “I know I sound like an ass just- just go without me.”_

_“Alright,” Harry relented. He understood, just...he didn’t like it, he felt badly, Draco taking such precautions. “I’ll tell her you say hi and er...you love her?”_

_“Yeah,” Draco softly replied, “Yes, please do.”_

“...good evening, Harry dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Narcissa greeted warmly in kind.

The boy blushed, shying as he raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, something warm in the forefront of his mind as he found himself abashed at her labeling a visit from him as something she enjoyed. “I...figure you’ll be busy with your holiday plans, Draco and I leave in the morning um...we mightn’t see you..er...before, so,” he shrugged. “I just wanted to drop in and see if you needed anything before we left, wish you a Happy Christmas. I...Draco insists it’ll work right but I’ve never gifted presents magically before, where they’re supposed to appear under the recipient's tree and uh...given the situation things might get mixed up. So, if you don’t get a present from me on Christmas, write me, okay? I promise I got you something. We both did! Draco says hi by the way, told me to tell you he loves you. Sorry he didn’t come with me he’s...” _stubborn,_ Mister Potter thought, before saying, “busy.”

Narcissa doled out a warm grin for the dear boy, reaching out to take hold of his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, “I’m honored you would think of me in your Christmas shopping, darling. I’ve every faith your present will appear, as will my own, for you, in the Weasley home. It will be unmarked but I’m most certain you’ll know well who it is from.”

“Oh...you- you got me a Christmas present? Really?!” the boy smiled wide and blinding, “Thanks, yeah I’ll look out for it. I’m sure I’ll love it, whatever it is.”

“Well of course darling, it’s Christmas. Presents are the done thing-” the sentence died in her throat as she was met with the memory of Harry’s first Christmas at...at Hogwarts. Almost wholly alone, but met with...the very first instance he could ever remember having received Christmas presents. “I do hope they please you, sweetheart.”

“...they?”

“Well, I’m certain _I’ve_ gotten you something,” she hoped her future self had, anyway. And if she’d not she knew better now, didn’t she? And too...well. She supposed she and her darling could enjoy a bit of catalogue browsing, perhaps risk a discreet, disguised trip into Hogsmeade or Diagon or perhaps one of her favored shops in Paris, she’d the single present carefully crafted for this boy but he...well he was certainly due more. Perhaps a few new shirts or ties, something practical. He did enjoy reading when he could find focus, her students had been abuzz with excitement over some such Quidditch star releasing something of an autobiography… “My darling I hope you know, come what may, you are rather a permanent fixture on my Christmas shopping list.”

“...do I need to test out of Potions to hug you real quick?” he wondered with some joviality, “Because I’m all packed and dinner can wait.”

Narcissa closed her gradebook, casting it to its place within her office desk and walked around her workstation to fold the boy in her arms, “You need only ask. Do enjoy your dinner, and have a most pleasant Christmas. Give Draco my love?”

Harry nodded, chin brushing against her shoulder before he pulled away, “Will do,” he promised, leaving her for the Great Hall. She’d her own dinner preparations to tend.

She only just beat the temptation to use her Office floo to make her way to her quarters, but she would never cease cursing herself, truly, if she made interruption and it distracted and derailed Hermione’s brewing. She would know soon enough, how things fared. She focused on the task at hand, ensuring her quarters weren’t a sight and seeing to dinner. She was surprised how well she’d done to maintain order in her household. There was some Elf magic at play, Dobby cast to make certain no dust or dirt gathered in her home, but she’d...a bit of a learning curve, in realizing the things she dropped to the floor more often than not would stay there unless she spelled them to do otherwise or moved them to their proper place herself, there was no Jinsey to come after her and set things to rights. She admittedly tripped over the very boots she was wearing, faceplanting against harsh stone floors in the learning moment that made her realize she needed to begin picking up after herself and seek to keep organized. She was pleased to find the only thing she neglected was leaving her bed rumpled and unmade but that was righted with the flick of a wand and then, after a final cursory glance around her quarters she went to her kitchenette to see how her dinner preparations fared. She’d set a cauldron to cook warm fire roasted tomato soup, it had been at work since she took leave of her quarters for breakfast in the Great Hall, she was relieved and pleased to find it smelled divine. Anathema had been dear enough to aid her in recalling the name of the bakery she enjoyed so well from the woman’s native country...kind enough to bring Narcissa’s order herself, dropping by her quarters that morning and offering a breezy smile and the warm assurance that oh, it hadn’t been out of her way, she’d a meeting with the Headmaster to attend.

_“...is Blaise in some sort of trouble?” Narcissa wondered. She’d not heard anything of the sort._

_“Oh no cara mia, as usual,” Anathema smirked, speaking in conspiratorial whisper, “the trouble is me,” she winked. “Do have a...oh goodness the word escapes me,_ lieta _…” she offered the Italian for ‘happy’ before gasping as if she’d met some success, feigning mistranslation as she said, “ahh! Do have a, I believe the English would call it, ‘gay’ evening, with your secret lover.”_

_“I believe the English will call it: annoyance.”_

_“What?” she questioned in utter innocence, “Oh bella, you know my English, I struggle so-”_

_“You’ve spoken fluently since the age of six. How you convinced Andromeda you required tutiliedge the summer before your seventh year I’ll never understand.”_

_“Well darling,” Anathema said, shifting from her usual Italian trill to lilting lofty tones nearing Andromeda’s cadence of speech, “I’m very persuasive, and language isn’t solely the words you speak, it is how you speak them. Did you know the guaranteed method of learning another language’s accompanying accent is to kiss a native speaker...in a style from a very specific language—French.” And then, “Fai il brava!” she cheerily intoned, pressing a kiss to the side of Narcissa’s lips, partially on her cheek before taking her leave._

Well, Anathema’s antics were no matter. She’d rendered what Narcissa needed and now, she set a larger stone of her countertop to gentle warmth before undoing the stasis the baker had placed the loaf of fresh ciabatta prepared just that morning, and setting upon the warming stone. She sought the shrimp ceviche she set to chill in stasis before her final class of the day, and with the certainty Hermione would be joining her soon, as the final hour of her testing drew to a close, she summoned the final ingredients for a proper salad to seat the ceviche on and...well, dessert was well handled, also courtesy of her favored Italian bakery. So, dinner was ready, seating area arranged just right to enjoy their meal together, all she needed was…

Her magic sparked excitement when the door to her quarters burst open, no knock preceding it, wholly unnecessary as it was a more than welcome presence her wards accepted without question rushing into her quarters, hair wild and rising like it’d caught a bit of her excited energy, eyes alight with absolute joy that spoke the wonderful words she was about to say before they so much as left her lips,

“I got an _O!”_ she gleefully announced, giggling as she sent the door closed behind her. Ahh, well, an ‘O’ was rather fitting, wasn’t it?

Rules of Apparation aside, Narcissa felt certain she broke them in that moment, such was her speed to meet the younger Witch, catching a delighted, surprised squeak from her in her mouth as she sent the girl stumbling back against the door, appropriate support to keep her upright as the older Witch kissed her soundly, with building enthusiasm she thought she might never possess again in her life. Whether it was some healing rendered in that regard or the sheer anticipation, she was uncertain and neither did it matter. _Finally!_

“A most excellent effort darling,” Narcissa assured albeit breathlessly, resting her forehead atop the girl’s head momentarily, smiling when Hermione wrapped her arms around her to hold her close, breathing deep and sighing contentedly.

“Mmm. You know, it’s the funniest thing,” she said, sounding amused, “the amortentia I brewed...it smelled like summer air before a storm, worn leather tomes, and your hair. Hmm...and...” she seemed to give it a measure of thought, “then at the end of it, something citrusy and musky? Apple and vanilla and pineapple, birch and oak.” That...sounded familiar to Narcissa, a smell she knew in that very combination but she could not rightly place, it felt like a distant memory, something she’d not scented since her youth. Hermione was smiling as she said, “Professor McGonagall smelled wildflowers, oranges, coffee and burnt toast.”

“Then you brewed it to absolute perfection my darling,” Narcissa assured, “brilliant, brilliant Witch,” she reached behind her to take hold of Hermione’s hands, “come, you must be famished. Dinner awaits.”

The smile at the younger Witch’s lips spread as they moved to sit before the fire, “Speaking of absolute perfection...gosh, everything smells amazing, Narcissa.”

It felt a touch silly, how her cheeks warmed at the compliment, to want to preen under praise. “I’m glad it pleases you darling. Do be seated.”

A relieved sigh left the girl as she took her seat, relaxing entirely into her claimed armchair momentarily, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I passed,” she said, looking to Narcissa, “I can’t believe it’s the holidays already. If I never read another book again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Truly?” Narcissa questioned with some amusement, “I just acquired the most wonderful publication by Stoicia on-”

The younger Witch perked up at that with immediacy. “ _Wardring Parallels and Their Purpose: Applying Nature to Nurture?”_ she confirmed with open excitement, and when Narcissa nodded. “Oh my gosh oh my gosh, have you started? Do you-” she stopped, catching herself in her exuberance, though Narcissa was heartened to see that for once, it wasn’t for fear of annoying those she was speaking to with her ‘rambling’. She merely caught herself contradicting her decry against books as a whole, blushing.

“I thought perhaps we might enjoy it together, my love. I could read to you, and you could enjoy the work without needing lay eyes on it yourself,” Narcissa said, softly confessing, “I know not what your plans for the holiday entail, but mine...involve a great deal of lazing with you, after weeks of arduous study.”

“Lazing with me?”

“Yes. Wherever we might be most comfortable.”

“Oh...well, it’s my understanding your bed’s pretty comfortable,” Hermione supposed, a bit of mischief and amusement about her, smile brightening when Narcissa felt her face warm. The younger Witch sat forward, raising an index finger to indicate the meal before them, “...may I?”

“Oh certainly, darling. Do tuck in.”

She felt some quiet amusement, knowing well the girl’s first attraction and being proven correct. Hermione took up a slice of ciabatta and immediately dipped it into her soup, taking a bite and offering up an appreciative moan that was, itself, appreciated.

“Oh my God, if I didn’t love you already, this would be it, this would be the moment I realize I love you with all my heart.”

“Truly, darling?” Narcissa asked, pride ringing in her magic from her praise, though what truly grasped her interest was the query, “And when, pray tell...did such a moment occur for you?”

Hermione blushed fiercely, worrying at her lip momentarily before releasing it to say, “Honestly?” her slice of bread was left abandoned in her soup as she raised her hands to hide her face, “Oh God, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“I assure you it is no such thing!” Narcissa insisted, met with a soft giggle as the younger Witch shook her head.

“Well, it started with Nat, actually.”

“...gnats?”

“Natalia Davidson,” Hermione amended, “...you know about Jessie, right?”

“Your nephew of a sort, yes. I’ve seen him in your memories and your Future self has written of him in passing. He is who my Future self took an interest in Sign over?”

“Uh-huh. He’s deaf...and a Muggleborn. So someday, he might attend Hogwarts,” Hermione explained, “He’s presently non-verbal, that might change, that might not, but it’s definitely not to change because he’s pressured into it. There’s more to magic than Latin incantation and his magic understands the way he communicates. Magic isn’t ableist, it’s an unbiased entity and it wouldn’t imbue itself into someone just to not be used. It’s part of _us, of Jessie,_ it wouldn’t ignore his commands because they’re non-verbal,” she shook herself, getting back to why she was explaining as much. “...we were in the Room of Requirement and I was talking to you about Natalia, since she’d asked if I’d speak to you for her, seeing as you were new, and might have questions or confusion with how she communicates. Every Professor has a different way they work with her, having her write down questions or using translation charms. McGonagall’s the one...well, she and eventually Flitwick, when we consulted him, who helped me develop the spell that transcribes what she signs onto the little chalkboard McGonagall carries with her during her Fourth Year classes. But…” she shrugged. “You were the first Professor who wanted to _learn_ Sign, so any student who might need it could benefit from being able to just communicate directly with you. Which...definitely tipped things in the right direction and then...um…” a smile tugged at her lips as she allowed a memory to pour into the forefront of her mind.

_They were seated together in the Room of Requirement, their week drawing to a close. Hermione sighed as she explained, “it can be a little nerve wracking for her, she might struggle a bit, but if you stay patient with her, she’ll cast when she needs to in potions. I’d appreciate at least a week’s advanced notice before implementing casting in your brewing, if you wouldn’t mind? That way we can sit down and talk through how and when she’ll need to cast, have time to get comfortable with the incantation, things like that.”_

_Narcissa stared at her sharply, “I would never demand the girl to cast! Potions is often a collaborative effort, there is no reason in the world she cannot handle a greater portion of the brewing while her partner handles the wandwork involved, or I myself could cast on her behalf, I plan to measure her according to ability, as I do any student. Has...have her professors demanded as much from her? Make her speak?!”_

_“She speaks to cas-”_

_“Well that will certainly be corrected! I cannot believe- does your Head of House entertain this?!” she’d shown such understanding in regard to Mister Dara’s disability, but...well the boy was a Gryffindor. Natalia Davidson was Slytherin, of course the woman must hold some wretched bias! “I will be having words with the Headmaster, first thing tomorrow morning, this will be righted before the weekend is out so help me-”_

_“Narcissa!” Hermione...oh, she was so timid to use her given name, invoking it now worked to halt the older Witch’s tirade, “It’s not...no one makes her speak, it’s up to her. Nat isn’t comfortable speaking in general, but when her magic is involved? When it's something to do with interacting with her magic, she’s more comfortable with it, likes it even, it’s just a matter of...she doesn’t often speak, so it takes a little time, effort, for her to shift gears. Sometimes she’s uncomfortable or scared but she_ wants _to do it, and it's that much more rewarding for her when she does. For her, it's very important to get it absolutely right, so I go over spells with her in advance, it gives her time to get comfortable and know exactly how she wants to deliver her incantation before attempting it. That’s how magic presents in her with her Autism.”_

_“...oh,” Narcissa felt herself physically deflate with realization and relief, an underlying feeling of being foolish. But now...oh, experiencing the memory from Hermione’s point of view? Her cry of Narcissa hadn’t just been minor progress it had been...trailed after by the solidifying of her feelings. Seeing the woman care so much, wanting so badly to ally herself to her students and see to their needs, being such a fierce protector...such a wonderful person? It struck the realization in her that yes, this was no mere youthful crush. She loved Narcissa, absolutely._

_“She’s more uncomfortable with...parts of brewing. The tools, mostly. It’s magic, the reason for having tools made of specific materials...we can’t change the materials she works with, but...there’s textures and the like that bother her, make her skin crawl and leave her feeling sick to her stomach when she touches them. Wood is fine, so is most stone, but metal and glass trigger her discomfort. We’ve tried gloves in the past but even that has some...it's hit and miss, sometimes she likes the pressure of gloves on her hands and finds it soothing, others she can’t stand it and it's agitating to the point she can’t think about anything else she just needs them off.”_

_“Hmm...could we perhaps- oh. No, securing something around the tools, grips of sorts, that would impede her magic working through and interacting with her brewing as needed.”_

_Hermione nodded, “I thought about grips too, and they could work, the same way her gloves do, by being made of natural materials, imbued with silver would be even better, but even silver thread bothers her. Plus...gloves are a bit more discrete, you know? Her tools looking different...she wouldn’t like that very much. She’s very careful in how and when she displays symptoms she has, whenever she has the ability to.”_

_“Truly?”_

_“She is in Slytherin. You realize Masking makes her something of a master manipulator when she needs to, right? And too...not quite being able to understand people naturally, having to work to understand, observing and coming at personal interaction from a tactical standpoint...well she understands very well how people work, now, at least on a knowledge level. She uses that. She once convinced Terry Boot’s little toe-rag brother she’d cursed him so he’d cluck like a chicken any time he thought to pick on one of her friends in Hufflepuff, when he was bullying him badly over...something silly, liking the same girl or something. She didn’t really do anything to him, not magically, it’s far too easy to get caught. She just psyched him out so badly he believed her to the point he_ did _let out a cluck the next time he saw her friend, and then he just started rambling apologies and begged Nat to remove her curse, promising to never bother him again.”_

_Narcissa smiled warmly, absolutely delighted to hear as much, oh. It was nice to see, after how hard the week had been on her. Gosh she was just...amazing. Intelligent and beautiful and kind and she could really just…_

Narcissa found herself drawn from the memory, Hermione raising the older Witch’s hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before twining their fingers and resting their hands on the table top. Merlin. She’d been well informed of her beauty, the whole of her life, but the younger Witch’s measure of it, her regard felt refreshing, something renewing in her feelings on the matter. No one’s mind had left her so certain she was something breathtaking to behold, not in...well, quite some time.

“...darling, Miss Davidson’s gloves…the ones she’s thanked you for, they bear lines of silver like that which you use to draw wards in platinum and silver on our wand sheaths. How does she withstand wearing them at all, let alone consistently?”

“Oh! You’re to thank for that, actually, gosh, I’m sorry. Everything was a little hectic, I was working on so many different things, I forgot to actually tell you. That inquiry you made, where we went back and forth bouncing ideas for the charm...I’m guessing now is what you used for my future self’s wrist watch? I used that, something similar, she doesn’t need magical assurance her gloves are on so, the charm makes it so she can’t feel the gloves over her skin, doesn’t realize there’s silver touching her, and she can feel the weight of her tool in her hand without feeling what it's made of. And...well I’ve had that blanket you got me at start of term, for a while, that modifies temperature based on personal preference? I studied the magic involved enough that I was able to copy it. So, when she would benefit from feeling the weight of her gloves, she can feel it in her magic, without the material irking her skin, and when feeling them on her might bother her? It stops before it can much do that, based on her preference at any given moment. So...really, she should be thanking you.”

“It was not my mind that worked those magics together, darling, you are absolutely due your thanks. In point of fact, Miss Davidson did gift you something of a Christmas present,” Narcissa said, conjuring the little glass bottle to appear beside the younger Witch’s plate.

Oh, she looked entirely heart-melted, “Awe! That’s so incredibly sweet, oh God, I’m not crying but like, gosh that’s sweet,” she said, fanning herself a bit when small tears gathered in her eyes, she was able to blink them away. “That’s adorable she thought of me, the scent she asked me to try earlier?” Narcissa nodded. “It really is lovely, it smells a lot like my calming cream. Nat isn’t big on hugs but I normally get one if I’m wearing calming cream, I think she likes how it smells and it might even work to ease her nerves with touch, it's not that she entirely dislikes hugs, she loves giving them when the right occasion strikes. So...I guess it works out, that I’ve sent her some for Christmas. Her dads are the sweetest and she _wants_ to be affectionate but there’s a difference sometimes between ‘want’ and ‘can’, I’m hoping it’ll work in that regard, help her be able to hug them as she wants to. Wow, I’m a bit of a mess now, sorry just,” her mind was full of the beautiful thought that, “she might hug her dads for Christmas!”

“Oh darling, here,” Narcissa offered with some sympathy, summoning a handkerchief for the younger Witch. Hermione gratefully accepted the emerald square of cloth, wiping at her eyes as she laughed at herself.

“Sorry, gosh. Holidays, you know?”

“It is perfectly understandable, I’m likewise hoping the Davidson’s have a pleasant Christmas.”

The girl sniffled, nodding and smiling as she cast cleansed the handkerchief and set it aside, the pair of them digging into their meal, oh, it was enjoyable, Narcissa was rather well pleased with herself. Everything was rather well delicious, and it was heady, the high that came from the younger Witch eagerly accepting seconds of her cooking. She would certainly have to thank Anathema, the girl blushed just beautifully when she realized she’d eaten the greater portion of their bread.

Though blushing blanched after a moment, the younger Witch paled and for the briefest instance Narcissa felt real fear her friend had done something to taint her ‘secret lover’s’ food but that...was unlikely both in motive and means, given it was something Narcissa was meant to consume herself and neither would her friend harm her so, physically or emotionally. “Darling?”

“Um...yeah, sorry, I’m okay,” she assured, though the bit of uncertainty in her tone was enough to rattle at Narcissa’s nerves. “I don’t know how you manage with being on your feet all day, I mean I’ve worked long standing shifts too but...not for a while, well, not _myself,_ anyway so I guess I’m a bit out of practice.”

“You’re sore from your work today? You...were just fine, did this suddenly creep up on you?”

“A little? It happened last night too. It’s my lower back, gosh it just...kind of feels like knives, and uh...I definitely know what that feels like now so yup,” she winced, rubbing low at her back, “knives.”

Narcissa’s wand was in hand no sooner than ‘knives’ left the younger Witch’s mouth, and she was around the table in an instant, kneeling before the girl and casting diagnostics but...not a trace of Bellatrix’s magic was to be found. No malignant magic was attacking Hermione’s, thankfully enough. “Are you properly hydrated? Perhaps we should consult Madam Pomfrey?”

Hermione shook her head, “No, you’re probably right I just need more water or som-” she fell silent as she stared into space before her, eyes wide with something akin to terror-mixed realization. “Oh God.”

“Hermione?!”

“I um...I think I have a visitor. Oh God, this is embarrassing.”

“Visitor? Darling I don’t understand.”

“My Aunt Flo?”

Now this was just utter confusion. “...you’ve an aunt?”

Hermione smiled with some amusement that Narcissa didn’t get the...saying, apparently. A saying which translated to the tentative confession, “I think I’m starting my period.”

Oh. Oh! “Andromeda’s prescription has aided you then?” the woman had summoned Hermione to the Hospital Wing, the first week of December and proclaimed herself officially the girl’s Healer. Their meeting ended with a prescription for potion to aid with her anxieties, and something to help regulate her hormones which...were apparently falling back into a proper balance.

“Mhm,” she affirmed somewhat miserably. Oh. It would be like her sisters. Of _course_. Bellatrix gave pause to their Future Selves when making their feelings for each other clear and now...Andromeda had managed a surprise ‘visitor’ now, to interrupt them with something that made the younger Witch feel poorly. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry you must endure unpleasantness but...no more than a week, and I will see to it you are entirely comfortable and cared for.”

“I um, I definitely need a pad or something now,” she grimaced, wondering if she had as much in her messenger bag. Something in her hadn’t expected her potion regimine to work so soon, at all really. She’d grown used to not sparing thought to preparation for her own cycle. But neither was that necessary.

“There are charms, your underthings would merely absorb and banish any blood that might stain them, there’s no need for anything else…” though she saw fit to check, partially teasing, “you...are wearing underthings, yes Miss Granger?”

“Narcissa!” the girl laughingly admonished, blushing fiercely, “Yes! I’m wearing underthings, good God. There’s a charm?”

“If I may?” Narcissa sought permission the younger Witch granted before casting on her though...well, admittedly she’d only ever done as much on herself, in her youth, and it had always been preventative, charming her underthings before putting them on when she was expecting her own…’Aunt Flo’. Plying the charm to underthings being worn...well, it worked, to do more things than one, goodness. The action sent the girl gasping, seating herself straighter, leaning forward in her chair and clenching her knees together and letting out a quiet, wavering,

“Ohh my God.”

“Have I hurt you, darling?”

“Uhhh no, nope, no just uh...wow, saving that for later it- your magic just-” she cleared her throat, seeming red from head to toe. “I definitely felt your magic is all.”

“Oh...against-”

“Uh huh.”

“And you found this enjoyable?”

“Just a bit.”

Narcissa needed only shift a bit to be kneeling between the younger Witch's knees, a smile tugging at her lips when her knees parted for her as she sheathed her wand and rested her hands on them, her darling staring at her a bit dazed and uncertain just what she was about. “Well, perhaps that is something we’ll explore over the holiday.”

“Oh,” the girl’s mouth worked momentarily before Narcissa offered soft laughter and captured questioning lips in a kiss, smiling into their kiss when the younger Witch giggled. “Yeah...visitors aside, our holiday’ll be pretty great. I’m just glad I get to spend time with you...just you,” she plied a sweet kiss to Narcissa’s lips, “and me,” another.

“And your dear Aunt Flo,” earned her a bit of laughter.

But that laughter died when they were joined by one visitor more, their arrival announced by an urgent knock at her chamber door.

“Are you expecting someone?” Hermione softly questioned.

Narcissa shook her head, ‘no’. “Stay here, seated as you are you’re out of sight of the door, you know where the floo powder is if you need to make escape, do not worry about me whoever it is, I will handle it.”

The girl opened her mouth to object to that but thankfully remained seated when Narcissa rose up, brushing at her clothing a bit as she moved to the door.

Opening it to reveal Pansy Parkinson, trembling and tear streaked and tumultuous in her insistance that, “I can’t go home. I can’t go home they’ll kill me!”

“Miss Parkinson?”

“Pansy?” Hermione’s voice sounded from behind her. She had told her to stay put! But the younger Witch came to the door, joining them, “What’s happened?”

The Slytherin girl’s gaze darted between them, reeling a bit as she wondered just what Hermione was about, being in the woman’s quarters especially past detention hours. “I’m- it’s-,” she struggled momentarily before her words poured forth unbridled, “I haven’t made any progress with the damned cabinet and my parents are livid, insist we’ll be ‘discussing it’ when I get home and I- oh gods that always means M-M-Magic Beati-” she swallowed, blanching as she caught herself divulging something horrific, and she burst into fresh tears, shaking fiercely as she cried out, “I don’t want to do this anymore! I want out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *if you're solely a movie-based fan of HP, Tonk's pregnancy was super glossed over, it's been a minute since I watched, but I'm decently sure that while in the books Remus informs Harry and friends about Tonk's being pregnant when they're regrouping at Grimmauld Place, in the movies there's no mention made. In this fic, I stick with "Remus tells them".  
> *Aversum is latin for 'back', and meant to be a proposed incantation for the unspecified 'backfiring jinx'.  
> *Hogwarts is supposed to appear as a ruins to non-magical people, making Muggleborn's parents incapable of visiting them at school which is...eh. Anyway a workaround for this, is entering through magical means (flooing leaving residual magic on them that allows them to maintain grasp of seeing magic at play), directly into the school proper allows McGonagall's family to experience Hogwarts as it truly is.  
> *researching things about binding for this fic led me to the information that it isn't safe to bind when dealing with respiratory illness. That might be a 'no duh' thing, but I love you all, so for all my binder beebs, if you're unaware of this, here you go, take this knowledge and be safe and well! Always bind safely, and take care of yourselves and your bodies, I love you so many.  
> *Calor is explained in the text, but this is just to say "the incantation for warming charms isn't specified in canon so I made this up, if someone else does it differently they're 1000% valid because we're all out here just making it up!"
> 
> Next up: Christmas!


	12. Stolen Kisses/Christmas Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite Witches have their Holiday plans crashed by one Pansy Parkinson seeking sanctuary. Plans and plots are sorted through, the Solstice and special days are celebrated, and Draco just really loves his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gay, I'm pretty sure this chapter covers one day? From multiple perspectives but still? I'm sorry? The next chapter covers the rest of Christmas and it's mostly written as a great deal of it was meant to be part of this chapter but as per usual, I am bad at planning. I've got two more perspectives to put into it and then it'll be posted! So in the meantime, enjoy! There's some Rated M for Mild in this chapter in Narcissa's POV, nothing too scandalous, starting up when they go to lie down for a while, ending once Pansy comes back from 'temporary banishment for being a brat'.
> 
> Thank you, as always, to inkheart9459 for reading and screaming and keeping me motivated! If you haven't checked out her fic...why? What are you doing? Go look! Take in the beauty! Enjoy the ART!  
> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! 🖤

“... _it has been proven in practice, that crossing dissimilar wards in counter, if their lines cross in concurrence with the style required of a third, can very well be imbued to radiate all three,”_ Narcissa read aloud, a soft smirk at her lips as she trailed a hand through Hermione’s hair and added, “or four,” considering the way their wand sheath’s were warded.

They were lying in her bed, making good on their plans for winter holiday as best they could, lazing and reading.

There was a soft huff that sounded from the other side of the older Witch. “That doesn’t sound right,” Miss Parkinson voiced criticism, “you’d think if they were dissimilar they’d repel or conflict. Definitely not work together to do something else different.”

“Magic is ever a harmonious entity, Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa drawled.

There was a rustle like she shrugged, “Still.”

Narcissa stared at the ceiling overhead for a moment before looking to Hermione, eyes pleading as if questioning if she really did have to stick to her word to guard Miss Parkinson in her home for the holiday. Hermione giggled quietly, and even as she did so hate to disappoint the woman, she nodded. 

_Miss Parkinson hyperventilated momentarily when she was met with silence in the wake of her declaration she wanted ‘out’. “Gr-Gr-Granger s-says you’ll he-lp m-me, oh gods pl-please-” she begged._

_The girl let out a startled yelp when Narcissa grasped hold of her wrist and drew her over the threshold, peering out and casting to see if her monitoring spells detected the presence of any who might have overheard Miss Parkinson’s upset, relieved to find the dungeon halls were clear this late the eve of Winter Hols, and then she closed the door secure and pulled the trembling girl into her arms._

_“Wh-what-” she rasped out, confused._

_“You absolutely stubborn child. Of course I will help you,” Narcissa insisted, “Calm yourself, everything is going to be alright. You do not have to go home.”_

_“I don’t have anywhere else to go, I mean I’m almost of Age b-but even then I- I w-won’t have control of my vaults until I’m m-married so I can’t- I can’t just hole up in a hotel, and I still need my Head of House’s permission to stay on school grounds and- and Snape s-says I didn’t ask soon enough-"_

_“What utter rot,” Narcissa snapped, pulling away to look in the girl’s face, considering. “...your parents have made their frustrations known to him.”_

_“He’s watching me for the Dark Lord a-and them, he’s always reporting things to my parents.”_

_“He likely finds it best suits his own skin, not to do anything that might derail their goals. Well then,” oh Merlin, she didn’t...necessarily_ wish _to do as much but-_

_A hand slipped into her own, the other seeking Pansy’s as Hermione gave their hands a gentle squeeze and said, “Well...you need your Head-of-House’s permission to stay in Slytherin but…” she looked up to Narcissa, mind already on the solution the woman herself had found, “it’s okay.”_

_It certainly was not! But it would have to be endured. “Miss Parkinson, I would like to formally invite you to spend Winter Holiday in my home. I will handle your parents. Rowena never could much stand up to me, and Garfield,” Hermione let out a soft gasping sound at the Dark Wizard’s name, “is hardly a threat for all his boasting. If I say I’ve ordered you stay here over the holiday and dedicate yourself entirely to our efforts, they could do little to refute me without enraging the Dark Lord.”_

_“Y-y-you would really help me-”_

_“Yes. We will discuss this at length when you are less distraught and we are all better rested and prepared for such a thing but my allegiance is, clearly, more in line with my son’s. A private rebellion, of sorts. I am not on_ your _side, as Miss Granger puts it, not unless your side...is_ our _side. Your life is precious but no more so than those who would be laid slain if Darkness has its hold. If you are genuine, if you truly wish to be ‘out’? We will find how best to do that, and I will ally myself to you in truth, most assuredly.”_

_Pansy looked to her open surprise and absolute gratitude, mouth working as she struggled to find just what she should say, but she found reprieve in,_

_“Your father’s name is_ Garfield?” _Hermione asked with some amused incredulity, Pansy nodded, confused when the Witch giggled, “Oh_ Pansy, _I have to introduce you to some_ delightful _Muggle literature you might enjoy about a cat named Garfield that might just make your day and help you take him down a peg in your mind.”_

_“A cat?” the girl questioned, confused and her brow furrowed before she broke out into sniffle-laced giggles, “You’re such a weirdo, Granger, I swear.”_

_“Let me be perfectly clear, Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa hissed fiercely, “I will entertain absolutely no unkindness to Miss Granger in my home, none whatsoever, do you understand? I am pleased to aid you, but if you seek to bring her to discomfort in a place she has far more claim to, where you are a mere guest, that status will be revoked.”_

_The girl was ashen as she stammered out, “I-I-”_

_“She wasn’t being mean, it’s...friendly jibing. We’re not exactly best pals, but I think we can get along,” Hermione spoke up for the girl, “and hers is the life at stake, Narcissa. If it was a problem, I’ve got other places I can go-”_

_Should Hermione Granger be driven from Narcissa’s home a moment before previously planned? “It is her life at stake entirely,” she darkly assured, “yes.”_

_“...you’re spending hols...here?” Miss Parkinson questioned carefully._

_“Given the situation you warned me about? I don’t have a home to go home to. So holidays consist of me bumming off friends and found-family,” Hermione shrugged._ Bumming? _That was hardly the word for it, Narcissa thought. “Would you like help packing?”_

_“You shouldn’t- Daphne’s um...an outlier and...a liar full stop. One way or the other, she’s only nice to your face. You wouldn’t be very welcome in Slytherin.”_

_“I haven’t had much trouble in the common room.” Did the girl frequent the Slytherin Common Room often?_

_“Yeah, but Crabbe and Goyle can’t bodily shield you from stinging hexes and glare their casters into pissing their britches in the girls dorm, now can they?” Miss Parkinson steadily returned._

_“They can’t_ what?” _Hermione questioned, taken aback._

 _“Don’t get weepy over it Granger, gods. It’s just to keep you reigned in._ Merlin _, you just about put Vaisey in the lake for jinxing Draco.”_

 _“Jelly legs is_ dangerous!”

_“He just fell on his ass on the rug,” Miss Parkinson rolled her eyes._

_“I had to spell a splint for his wrist!”_

_“Madam Pomfrey had to spell away Vaisey’s_ concussion!” _the Slytherin argued, “So yeah, anyone stupid enough to fu- er,” she seemed to rethink her foul language given they were before Narcissa, “mess with you, your little string of boyfriends puts them in their place so_ you _don’t_ kill _someone, bloody feral little psycho you are,” she shook her head. “I uh...can get my things myself. I’ll come down tomorrow.”_

_“Then you will return after breakfast, Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa said, “When the others depart for the train you will merely return here. Do inform Severus who he can see if he’s an issue with it. Good evening.”_

_“Good evening Professor...Granger,” she said, some hesitation before quietly clearing her throat, “th...thanks. For...you know.”_

_“You’re welcome for ‘you know’,” Hermione returned. The Slytherin Witch nodded and took her leave of them, closing shut the door behind her._

_“Well...I suppose we both have unwelcomed visitors this holiday season,” Narcissa drawled._

_“I can stay in the Tower and just...come down and see you during the day-”_

_“You will stay here, as planned, or so help me I will lose my mind.”_

_“Narcissa, we’d still see each oth-”_

_“Miss Granger. If we are to be coupled you must understand one thing. As much willpower as I possess...I am a very impatient woman. I have acted in your will to wait until you are no longer my student and I have done so, with the entirety of the restraint I have to offer. And let us be perfectly clear: you are not_ bumming _off of my kindness, Hermione, we are_ avowed. _You’ve every claim to my home, it is yours. Miss Parkinson is the guest here, if she makes herself a problem?_ She _will be corrected,” Narcissa sighed when the girl opened her mouth to argue, “She may not have access to her own vault, but I’ve mine. I would hardly cast her into the street or the tender mercies of her parents. She would merely be put...elsewhere. I only refrain from as much now as...well…”_

_“If we’re going to do this, secure her to our side, best have her near enough to work with.”_

_“To manipulate.”_

_“Convince,” Hermione insisted._

_Narcissa smirked. “Semantics.”_

_“Slytherin.”_

_“Psychopath,” the older Witch smuggly returned, “you concussed someone in my son’s name?”_

_She blushed at that, embarrassed. “Kind of why our detention got replaced with an actual detention a few weeks ago.”_

_“Miss Granger…” Narcissa took pause, and captured her lips in a kiss before inviting, “Come darling, there’s dessert. You’ll eat your fill of tiramisu...bathe...and we will retire.”_

That had been...the extent of their evening activities. Hermione held some reticence, with her monthly visitor, Narcissa saw as much in the younger Witch’s mind and she hardly wished to pressure her, too it had been something of an exhausting day, the girl had been pale and weary by the time she emerged from the bath. She fell into bed alongside Narcissa and a moment later, she was fast asleep against the older Witch and that...had been more than enough. Merlin, she was _hers_. Now. Forever, if Narcissa’d any say in the matter.

...it might be forever, before they were able to be alone again. Miss Parkinson arrived shortly after breakfast and it...would be strange, rude and imprudent even, to leave her to her own devices. There were only two armchairs in her parlor, something could be transfigured but...Hermione had phrased it openly, what their plans for the day were when the Slytherin girl joined them, that they planned to lie around and read.

_Pansy regarded the Gryffindor girl with some criticism in her stare, “You sick or something, Granger?”...ahh, not criticism exactly. Guarded, reticent concern._

_“It’s the most wonderful time...of the month,” Hermione ruefully informed her._

_“Oh. That sucks. Happy Holidays I guess,” the girl snorted, “alright. Yeah, having a lie-in sounds good.”_

It had, in theory. And it was, in practice, even with their unexpected company. But Narcissa felt the edge of discontent as...well, she hadn’t heard from the Future’s Hermione at all today. She wasn’t certain if it was the business of the season or if perhaps she suffered likewise to her Present self. And...Narcissa’s Future self would be entertaining Draco. Get to see him, hold him, speak with him, and oh he so dearly deserved it...so, likely, did she, but...well, she was admittedly jealous. Heartsick, missing her son, frustrated at having Miss Granger so close...and Miss Parkinson following her closer than ever.

She also felt Hermione flinch at her side, drawing in a soft, sharp gasp that had Narcissa lowering their text to look to the younger Witch. “Darling?”

“Just cramps,” she assured. ‘Just’ cramps, that had her curling in on herself, holding her breath momentarily to dull the sharper pain as she buried her face against Narcissa’s arm.

She had taken advantage of Hermione’s absence last night, when she bathed. Narcissa stole away to her laboratory and set potion brewing, to aid with the symptoms the younger Witch would endure. She cast to check the time and found that...yes, more than twelve hours had passed since she left potion to stew. She need only bottle, and bring it to relieve her darling. She would seek congress once more, with the Future’s Hermione, send potion on through the sending sack if the girl didn’t write back with confirmation, such potion could be stored for a time if she did not need it with immediacy. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ve made fresh potion for you that may be of help.”

That had the younger Witch looking up at her, bottom lip jutting out ever so in a hint of a pout that spoke to finding the notion incredibly thoughtful before she asked, “Really?” she smiled softly, jerked slightly as if she caught herself from leaning more toward the woman, and her smile grew as she offered the albiet frustrated thought to Narcissa that she’d only just stopped herself from kissing the older Witch in front of Miss Parkinson. She bit her lip for the barest moment before she said, “That’s really sweet, thanks.”

“Oh gods, it really is insane you two actually get on,” Miss Parkinson complained, as if she found the notion disturbing.

“...we are allied, and I prepare potion for _all_ in our student body. Including yourself, Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa drily assured. “When I return we will see to lunch and you will imbibe nutritive potion I’ve prepared. I had hoped you would seek my guidance at some point...I trust you’ll not discard of it, this time?”

The Slytherin girl startled, looking to Narcissa with surprise, “Th-th-that was you, who left me potion? It was er...j-just nutritive stuff?”

“Miss Granger voiced concern at your lack of appetite. When I realized you were avoiding all sustenance for fear of poisoning I sought to offer aid of a sort. You would not abide prompting on the subject with me, shut down efforts to speak of it, and I did not leave indication it was from me for the certainty you would assume it poisoned all the more. I understand your fear Miss Parkinson but I will be gravely insulted if you pour carefully crafted potion into the privy again.”

Her mouth worked at that, in her shock the woman knew well precisely what she’d done with the potion she’d found left on her nightstand. She gulped and nodded. “Uh...yeah, s-sorry Professor. I’d um...yes please, I’d appreciate potion.”

“Very well. I will return shortly,” Narcissa assured, sighing deeply before she drew herself up, sliding to rise from the bed, smoothing her skirt as she stood. Miss Parkinson was still dressed as if for school, Hermione was the only among them that remained in her sleep clothes...the only alteration to be found was in her donning soft grey sweatpants to go with the large burgundy jumper she’d slept in, as she’d not felt compelled to dress for the day just because there was a guest at hand, as Narcissa had, but she’d certainly not wished to greet the Slytherin girl underdressed in a literal sense. She wasn’t certain if it was dramatics, or not, the idea that if she’d fully anticipated what Miss Parkinson’s intrusion would entail, she would have appreciated being able to hold her darling all the more, not hesitated as she had in the first few moments they laid together, to rest a hand on her backside, in her hair to hold her close. Well, she would certainly rectify that tonight. Possibly. There was the matter of just _where_ Miss Parkinson would sleep, there was the guest room—Jinsey’s quarters, and Narcissa supposed that would just have to do. That was another thing that may be derailed then, they’d planned to, Hermione and Narcissa, do a bit of shopping, decorating, to set up and make comfortable Jinsey’s quarters for when she returned with her family. But the changes they wished to make to the room...might distress Miss Parkinson, given her loss. How much they could do to prepare Jinsey’s quarters in that regard was, at present, unclear.

“Do you want help?” Hermione wondered when Narcissa moved for the door. 

The older Witch smiled, raising a brow at the girl still curled around the source of present pain, “I have it well in hand darling. I do promise to be swift.”

Miss Parkinson loosed a tired sigh and rolled her eyes, “Honestly Granger, act like you've been a Witch for more than two seconds,” she said, and Narcissa’s wand fell into her hand when the Slytherin girl drew her wand but...it was merely to cast upon one of the more shorter decorative pillows on Narcissa’s bed the Witch used to support her back while sitting up and reading or grading in bed. The younger Witch cast a soft, “Calor,” and then she threw the pillow to strike Hermione in the face, eliciting a surprised laugh from the Gryffindor. “There.”

“Awe, it’s almost like you care about me,” Hermione teased laughingly as she hugged the warmed pillow to her stomach.

“Pft. I just don’t want to hear you bit- _witching_ at me while the Professor isn’t here to make sure we don’t kill each other.”

“Well, I sincerely promise not to kill you while the good Professor is away. But uh, once she’s back? That’s a totally different story. Best just to be nice to me in the interim.”

“That’s not happening,” Miss Parkinson assured.

For all her assurances, in the twenty minutes it took Narcissa to bottle her brews, right her workstation, and return to them...she found the younger Witches having dozed off after...what must have been something of an emotional moment. Miss Parkinson’s face was tear streaked, and Hermione had a hold on the Slytherin Witch as they slumbered, like she’d hugged to console and fallen asleep that way…

It felt like foolishness to be jealous. Miss Parkinson, while clearly going through something that may prompt growth, was bigoted, would hold no interest in Hermione, surely. She was...interested in another muggleborn student...but a male one, there was no reason to think she might find interest in a Witch. And beyond that, Hermione would not find interest in…

Well in a reforming Pure-Blood Blood-Supremacist. One...more nearer her age. Without a great deal of the complicated baggage Narcissa brought to this relationship.

It was foolishness in full! Honestly, she trusted the younger Witch more than that, didn’t she? But perhaps that was what set a pit in Narcissa’s stomach. Trust...did not come easy to her, it left a great deal of trepidation in her to extend herself in that way. If she was proven her trust was misguided, misplaced? She could hardly abide the thought. She cast to set their potions on opposite nightstands nearer what side of the bed each Witch was on, respectively, and...she did brush a hand over Hermione’s forehead, not an effort to wake her just...to lay a hand on the Witch, make certain she was well before taking leave to her parlor, to sit before the fire and endeavor to write the Future’s Miss Granger.

It took a moment, but she was met with, _Hey you! Sorry, I fell asleep on you, huh? I asked Pansy if she felt like she was up to talking about things once you were back and we settled lunch and_ there was a pause before the Future’s Hermione informed her, _Pansy’s still really scared, that you’ll not understand or won’t believe her, send her packing to her parents if she says the wrong thing. She’s scared to do this full stop. I promised we’re going to help her, and work everything out together._

Yes. Well, it was a good thing for Miss Parkinson that Hermione was...very convincing when making such promises. _How are you faring, darling? I’ve potion for cramping and headache if you’ve need, I’ve sent it on through._

 _I love you so much,_ was the girl’s immediate response, _I’ve been trying to keep an eye on things as they develop, because we’re in very fresh territory in comparison to this time of the year in our timeline, the resulting double cramping is_ _not_ _recommended as an enjoyable pastime. Oh. Double, because yeah. I’m not sure if it’s just been so long since I’ve last had a period that I’ve forgotten how miserable it is, or if my uterus is exacting vengeance to make up for lost time, either way? Thank you so much for thinking of me, God, I appreciate you doubling your work._

It wasn’t that much more of an effort, Narcissa thought, she merely made a greater quantity of potion, it wasn’t as if she had to brew two separate formulations for the differing Hermione’s, her magic was relatively unchanged...it was not like brewing potion for herself. Her Future self’s magic was...a great deal different than her own, at present, and it was hard to imagine that that would change but...well, it clearly had for her future self. _Her._ When at last she was living as her future self was, magic ensconced in light, so would her magic grow and change, surely. _It wasn’t any trouble darling, I’m pleased to do as much for you. I hope your holiday is still pleasant despite your condition._

_So far so good. Andy gave me potion and I lied down for a bit before Draco and Harry arrived. I was just about to write you, actually, to tell you they got here safe. They weren’t followed from the station, and we just finished up lunch. He was really happy to see you._

Was he? Oh that was relieving and somehow agonizing to hear, her chin quivered as she considered a response to the Future Witch when she startled a bit, as the Present’s arms slipped around her shoulders, lips pressing a soft kiss to catch...what might have been a tear sliding down her cheek. “Hey,” Hermione breathed, soft, soothing as she rested her forehead against Narcissa’s temple. “Narcissa? What’s wrong, love?”

The woman swallowed, relaxing in the younger Witch’s hold. “Sentimentality. He has been gone from this school only a few hours and I...miss my son.”

“Yeah? He made it to Andromeda’s safe?” Hermione checked.

“He did.”

She let out a hum of approval, “Good.” She breathed in a sleepy sigh like she was still rousing from her impromptu nap. Narcissa jotted down _Thank you, Hermione. Your potion awaits you when you return to your home, my love. I pray you feel better and have a most pleasant time. Do give Draco and Harry my love._ And the instant her journal was removed from her lap, placed on the side table, it was replaced by the weight of the Witch’s Present self dropping into Narcissa’s lap, smiling with sympathy as she pressed a kiss to the woman’s lips, “It’s okay to miss him, anytime of year, but holidays especially.” Something slipped in and out of the forefront of her mind, the image of her son’s hand clenching closed around a silver...thimble? She found the thought slipping from her own mind when the young Witch took to kissing her soundly for a moment before assuring, “You’re an amazing mother and he loves you, with all his heart. I don’t know...why he’s distancing himself lately, but...if I know myself? Future me’s all over it.”

Narcissa rested her forehead against the Witch’s, “Thank you my darling,” she said as she relaxed...though there was the concern, “We’d best be cautious, given our present company. This...mightn’t be the position one finds dear friends in.”

“Um, I sit in my friend’s laps all the time,” a brighter smile tugged at her lips as she said, “occasionally they sit in mine,” her mind filled with the memory of sitting on a loveseat alongside Mister Potter as she reviewed his Transfiguration’s essay when Narcissa’s son approached.

_“Move Granger. My boyfriend,” he pointed to Mister Potter before he pointed to her place at his side, “my seat.”_

_“I was here first,” Hermione offered teasingly though she_ was _about to adhere to his request. Just...apparently not fast enough for Draco Malfoy._

_“Oh, what’s that? You’re moving? Thanks,” Draco said before blocking Hermione’s path to rise by standing before her and then turning about and seating himself in her lap. “Ahh, great that Granger's gone, yeah? What are you working on?” he asked Harry._

“Dr _aco!”_ _Hermione laughingly reprimanded._

_“Did you hear something?” Draco wondered to his boyfriend, drawing laughter from the raven-haired boy._

_“Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?” Hermione wondered, amused and far from displeased as that apparently meant it was, “Fine,” she said, wrapping her arms around Draco’s middle to hug the Wizard while he remained seated in her lap._

“...though, gosh...I guess it would be even better if...if only _someone_ here was a _Witch,”_ Hermione went on to say as she took a lock of Narcissa’s hair, twirled it about her finger, “then there could be something like...a charm that alerts me when Pansy gets out of bed.”

“Oh yes, if only,” Narcissa warmly returned her teasing. “I regret we’ve been so interrupted but I must say it offers something in our moments of reprieve.”

“Does it?” Hermione wondered with some innocence as she wrapped her arms around Narcissa’s neck, kissing the older Witch once more. Oh Merlin, could she ever get enough of this? The younger Witch smiled into their kiss as Narcissa returned her hold, slipping a hand up under her jumper to offer support at her back, delight in the warmth of her skin, Hermione’s hum of appreciation shot straight through her, and that was before the girl pulled away, only to return in the next split second with pepper kisses to Narcissa’s neck, her smile against her skin when the action pulled a soft gasp from the woman and, “Hmm...I should be careful...though it _is_ winter,” she reasoned out to some end, oh! There was a nip of teeth just over her pulse point. “High collars are in season,” the wicked Witch supposed, kissing where she’d bitten before biting again. Narcissa found herself rather lost to the sensation...until all too soon that mischievous smile was pressed to her neck in what was unfortunately a kiss of finality as she pulled away and in the same motion rose up off the woman’s lap, Narcissa confusedly turning in her seat to see where she was going- to the kitchen?

“Hey Pansy, we were just about to see to lunch,” Hermione said as their guest emerged from the bedroom. Ahh. Narcissa silently cast to send the few buttons she’d left undone on her blouse snapped closed to secure her collar around her throat before rising likewise.

“Yes, you’ve taken your potion, I trust?” she asked the Slytherin Witch.

“Yes Professor,” Miss Parkinson nodded, still bleary either from sleep or...well, she truly had been vulnerable with Hermione, given voice to her fears and had them consoled and that...was not what she’d expected, it wasn’t something she was familiar with at all, really, in her friendships, few that they were. She was sad, conflicted but...held less trepidation at the conversation they would be having. _“Narcissa really does want to help you, and she will, I know it. If things do go sideways though,” the Gryffindor had offered her a reassuring grin, “I’ve got your back.”_

“Well, then, I’ll arrange lunch then, shall I?” Narcissa supposed, assuring, “From a most trusted source. Dobby!” she called.

The Elf appeared with a sense of urgency, looking relieved, actually, to have been called upon, something in his mind spoke to him having been awaiting for Narcissa to have need of him today. “Mistress dearest!” oh. Dearest?

“I was hoping you could see to our luncheon, darling, and then I’ve need of you, if you’ve just a moment? A matter with my office I’d appreciate your aid with. Miss Granger left quite the stain in my desk from her testing and I’ve not a single clue how I might get it out.”

She looked to Hermione, prepared to stop her if she was about to give voice to objection, she’d been meticulous in her brewing, returned her office to rights of course. But the Gryffindor girl had the idea in her mind already, she’d heard Dobby, knew well he meant to speak a private word in Narcissa’s ear on a matter of importance. “Pansy and I can see about seating arrangements, set the table.”

“I’m _not_ helping you with _Elf work_ ,” Miss Parkinson refused.

“If you want to have a place to sit, you’ll realize it’s _Witch’s_ work, whenever a Witch requires it for herself,” Hermione steadily returned.

“...fine,” the Slytherin begrudgingly relented, looking none too happy at it as she turned to Narcissa. “You really like her?”

Oh, she had to restrain herself from informing the young lady that she did, in fact, love Hermione Granger. No, it was telling as it was, the smile on her face as she assured, “I do in truth. I’ll return shortly,” she said, before stepping to her Floo with Dobby following alongside, gathering powder and transporting them to the privacy her office had to offer. Oh, the dear Elf disappeared momentarily to reappear atop her desk as if checking to ensure there wasn’t truly staining he needed to tend before looking to Narcissa...utterly distraught, “Darling, has something happened? Is Jinsey well?”

He perked at that, “Oh! Jinsey is being wonderful, Mistress! Baby is being strong and healthy, Mistress Andromeda is being so much kindness and checking on baby and Jinsey,” oh he was practically vibrating for a moment, wriggled with his excitement, as he smiled. But then he shook himself as if to return to the matter at hand. “Dobby...has seen something, and he wonders if he should be telling Jinsey. Dobby doesn’t want to be upsetting his Jinsey...telling her might be making her very happy! But telling her might be making her very sad. And not telling his Jinsey...oh if she finds out, Dobby is thinking she might be being very upset with him...but maybe she would be being happy Dobby was being protecting his Jinsey?” his wrinkles doubled as his face contorted in his distress, fists clenching as he pressed them to his temples. “Oh Dobby isn’t knowing what to do!”

“Darling, take a deep breath and calm yourself. Do take a seat, if you explain, perhaps I can be of assistance?” Narcissa invited, going around her desk to sit in her chair as the House Elf nodded and seated himself before her on the edge of her desk as opposed to a chair, moving with immediacy to do what he was told, she supposed.

“Mistress knows Dobby was being born in Mistress’s house? The House of Black?”

“Yes darling, it is my understanding you were exchanged around the time father acquired Jinsey,” Narcissa assured him of her recollection.

Dobby nodded. “Dobby was sent to house Malfoy...it was a direct exchange, Mistress, Jinsey’s mother was being a Malfoy House Elf, serving Master Abraxas. She took care of Dobby, helped him when he first came to be living in Malfoy House...Mistress, Master Abraxas was having Jinsey’s mother and father be making another Elf, Master Abraxas had...”

“...Mistresses other than the Mistress of the Malfoy household, yes I am aware,” Evanna Malfoy, rest her soul. She endured so much in her marriage. Abraxas’s crulety was unrelenting, and he only furthered insult with injury, taking young lovers he showered with kindness he never once extended to his wife, showing he’d the capacity to at least conduct himself as a man in love, he merely chose _not_ to, when it came to his marriage. 

Dobby nodded. “Master was only having one other Mistress, that Dobby can recall, before was being too poorly. He was wanting her to have an Elf like Jinsey. So he was being having Jinsey’s mother and father make Jinsey a sibling. A brother. Dobby was there when baby was born…” he was very quiet, considering he went to explain, “Headmaster was needing Dobby to...Dobby is knowing his way around Malfoy Manor. So he is being getting reports from House Elves so they are not being caught returning to Hogwarts. Dobby is being sneaking, no one is noticing. He goes and House Elves tell him things that is being important...Lucius Malfoy is being telling Dobby things that is important. When Dobby was doing this, Lucius Malfoy’s assistant Elf was being there…Jinsey is being having a brother,” Dobby met Narcissa’s gaze. “Jinsey’s brother is being Tadby.”

Narcissa’s mouth worked momentarily, not at all certain...how such a thing came to be, Lucius hiring _that_ particular Elf of all Elves to be his assistant. “Darling, are you sure?”

“Yes yes yes! Dobby is knowing! Dobby was there when Tadby was being breathing his first, magic waking and wailing with life! It is being the very same, Dobby was made to name and train Tadby, so Jinsey and Tadby’s mother and father wasn’t being growing attached,” the Elf frowned, “Jinsey’s mother was being...sadness, when Master took Jinsey away. Helping Dobby made her happiness. But Master did not want Jinsey’s mother to...he would not be letting her fall into sadness again. She was being lying in her sadness, refusing to work. Master would have been making her dead if she had not done as she was told, helping Dobby learn to work in Malfoy House.”

“Jinsey...does not use her mother’s name,” Narcissa said. She’d always believed it a matter that...well Jinsey had been very young when she’d been taken from her mother. It was reasonable to believe she merely did not know. Dobby, however... “I notice you speak likewise.”

Dobby’s eyes were great pools of sadness as he looked into Narcissa’s face. “House Elves is not being using each other's names when they are being passing from this life and into the next. They are either at rest, and to be left be or they is being reborn, and aren’t to be called by their old life,” he said, chin quivering. “There wasn’t another Dobby, when Tadby was being taken. Dobby tried to make Jinsey’s mother happiness, but he wasn’t needing her any longer. That made her more sadness, Dobby thinks. Jinsey’s mother stopped working. So Master was being punishing until...”

Narcissa took hold of his trembling hands, “It is alright darling. I am sorry I brought up such unpleasantness, but might I ask after Jinsey’s father?”

“Dobby isn’t knowing. Jinsey’s father was being very old, and very defiant when Jinsey’s mother died. Master sent him away...gave him to Wizard factory, Dobby is thinking. Jinsey’s father is being passing, so Dobby lets him rest. Jinsey’s father was being a very good Elf, defending Jinsey’s mother, loving her with all his heart,” he sniffled.

“So he dearly deserves his rest, yes,” Narcissa nodded. “You are certain of Tadby?”

“Yes yes yes, Tadby is being remembering Dobby! He was so much happiness to see Dobby again and…” the Elf seemed to struggle, “Tadby is saying...Mistress was passed away for years now, lost to a Curse on her magic. The Ministry took custody of Tadby, he was to be working in Wizard factory. Lucius Malfoy was finding him. Lucius Malfoy sought Tadby out…”

“...he...sought Jinsey’s brother? And made purchase of him?”

Dobby was very quiet for a moment before he said, “Lucius Malfoy made purchase of Wizard factory, Mistress. The Elves is being...freed, and paid now, Tadby is saying. When Lucius Malfoy freed Tadby, Tadby was asked to be an assistant.” Dobby cleared his throat softly, “Tadby isn’t knowing Jinsey. Jinsey isn’t knowing Tadby. But Lucius Malfoy...has told Tadby about Jinsey. That she is being a very good Elf, brave and clever and loyal. Tadby is wanting to be meeting.” Dobby’s hands overtook Narcissa’s, the Elf’s bony fingers holding firm with reassurance as he fiercely insisted, “Dobby was saying Mistress is not to be involved at all! Master Malfoy isn’t to be being tricking her into visiting!”

_They were...in the library that overlooked the gardens. A great oak desk had been placed in a corner. The bookshelves in Dobby’s view appeared...far more vacant than Narcissa had left them. She had taken books she added to the library in their marriage but...the place had held a great many works Abraxas Malfoy had worked nearly a century to collect. The shelves were all but bare now. Lucius was standing at his desk, sinking down into his chair as if he’d lost the ability to stand further, pale and somewhat panicked as he insisted, “Oh, no, good heavens no,” he insisted, “I did not...I made no mention of her. I would not want her involved, nor would I myself be. Tadby is free. He may come and go as he pleases, he needs no permission or escort. It is entirely between them, if they meet.”_

_“Tadby has tried to meet his sister Jinsey at Hogwarts, but she is never being in,” Tadby lamented. “And Tadby is a free Elf, but Lucius is asking him not to disturb Jinsey’s Mistress, so Tadby does not ask Narcissa Black if he might see her Jinsey.” The small Elf raised his hands to rest over his heart, “Tadby is wanting with everything to meet Jinsey.”_

_“If that is what Tadby is wanting, Dobby is hoping it happens,”_ was all Dobby said on the matter, not daring to speak of his connection to Jinsey, or why she couldn’t be found at her post.

Narcissa considered the matter a moment, gathering her thoughts before giving voice to, “It may be something of a difficult topic to raise with Jinsey, but yes darling, you should absolutely inform her of these developments. However she wishes to move forward, is exactly how we will proceed. You love her, I know you will be delicate, exhibit care in how you break such news. If you’ve need of assistance...well, I’m sure my Future self now well knows of our conversation. She will be of aid, most assuredly.”

Dobby heaved a sigh, nodding. “Yes, yes. Thank you Mistress. Dobby is grateful Mistress is listening and helping,” he brightened and assured, “Dobby will be seeing to Mistress’s lunch now! And then he will be seeing his Jinsey!”

“Do let me know how it fares,” Narcissa intoned, rising from her seat.

Winter Holiday was apparently a time of mind-reeling developments. They may all of them need a holiday to recover from their holiday.

Narcissa returned to the sound of giggling that died in Miss Parkinson the moment the floo flared to life, it seemed, and Narcissa emerged. Hermione was still laughing, smile brightening in a way that filled the older Witch with the sensation of having stepped out into sunlight, pure and blazen. The younger Witches had apparently found stools, so they might all be seated at the kitchen isle.

“Ta-da!” Hermione offered, throwing her arms wide as if to display the stools as some fantastical feat. “Seating! Now watch as I convince a prissy Witch to help me,” she sucked in a horrified sounding gasp, reaching to grasp hold of Pansy’s forearm as if to brace the girl, before she offered the words as if they were some terrible fate, “set...the table!”

“You’re a lunatic,” Miss Parkinson assured.

“A Virgo, actually. Funnily enough? My moon-sign’s _Leo_ , ohhh Trelawney would have a field day if she knew-”

“If I set the bloody table will you shut up?”

“Thank you ladies and ladies! Fly safe and be sure to tip your waitress!”

“...darling, have you broken into the Fire Whiskey already?” Narcissa wondered with some mirth.

Hermione’s mouth opened to say something she found halt with, mouth working as she bemusedly offered Narcissa the knowledge through her thoughts that she’d nearly promised _I’m merely intoxicated by your presence_ , but instead offered, “I’m drunk on holiday spirit,” she said as she moved to assist Miss Parkinson, the younger Witches setting places before their stools for them to consume their meals. “Hogwarts is beautiful this time of year, I didn’t realize how much decorating the House Elves do, Merlin! Pansy and I only went down the hall to borrow stools from a storage closet and the halls are thoroughly decked.”

“Truly? Is it some great change from years previous?” Narcissa wondered with some confusion, the girl spoke as if it were entirely new information for her.

“Oh! Uh...maybe?” the girl offered with some uncertainty.

“You literally _just_ assured me Hogwarts was great fun at holiday, _you_ would know, you said, because you stayed here last year,” Miss Parkinson questioned as she watched how Hermione folded a napkin before placing it beside the plate she was about to add cutlery to, copying the action albeit clumsily.

“Yeah, um…” she offered something of a nervous laugh before she gave a more convincing one, as if at herself, “I didn’t leave the dorms much, you know me, nose stuck in a book, I didn’t much pay attention to the decoration. So, it’s a pleasant surprise for all of us, huh? We should go take a look at it all later.”

The memory just hanging in the younger Witch’s mind was rather desolate, even the memory itself appeared dingy, graying. _Staring up at the canopy overhead, lying in bed mid afternoon, the first of Winter hols in her Fifth Year. Her chest burned, throat raw and sore, head stuffed full to bursting so that it ached, tears still spilling from her eyes. She hadn’t heard the door open, so she startled and turned away the instant weight settled at the foot of her bed, sniffling as she wiped at her eyes with the palm of her hand._

_“Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall questioned gently, a warm hand reaching to rest on a blanket-covered calf, something meant to soothe that only sent the younger Witch curling in on herself at the painful twist in her chest. “My dear it’s nearly supper. The Headmaster has informed me he’s not seen you at table all day…”_

_“I’m sorry Professor,” came out clogged from her throat, she had to clear it, sniffling as she said, “I’m just not feeling very well.”_

_“Have you need of the Hospital Wing?”_

_“No, just a bug. I’ll be fine. I don’t ne- need anything or any-...anything.”_

_“...very well, Miss Granger. If that changes, know that I am here, you need only come to me…” after a moment’s consideration, “you may feel free to join me, if you’ve wish for company. I’ve family visiting but you’re more than welcome.”_

_Uh-huh, people usually did see their families on holiday. Oh God. Her eyes clenched shut as she forced words past the lump in her throat, “That’s...really sweet but I’d really like to be alone now p-please.”_

_“Alright dear. Well, if you change your mind…” she patted the girl’s leg before rising up. “...as you don’t feel well enough to go to the Great Hall for meals, I’ve arranged for Dobby to bring you sustenance. That isn’t necessarily a service Hogwarts provides its students but...given you’re poorly, allowances can be made. Do feel better.”_

Narcissa cleared her throat as she drew nearer, resting a hand on the Gryffindor’s shoulder. “That sounds splendid, darling. It would be great fun to enjoy the grounds together.”

“A joy,” Miss Parkinson deadpanned.

“If it’s some inconvenience to your social calendar, Miss Parkinson, you’re more than free to stay here,” Narcissa assured, as it stood she was already considering seeing if her darling would agree to a late night stroll, just the two of them.

Lunch was a pleasant enough affair, for all of the Slytherin girl’s paranoia. She stared at her salad when it arrived, not so much as raising a hand to take up her fork. Though...her hand did raise to halt Hermione when the Gryffindor girl made to spear a bite of Miss Parkinson’s salad to taste-test for herself, grasping hold of Hermione’s wrist.

“W-wait-” at first blush Narcissa assumed the act was one of revulsion, at the thought of having a Muggleborn touching her food, but no. She...was fearful Hermione would be poisoned. 

“Pansy,” Hermione spoke with gentle insistence, “it really is safe. Dobby handled our meal himself. Your meals since we’ve talked have been fine, right?”

The Slytherin Witch nodded. “Y-yeah. They have been just- t-takes me a minute. I’ll eat.”

Hermione offered a reassuring smile and sat back, taking up conversation with Narcissa on their morning’s reading as she pushed food around on her plate listlessly, matching pace with their guest as she ate so she was not left feeling the need to rush or push her meal away when the other Witches finished ahead of her. As it stood, Narcissa sat in wait for several minutes while her younger companions finished their starter and their main course appeared, this one Miss Parkinson took to with greater ease, joining their discussion with some interest, though she declined offer of dessert. Narcissa called for their table to clear, and summoned Miss Parkinson’s formulation of stomach calming draught, passing it without preamble to the Slytherin who took on mild embarrassment, frustration as she thought perhaps she was being too painfully obvious with her anxieties, but ultimately, she took her potion without question. She _knew_ the food she’d eaten was safe, but she entertained stomach upset afterwards as her mind toiled with, _but was it really?_ Leaving her sitting with her nausea and debating whether it was nervousness at the potential for being poisoned, or a symptom of poisoning itself. That would pass with time, Narcissa hoped.

“Now, Miss Parkinson. I’ve offered you sanctuary at your insistence you wish to be, ‘out’. Now that we are clear of thought, I ask you to elucidate.”

Despite her potion settling, Miss Parkinson swallowed harshly as if she might be ill. She opened her mouth to speak but offered only silence, mind working to come up with something coherent. She looked to Hermione when the girl sighed and said,

“It’s alright, I’ll go first. Hi, I’m Hermione Granger and _I_...have an unrelenting preference for Witches. Don’t get me wrong, Wizards have an appeal, but have you met women?”

Miss Parkinson stared at her for all of a moment before she huffed soft laughter. “Definitely not the sort of ‘out’ I meant, I’m good with Wizards, thanks,” she shook her head, but the ease in tension, given the momentum from prompted speech helped her to say, “I don’t...want to do this anymore. I don’t necessarily...care for non magicals, Muggleborns, but I don’t share the same need to wipe them off the map, as my parents. I don’t want...I don’t want to kill anyone and I definitely don’t want- gods, Death Eaters infiltrating the school-” she blanched, as she realized she wasn’t certain how freely she should speak to explain.

“You’re okay,” Hermione assured, reaching out to rest a hand over the Slytherin’s on the tabletop, encouraging her to continue.

“They’ll- gods know what they’ll do but...I can’t imagine everyone walking away alive. If _I_ let them in, everything they do will be my f-fault and I-” her chin quivered, eyes clenching shut as she said, “I never wanted any part of this! I only a-agreed because my parents- I’m-” a sob tore from her throat, “I’m just trying to _survive!”_

“Then I commend you for risking that to come forward, with the safety of others in mind,” Narcissa offered gently, eyes drifting from noting Hermione’s thumb rubbing to soothe at the back of the Slytherin girl’s hand, to Miss Parkinson’s face. She extended a handkerchief Miss Parkinson haltingly accepted before using it to wipe at her face with some frustration. “Are you willing to ally yourself with the opposing side of the war, as Draco has?”

“I…” there was tremble to her frame as she confessed, “I don’t want to be involved at all, really. But I have to, I suppose.”

“Not picking a side _is_ picking a side,” Hermione gently informed her, “and it’s usually not the right one.” Miss Parkinson nodded.

“We would propose, if you were so willing...allegiance that, on its face, would not appear as such,” Narcissa said, and once she had the girl’s attention, “it is still dangerous, but...I believe, with proper allies at your side, you could be made capable of handling the task. Holding a role similar to my own. You would continue to aid the effort of repairing the cabinet, Miss Granger might be of aid in that regard.”

“...you _want_ the cabinet fixed?” Miss Parkinson questioned as if the woman was insane.

“Yes. So the Order might seize capture of our dear fellow Death Eaters.”

“...oh. Oh gods, you want to lay a trap.”

“You would be kept from the aftermath, most assuredly. If your position has been compromised, if the Dark Lord deduces your involvement, or if you feel incapable of continuing the charade further, you will absolutely be secured with the Order. But in the interim, continuing seemingly as planned, this will placate your parents and allow us to successfully pull off the Order’s counter to the Dark Lord’s plans. This is a tipping point in the war, Miss Parkinson, a balance you will heavily influence with your actions. If you are genuine in your desire to leave this way of life, we will arrange for you to meet with the Order, you must vow to us your sincerity in this regard, and put forth the effort to see our plan succeed. If you endeavor to betray us, Miss Parkinson, we will know and you will be dealt with.”

It was clear in her mind, better than truth serum itself, that her motives were compelling, her voiced intentions true. She feared for the life of the boy she, despite herself, loved. For the lives of her fellow students should the Dark Lord's plans prevail. She feared her parents’, their associates’ wrath, and she was petrified, even as she sat in the safety of Narcissa’s home, of Hogwarts, that she would be caught, found and punished. But a staunch reminder their mercy was nothing to take advantage of, would not be amiss. The girl was Slytherin, while that did not mean evil, it could at the worst of times, mean self-serving. And ultimately, that was what this was. She was, as Miss Granger forewarned, in over her head, felt the threat on her own life imminent if she returned home, her motivation was not so much the terrible things that would happen, but her responsibility for them—if another was in her stead acting to aid in Death Eaters infiltrating the school, she might feel some conviction, that it was wrong, blame them with vehemence for the things that would come to pass, but she was likely to turn a blind eye to the actions that would cause it. If she came to feel serving the light no longer served her? She might abandon her station at a pivotal role. She needed care...but caution.

And she was certainly getting a great deal of care now, wasn’t she?

“We’ll work together and figure it out,” Hermione promised as she squeezed Miss Parkinson’s hand. Oh, the girl wasn’t certain at all how to feel, she wanted to despise Granger, wanted validation for the way she treated the Gryffindor, and was horrified to be met with every reason her behavior was nothing short of cruel. There was a mix of frustration—a wish the girl would be mean, classless, deserving of derision—and utter relief, because she expected...roles reversed? If Hermione Granger came to Pansy Parkinson in search of life saving aid, she would have laughed in her tear streaked face and sent her returned to those she fled from. “We can get the cabinet working, and then I’ll ward it so the Order can capture those who come through.”

“It’s the most ridiculous thing, Granger, I mean it’s _impossible_ ,” Miss Parkinson complained. “I stand in front of that stupid thing repeating the incantation to repair it over and over until I’m blue in the face and...I mean it’s _working,_ but fuck me if it’s making notable progress. I’ve spent all of term on it and it’s not even halfway there. That freak that runs Borkin’s, he’s a colossal jackass, no help at all even though he insists he’s some great authority on the matter, nothing he’s suggested has worked.”

“A Wizard thinking he knows it all? We should inform the Prophet.”

Miss Parkinson huffed, shaking her head before she looked to Narcissa, “I...I really don’t have to go home? I can stay here and...we...we’d work together against...him?”

Narcissa nodded. “So long as you’re earnest, and pose no threat to this effort? Yes, you are welcome in my home. I’ve already made contact with Rowena, and informed her I’ve refused to let you leave the premises until you’ve successfully managed to repair the cabinet, I’ve all but outright said you’re enduring punishment for your lack of progress.”

“...what did she say?”

“It doesn’t bear repeating,” she wasn’t about to tell the girl something she likely well knew. And if she didn’t? Well, it wasn’t the worst thing if Miss Parkinson was ignorant to her parent’s permission, that Narcissa should feel free to punish their daughter as she saw fit, gave her leave to...ugh, she prayed she’d misheard last night, when the girl spoke to the fear of Magic beatings. Her correspondence with the Parkinson’s left her prayers unheard. 

_“What...is a magic beating?” Hermione had questioned shortly after she fell into bed with Narcissa. The older Witch had been lying peacefully, stroking the girl’s hair, her question disturbed that ever so, gave her pause before she continued, the action meant to soothe as she considered carefully her words._

_“It is...very much as it sounds. You...understand how magic communes, yes? Between loved ones and friends. They can be pleasant interactions, or they can be...darker. Not unlike Bellatrix’s assault on your magic at Samhain. It’s more traditionally done with a person’s magic on their victim’s, as opposed to a dark relic like that which Bellatrix used. You interact with the motive to harm, scrape and claw at the magic, strike it in punishment and it invokes a great deal of pain...as much as one would care to inflict, without leaving visible harm. Such injury can be painful, debilitating, but heal on its own without risk of permanent damage if done without cutting into the magic, as yours was.”_

_“...Witches and Wizards punish their children like that?” she asked, aghast. “Did…?”_

_“It is a method renewed in popularity by my mother, in the wake of the charges the Ministry brought up against her. She, and those who saw the trouble stirred by her more easily evidenced abuses, turned to purely internal magical punishments to evade suspicion.” At Hermione’s outright horror, “...I was rarely punished in this way,” she assured. "Bellatrix wouldn’t abide it. Father put his foot down after Andromeda fled with Teddy Tonks." Oh, her darling sniffled, buried her face against Narcissa’s shoulder as she held the woman more tightly._

“Needless to say,” Narcissa assured, “they’ve raised no argument on the matter.”

“Good. Th...thanks,” she swallowed harshly, shaking a bit as she sought to offer some defense. “It isn’t- they aren’t bad- I- I love them, they...they’re not always...it's just th-they expect a lot from me, want to appease the Dark Lord, he’d...he’d punish them for my messing up and it’s a lot. M-my mother’s...she can be nice, father says the funniest things sometimes. They love me I-I think just...there’s a lot on them-”

“Their own choices led them to service of the Dark Lord, and they choose to serve him to this day, no coercion put them there, they work of their own volition. And no amount of nicites or good humor detracts from or excuses abuse, my dear.” That...was something she grappled with, of late. She’d love of her father, with all of her heart, he was an excellent parent in every arena save one, that he stood idle by more often than not, turned a blind eye to abuse. That alone...rather well diminished the legacy he left. He may as well have participated...in fact, by not participating, in any capacity including making rescue of his daughters from their mother, was his form of participation.

“I’m not- they don’t abuse-”

“The way they treat you isn’t right, Pansy,” Hermione insisted. “It isn’t okay to hurt your magic or make you fear for your life, or _any_ of the _awful things_ they’ve done to you. You almost _died_ last time you disappointed them.”

“Oh what the hell do you know, Granger? You’re so full of shit! Your parents don’t even want you home for Christmas! Oh, finding out I was a Witch explained everything blah blah, they love me! Rubbish. If they love you so much then why the hell are you even here? You’re a freak Witch, they probably hate your guts.”

Miss Parkinson regretted her words the moment they left her mouth and it...had been something of reflex. While Hermione hadn’t outright _said_ just _what_ her parents had done, it had been a matter of confidence the Slytherin girl felt her too close to breaking, had responded in fear of exposure.

That did not stop Narcissa’s magic from cracking the stone countertop between herself and Miss Parkinson, sending the girl screaming in fright as she jumped up from her seat. It did not stop Hermione flinching, like she’d been doused in hot oil, tears gathering in her eyes.

“That was remarkable cruelty toward someone offering you aid. You’ve already well tested my patience, interrupting my holiday to provide you sanctuary. I am not casting you from that safety, but you would do well to get out of my sight before I behave regrettably,” Narcissa seethed. “Go collect ingredients from the greenhouse. I’ll be preparing potion for Miss Granger’s current condition freshly, each day, and I’ll require fresh ingredients to do so. Consider it something of an intersession potion’s quiz. You will leave, you will make yourself useful, and then you will return and you will absolutely apologize for your transgression. Now go.”

“I-I’m s-s-”

 _“Go!”_ sent the girl flinching, gulping as she scrambled for the door, the slam of which jolted Hermione.

“Darling, are you alr-”

“W-wait, what did you do? Narcissa!” she- she spoke in _reprimand!_ “You can’t just send her out there, what if- what if her parents send someone to collect her or Voldemort’s taken it into his head she deserves punishment, we shouldn’t let her go out alone-”

“She is remaining on school grounds, I didn’t send her to the Forbidden Forest! Merlin you make it sound like I cast her off continent!” Narcissa snapped, “She is well overstaying her welcome as it stands, the last person I would wish to spend holiday with, and then she has the audacity to say-” her voice cut out, frustration coming to a head, and she raised her voice “you’ve a great deal of concern for someone so needlessly cruel to you! She’s hardly deserving of it and yet you’ve certainly gone out of your way to- to offer nicites, endured her griping, comforted and consoled and displayed a great deal of physical affection on someone who considers your blood something no better than swill!”

Oh she could not regret it more if she’d said she herself considered her blood as such. Hermione flinched at...Narcissa’s words. Blanched, and the tears Miss Parkinson gathered were spilled by Narcissa. The younger Witch’s chin quivered before she questioned, voice trembling, “N-Narcissa? I...d-did I do something?”

“I- no! Yes...no I’m- I do not appreciate Miss Parkinson’s interruption and I do...worry, your candor with her,” Narcissa confessed.

“...worry?” Hermione asked, wholly confused. “You...Narcissa I- oh God, I mean Pansy’s okay I guess but you can’t seriously believe- Narcissa! She’s Pansy Parkinson, she’s been nothing but mean to me and my friends, to Draco! I might forgive her someday, yeah, but that’s definitely a turn off in the now. Pansy’s straight-straight and certainly not my type. I’m...being queer doesn’t mean I want to sleep with _every_ woman who crosses my path, _you_ certainly don’t, do you? And I’d- God I’d never hurt you like that! Being nice to someone isn’t a come on it’s just- decency! She’s scared and alone and in a terrible situation and- and she _is_ a bit like you in that way, that sh- she’s going through the same sorts of things you went through at her age and-” oh her expression crumbled as she wept out, “oh God, I want with _everything_ to be able to go back a-and h-help you, but I c- I can’t and that _kills me_ . I _hate_ the way your mother treated you, and I hate that your father did fuck all to stop her! And you went from that s-straight to a _horrible_ marriage and- if I could help someone, save someone from that sort of history repeating? I...I only want so badly to help because I wish…”

“You wish you could do more for me,” Narcissa offered quietly, oh Merlin. “Overcompensation of...admittedly the sweetest sort-”

“It isn’t sweet if all it did was hurt you!” the younger Witch lamented. “I- I didn’t realize m-maybe I was being too friendly, or at the very least that it was hurting your feelings.”

Narcissa rose and wrapped her arms around the younger Witch, holding her close, heart clenching when the girl cried harder into her neck. “Oh darling, please- please, I am sorry. You didn’t hurt me... _I_ did. I allowed...past experience to cloud my judgement, allowed myself to become irrationally jealous, and I’ve…” she felt sick of it, really, nauseated...little more than a month ago she’d looked in the Future Hermione’s face, laid eyes on scars that spoke to how nearly she’d lost her, given voice to the idea she could _never_ entertain upset with her, how could she? And now here she stood a hypocrite. “Sweetheart, please forgive me, I can’t stand that I’ve made you cry.”

“I’m not crying!” she sobbed around a hiccup. “...not much. Just- yeah my feelings are a little bruised and...and I miss-” she swallowed harshly, sniffling. “It’s just, you know. Yelling and emotions and periods, that’s sort of the perfect equation for crying.”

Narcissa rubbed the younger Witch’s back, pressing her lips to her hair as she let her have her cry. She knew the holidays would be difficult for her, she hoped...to offer some reprieve, the joy of their being able to finally be with one another might...not replace, or heal the fact that she could not spend this time with her parents, but it might soften it. She offered comfort to Narcissa for missing her son she only just saw in the Great Hall at lunch yesterday. The girl hadn’t laid eyes on, heard the voice of her parents since they parted ways the summer before her _Fifth Year_ . Last year she’d spent her days languishing in her loneliness, her heartbreak the whole of her holiday. She...likely had it in her to do the same this year, but...oh. Perhaps _that_ was what sent her so exceedingly cheerful this morning, trying so, to keep things light. She was endeavoring not to wallow, presenting herself as...happy, in equal measure to what she held in truth, in sadness.

The girl sniffled as she calmed, wondering, “...past experience?”

“Tadby is not the first assistant Lucius has had. Though I’m rather certain he isn’t getting up to the sorts of things he requested of them.” It had been foolishness. She’d been too brazen, confronting him about his indiscretions only to be met with the insistence she didn’t know what she was talking about and to leave his business to him. She...followed him once, thinking that catching him in the act would shame him. He could not refute that he was cheating on her if she’d indenable proof. She’d tracked he and his former Governor's assistant to a hotel, the clerk hadn’t been foolish enough to stay her or demand a bribe, one cold look had the man handing over the key and room number. _“S-same as every week Lady Malfoy,”_ he’d stammered out. _Every week._ She entered the room unannounced to find his assistant...handcuffing Lucius to the bedposts, ankles chained, his wand in her hand. His literal one though Narcissa was certain...otherwise had likely happened shortly after she fled. He’d looked just devastated to have her find him, _it had been something of triumph seeing the horror on his face as his eyes filled with tears,_ _“Narcissa...Narcissa my heart, it isn’t what you thi-”_ _and then his jaw had set, clenched and he blinked to clear his eyes, before he snarled, “This is none of it your business, woman! Get out!” he shouted just short of a roar before he glared at the restraints holding him hostage, looked to his assistant, “And_ you _, just what the devil do you think you’re doing standing there_ -!” _was all Narcissa heard as her vows drove her from the room, door slamming behind her._

That had been utterly gut wrenching. A blatant...disrespect, disregard for her. Something vile and cruel. Hermione...had merely been compassionate to someone who...just so happened to be pretty and young. It was undeserving that she had that very same look Lucius had, in the moment he’d been caught, devastation as she said, “I’m sorry I overdid it with Pansy. She’s-”

“Going through something...incredibly difficult, more pressing than my own frustrations with the situation. She...is in need of a good friend. You are working to fulfill that need. She’s…”

“Not my type, not at all,” Hermione promised.

Narcissa smiled softly, “And just what, pray tell, is your type?”

The younger Witch took it as a matter of consideration, “Mmm…” she pondered, and then, “tall...beautiful...blonde…”

“Damaged?” the older Witch offered with some mirth, for all she was serious. Gods, she could not believe she let such insecurity drive her to such suspicion of this Witch.

Hermione crinkled her nose at her jest, teasing, “Yeah. So unless you see another one of _those_ walking around...you’re safe.”

“And so I am,” Narcissa supposed, raising a hand to brush back curls from her darling’s tear streaked face. “My darling, I truly am sorry. Apologetic beyond measure, that I have-”

Hermione’s smile was at her own lips as the younger Witch rose up on tiptoe to kiss her with open eagerness in the moment they had, blissfully alone.

“Hermione-” Narcissa sought to speak when the girl relented so they might breathe, humming into the younger Witch’s next kiss. She raised her hands to cup the girl’s face, returning her kiss a moment more before pulling away, thumbing at the left over tear streaks on her cheeks, “Darling...oh my love, if…” she sighed, considering carefully, “Miss Parkinson is a priority. But you are more so to me, always. You needn’t...keep a brave face, ignore the struggles the holidays bring you. Sweetheart, if you are _sad-”_

“I-if I let...myself be sad that’s all I’ll be able to be, you know? I um...I’d rather not...” her chin quivered momentarily, a bit of tremble in her frame before she met Narcissa’s eye. “If I need to talk, I will, I promise. I just um…”

“If I could take this from you I would. Your parents love-”

She flinched as if talk of such was physically painful even as she promised, “I know.”

“What you’ve done for them is remarkable, took such bravery, and my darling once they understand, all will be forgiven.”

“M-maybe, yeah,” she sniffled, raising a hand to wipe at her eye with the back her index finger, “th-thanks.” She sighed, resting her head against Narcissa’s shoulder. “God I’m tired.”

Fear settled in Narcissa’s stomach, sending her holding the younger Witch more tightly. She’d...a few instances now, of correspondence between she, and her own Future Self, often warnings of great import. Her list of instructions when her Future Self sent along nutritive potion, they’d been needless save for the message they contained, in secret...likely because the Future’s Hermione must have insisted upon writing between the two Narcissas. Her future self had coded a message in her instruction, in the wake of Narcissa discovering the horrible scar on her beloved’s arm: _We can save her*._ She prayed they could. Then the little missive informing her...Miss Granger might hold response to her wearing well fitting trousers, the Future’s especially. Her missive to handle Hermione’s birthday affairs. And then her message, through Andromeda, to instruct her not to contact Hermione until she was well, her messages wouldn’t press agonized magic, push the younger Witch to rise to her aid when she needed rest. Then came...well, she wasn’t certain how to feel about the matter but she would...trust herself, in this regard. Her Future Self wished some manipulation of Bellatrix, wrote to discourage the Present Narcissa from jeopardizing the effort, and to forewarn her so she would not be caught off guard if Bellatrix made mention of their correspondence to the version of Narcissa who had not written to her.

And once more, as the holiday approached. A missive like all the ones directly from her Future Self, without a go-between, it arrived on a slip of pure white parchment, printer’s paper, the letters seeming stamped out in ink, to inform her...Andromeda denoted, in the appointment the Future’s Miss Granger had allowed her Narcissa to sit in on, that alongside the younger Witch’s anxieties...she’d some depression, as well. Her confession of weariness...it would be understandable, for the trying circumstances they were in, but it struck Narcissa as something her Future self had warned her to watch for.

“You’re well due a bit of rest. Miss Parkinson will return when she’s ready and we will...deal with that as it happens. If you wish to lie down…”

“If that’s okay?”

The girl squeaked in surprise, giggled when Narcissa wrapped her arms around the younger Witch and lifted her off of her feet, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek as arms slipped around her neck to hug the woman as she carried her, up and off to the bedroom, casting the door open, and then closed shut behind them before she deposited her love on the bed, Hermione bouncing a bit with her descent before scooting back toward the headboard, blushing in a way that was entirely enticing. Narcissa crawled into bed after her, seated on her knees straddling the younger Witch’s thigh and peppered a few kisses to her lips, smiling when it pulled further giggling from her, before kissing her in earnest...gentle, but building when the girl gave no indication she was of another mindset, save to offer an amused,

“I thought we were going to lie down?”

“I did invite you to do as much, yes,” Narcissa assured, raising a hand to press against the Witch’s breastbone with an index finger, gently pushing, prompting her to do just that, lie back, her mind an absolute blank save for the haze of anticipatory arousal. “You are tired...so you’re to rest,” the woman informed, stealing a kiss more from her lips, “Relax,” she said, moving to kiss at her neck, return her earlier favor.

“Wh-what if Pan-”

“Shhh, darling. We are Witches. My rooms are well warded. I will be made aware when Miss Parkinson returns...neither can she open the door to my bedroom.”

“...I didn’t see you lock it.”

“It does so automatically.”

“I opened it last night-”

 _“You’ve_ my express permission,” Narcissa assured her, casting to discard of sweatpants that were only getting in the way and hardly necessary in Hermione’s present company, “darling...unless you’ve objection outside that which I’ve given solution to...do shush.”

“I- I um...I-I know some people er...I don’t want to get too wild while…”

“Oh, while I’ve no discomfort with your current guest...my love I would do nothing to your discomfort. I merely wish to relish in being with you as I can, with _my_ current guest out from underfoot. I’ve nothing ‘wild’ in mind, but should what I am considering be out of your range of comfort, you’re to speak to as much and I will absolutely right the situation,” Narcissa vowed. Never would she put her through discomfort in this regard, she felt...some trepidation, herself. She wanted with everything to be with this Witch. There was...a conflict of sorts, where the idea of lying with anyone ever again seemed unappealing. Want, mixed with fear. 

Pools of lamp-lit amber peered up at her, full of the trust she spoke to as she parted sweet lips to say, “I trust you.”

_I trust you._

_I love you._

Narcissa pressed a kiss to the younger Witch’s forehead, before resuming her work to lay claim on the girl’s neck, biting a bit more harshly before sucking at delicate skin, smiling when it sent Hermione gasping, arching up against the older Witch, and the woman worked one hand into wild curls as the other trailed to carress along the side of the swell of her love’s breast, her ribcage, down the slope that led to her hips, humming her appreciation as she took secure hold of her backside.

“Oh God,” the younger Witch whimpered quietly.

Narcissa pressed a kiss over the bruising she was working to build before slipping her hand from the Witch’s backside, plying smooth pressure over her hipbone before slide over silken black panties, her love shuddering with her pleasure. The charm she plied to Hermione’s underthings...was meant to absorb _blood_ , not all manner of wet that might be produced by her sex, so there was a great deal of mischief involved in the claim she made as she stroked against tender flesh through near-soaking fabric, “Oh dear, I believe my charms need redoing...your underthings feel so very wet, I do apologize.”

That got her something of a confused look before a cry of pleasure broke from Hermione’s throat when Narcissa cast on her underthings again, renewing her charm in truth, needlessly, but...well, there was more than one need such a thing satisfied, apparently, the rush of magic vibrating directly against the younger Witch’s sex sent her gasping, breathing picking up, “N-Narcissa...”

“How utterly baffling, it only seems to be making matters worse,” Narcissa lamented with a grin, fingers stroking to ply building pressure against sopping wet fabric alongside her magic as she continued to cast ‘in vain’.

“I-I’m, oh God N-Narcissa if- if you don’t stop I’m-”

“Yes darling?”

“I’m going to-”

“Have you any objection to this?”

Hermione shook her head, “It’s- y-you don’t have to stop,” was all she could say on the matter as she covered her eyes with her arms and focused on breathing.

And so, Narcissa didn’t. Delighted in working the younger Witch up until her body quaked beneath hers, breath catching in her throat, “Narcissa-” she breathed in sharply, “Narcissa!”

The woman chuckled as she waited for the younger Witch to catch her breath, sucking first her middle finger, then index finger clean, openly laughing when the door to her quarters could be heard closing, sending the breathless Witch gasping in horror and sitting up, eyes wide.

“Narcissa, shhh!” Hermione rasped out in whispered reprimand.

“...Miss Parkinson!” Narcissa called at the top of her voice, “Do please forgive us our absence, I’ve drawn Miss Granger into my bedchamber to ravage her within the limits she allows while entertaining her monthly guest! As I’ve successfully brought her to orgasm, we’ll be with you shortly!”

Hermione’s horror turned to utter humor, she threw back her head with her laughter as she realized to her great relief, the older Witch had warded for sound.

“Narcissa!” she reprimanded once more before leaning forward to kiss the Witch with warm enthusiasm, “That was so _bad!_ You just about gave me a heart attack!”

“Shall I Floo the Hospital Wing, my darling, or should I take you directly to St. Mungos?”

“Mean! That’s just mean, Professor Black,” Hermione informed her, kissing her soundly, until the older Witch was admittedly breathless before she withdrew herself entirely from the woman, slipping off the bed and casting to summon...the sweatpants once more. “We should go make sure she’s okay and um...you know. Smooth things over.”

“There will be no _smoothing_ , she will _apologize_ or she will dearly regret it. If not for her heinous commentary, then for intruding on our holiday and making you wear those horrible,” her nose wrinkled in disdain as she looked to the offending article of clothing, “...things.”

“Hmm...if I get to lounge around in comfy clothes I might be more inclined to wear less comfy, much prettier clothes later,” she offered, “Dress up for dinner. I planned to last night but uh...Professor McGonagall gave me my grade and all thought other than ‘I passed, I can kiss my girlfriend’ flew out the window.”

“Did it now?...I must say I’m rather glad you did not delay in joining me...if you were, however, inclined to demonstrate your wardrobe plans, I would not be opposed.”

“Then it's...almost a date,” Hermione supposed with some mirth. “I’m um...that was fun but I should use the restroom and clean up a little? Please don’t kill the girl we promised to keep alive over the holiday while I’m gone?”

“I do promise to try.”

“Narcissa,” Hermione laughingly complained.

“Even that is a test of my limits darling, I’m only a Witch.”

The girl smiled warm, pressing a kiss to Narcissa’s cheek. “Well, so long as you try,” she said, before slipping off to the bath just off her bedchamber, closing the door behind her.

Narcissa sighed, bracing herself and casting to make certain her hair wasn’t a sight and…cleanse her own excitement from their activities, making sure it hadn’t seeped through her skirt, and then she stepped out into the hall, returned to the common area of her quarters to find Miss Parkinson...nowhere in sight. Her offerings of fresh ingredients were on the kitchen countertop which...had been clumsily repaired, like the girl had tried to do so on her own, and the bundles of herbs and flowers were carefully laid out. Oh, she was there, on the opposite side of the room, by the fireplace, seated on the floor directly before the flames. For a moment Narcissa feared the girl had fire called someone but...no, quiet casting assured her there was no floo powder missing from her stores, and the girl was seated on her bottom, not leaning to stick her head into the fireplace, just listlessly staring and...crying, quietly. 

She startled when Narcissa joined her, sitting on her knees at her side. Miss Parkinson wiped at her eyes with the back of her shirtsleeve, “I- I um, got everything, I think.”

“You did. Ten points to Slytherin, I should think,” Narcissa said, the counters adjusting.

“Is um...is Granger…? I really am...sorry, I think. Sh- Fu-”

“We are on holiday, in the privacy of my quarters as opposed to a classroom setting. You may speak freely so long as it holds no disrespect,” Narcissa allowed.

“Swearing isn’t ladylike,” Miss Parkinson waved the allowance off. “I just...I shouldn’t have said what I said. I know it's probably dangerous for her to be with her parents, given everything. She’s...kind of hinted at it, that they’re in hiding or something.”

“It is a painful subject for her, one you pressed obscenely. Miss Granger was speaking only with your best interest in mind, Miss Parkinson, and you met her with poor return.”

“I know. I know, I just…”

“Miss Granger is an excellent confidant. It sounded like a personal matter she touched on earlier, if you believed her tongue slipping, I can assure you that is not the case. She has kept all manner of confidence in regard to you, for weeks now. She did inform me, confide in me when you first sought her company, merely to keep me apprised that you might come to me and I should receive you with an open mind...I’m a legilimist from birth, Miss Parkinson. She has Occluded to keep your confidence even from my power. Hurt as she was, she has kept it now.”

“She can Occlu- she’s occluded to keep…” and then, “you’ve been reading my mind!”

“In passing, it is nothing in depth, I do not seek to know your mind, Miss Parkinson, save for instances I need to verify absolute truth. It is the only reason you are permitted in the safety of my chambers. If I could not verify your motives on my own you would be subject to truth serum in the Headmaster's office and questioned seven ways to Sunday before I would allow you to interrupt myself and Miss Granger’s holiday, put her to danger with the risk you might be here under false pretenses.”

Miss Parkinson gulped, staring into her lap, “I’m sorry. I’m ruining your holiday, I get it.”

“Yes. But I do prefer you alive to ruin my holiday, than dead for preserving my plans.”

Miss Parkinson nodded. “I…” her mouth worked momentarily. “Granger’s...right. My parents…” she swallowed. “I got...I got pregnant, last year, before summer hols. By a um...a Muggleborn.”

“If this is the matter you spoke of with Miss Granger...she did not break your confidence but I am...aware, the circumstance, through your mother.”

“She _told_ you?!”

“...yes. Miss Parkinson...if it was not your will to seek an abortion...I do apologize. Sincerely, with everything in me, I did not know your will on the matter, I knew only what your mother offered. She is a skilled Occlumens, I could not perceive her mind, I had only the information she offered and that was you had fallen pregnant in some misguided youthful tryst with a muggleborn and absolutely required a Healer-” her voice died when the girl grasped harshly at her forearm.

“ _You_ gave her the Healer?”

“A healer, yes, one trusted with discretion. She did not handle...the matter Rowena referenced when seeking her, but she is learned, and can be sworn to secrecy, you were absolutely safe in her care but-”

Miss Parkinson’s chin crinkled, lip quivering as fresh tears filled her eyes, “ _Thank you!_ Gods above I- oh gods I thought I was going to _die!”_

“...I...I do beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t- oh gods I didn’t want-” she trembled as she said, “I didn’t want an abortion, and I- I refused to give daddy a name and h- he- m-m-mother, she- they-”

_“You ungrateful, filth-filled whore!” her father raged, “All we’ve worked for, all we have done for you, and this is how you repay us?! “_

_“Who is the boy, Pansy?!” her mother demanded to know._

_“He isn’t important!” Pansy cried._

_“Crucio!”_

All of the blood drained from Narcissa’s face as she found herself pulling Miss Parkinson in for a hug, holding the girl once more as if life itself depended upon it, oh gods in the heavens.

“Your mother sought a healer known for discretion…”

“Yeah. Figured one who practiced in...unwanted pregnancies wouldn’t...run their mouth, would er...know what to do I...I wouldn’t stop bleeding-”

The woman had sat at tea! She’d been albeit rushed, and for good reason Narcissa knew now, but if the matter had been urgent she should have cut through propriety and demanded knowledge of a healer immediately not stopped for a spot of verbal sparring before invoking rites of hospitality! Better yet, “She should have taken you to St. Mungos! You should have had care immediately! Gods- Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa said, “That is not a mother’s care, it isn’t, not at all. If Draco’s life hung in the balance, I would not for a moment, not for pride or shame’s sake hesitate to get him aid.”

“...you...oh, yeah, you aren’t actually mad at him for defecting, I guess-”

“If I was so angry at him it could drive me to tear the hair from my own head, I would not hesitate to aid him if he’d need of me. He could disappoint me beyond words, he _has_ in past, he is only human, as are we all, and never has he lost my love, my absolute care.”

“E-even if he’s embarrassed you? Sh-sh-shamed your name?”

“The only shame to the Parkinson name is that your parents bring in their vile legacy, working with the Dark Lord in earnest, their cruelty toward _y-_ Pansy. A parent should never raise their wand to their child never, certainly never in anger and certainly not with _Unforgivables!”_ Narcissa insisted. “You are absolutely to stay here, this holiday and any after if that is your choice, you are to never return to their so called care under any circumstance, is that clear?”

“I- I mean they- they’ll want-”

“Miss Parkinson. I must absolutely insist you say this with me. _Fuck_ what they want.”

The Slytherin girl stared at her, wide eyed and mouth working momentarily, “I-I- you just-”

“Swearing is entirely ladylike so long as a lady does so. Now,” Narcissa prompted.

“...f-fuck what they want?”

“Miss Parkinson, honestly. You’re about to lose House Points for such poor performance.”

“Fuck what they want!”

“Yeah!” Hermione cheered, catching their attention as she slipped between a chair and the side table to seat herself at Miss Parkinson’s side. Merlin, she’d not heard her emerge from the bedroom! “What'd I miss? Whose authority are we disregarding?”

“My parents,” Miss Parkinson supplied.

“Oh! Fuck what they want!” the Gryffindor offered in solidarity, raising a hand to thumb at the tear tracks on the Slytherin girl’s nearest cheek, “You definitely don’t have to listen to a word they say. You can be your own person, you know?”

“Not really but...I think I could learn,” she supposed.

“That’s what school’s all about: learning,” Hermione encouraged.

“I um...I’m sorry...about what I said before? That was bitchy, I shouldn’t’ve said it.”

Hermione shrugged. “Thanks for apologizing. And getting things for potion, I’d be pretty miserable without it,” she said, offering her hand. “Come on, Narcissa’s got Wizard Chess. Fancy a game, either of you?”

A soft smirk spread at the Slytherin girl’s lips. “...you’re on, Granger.”

The Witches gathered, seating themselves before the fire in armchairs, Narcissa sat at a stool at the kitchen counter, listening to the younger Witch’s match as she organized the ingredients Miss Parkinson had gathered, and discreetly cast to fully repair her counterspace. And then upon Miss Granger’s triumph, it was Narcissa’s pleasure to play the victor. Miss Parkinson sighed as if put-upon when she had to rise from her seat, but she did see fit to levitate a stool over to seat herself behind the side table, legs crossed at the knee, elbow propped atop it to rest her chin in her hand as she watched Narcissa and Hermione’s match.

The Slytherin startled a bit when the floo flared ever-so, denoting someone calling through, Minerva McGonagall’s voice spoke though her face did not appear in the flames, like she’d tossed powder in to start a call and went about...there was sound in the background, the scrape of a tool against crinkling parchment, the soft clink of something metal touching a porcelain plate.

“Narcissa dear, Hermione, I hope you’re having a happy holiday,” Minerva called, “Am I interrupting?”

“...nothing spectacular save a rousing battle of wits between myself and Miss Granger, we’re having a game of Wizard’s Chess.”

“Witch's Chess, really,” Hermione said with some laughter. Miss Parkinson snorted softly.

“You’re decent and not opposed to a spot of quick company?”

Narcissa spared a glance to Miss Parkinson and the girl shrugged, surprised Narcissa would defer to her, but the Slytherin girl...was likewise surprised at the familiarity between Narcissa and the Deputy Headmistress, but she trusted the Professor’s judgement on allowing the woman into her home. It wasn’t as if the Head of Gryffindor would hold nefarious will toward Miss Parkinson. And it would do well for her to be more...friendly associated with a member of the Order. “Absolutely, do come in,” Narcissa invited.

She froze entirely, caught in her uncertainty as her mind filled with utter panic, when it was _not_ Minerva McGonagall she invited into her chambers, breath stilling in her lungs as her eyes blew wide, Hermione gasping in startled fright at her side as they were cheerily greeted,

“Good morning! Oh...afternoon?” darling Angela questioned as she huffed a laugh, “It’s holiday and I don’t bow to the will of time when there isn’t something in it for me...hello? Crap, if mum sent me through to the wrong place, I’m telling mum,” she said...like a reassuring joke to herself as real unease set in her, oh!

“Oh sweetheart, you are absolutely in the right place, I apologize,” Narcissa said, rising from her seat to put herself between Miss Parkinson and the Muggle girl, who...just came through the Floo, might herself be magical for all the Slytherin girl knew. She rested her hand on Angela’s free forearm...oh the dear girl brought them baked goods! There was a platter of treats on her other arm, “I- I wasn’t expecting- darling I have a guest.”

“Yeah? Oh! Mum...I heard you say it was cool to come through?”

“For Professor McGonagall to, yes. Your mother will be most displeased Professor McGonagall let you through without joining you herself.”

“But she-”

“What is it you’ve brought for us, darling? I trust there’s no Asparagus in this?” Narcissa offered as if in jest.

The smile died on Angela’s lips as she recognized...it was something her mothers labeled a ‘password’, if Angela was to be in the care of another unexpectedly, she was to request they give her a password, ‘Asparagus’, and if they failed, she was to flee from them, get herself to safety. Narcissa bringing it up thankfully gave her warning she needed to guard her tongue, that the woman was seeking to separate the idea of who her mother was, from Professor McGonagall, given their present company.

“Nope, just brownies,” she offered, moving that arm as if to prompt Narcissa to take her plate, so she did, releasing hold of the girl as she regained some of her humor and shrugged, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you with your guest,” and then deciding to aid her effort, she turned her head slightly as if to address someone behind Narcissa, “Sorry, hi! Angela Holmes—no relation,” she saw fit to assure for some reason, laughingly, it prompted a giggle from Hermoine. “Pleasure to meet you…?” she asked, offering her hand.

The Pure blood Witch rose from her seat, regarding the girl before her with a critical stare, up and down before accepting her hand with a long reaching grasp as if expecting the girl to bring her hand to her lips to kiss her metaphorical ring. Heavens. She raised her brow when the girl did no such thing, just shook her hand, but she introduced herself, “...Pansy Parkinson, first of my name, daughter and heir of Rowena and Garfield Parkinson.”

That had laughter bubbling up from the Muggle girl’s throat. “W-ow you sound like a bitch. Young bitch, she’s a student right?”

“...yes, dear, a staunch Slytherin,” Narcissa warned.

“Ohhhh... _that's_ code for you’re a blood supremacist or some garbage, huh?” Angela smiled wide before squeezing the hand in hers and cheerily informing her, “You’re touching a Muggle you know? Lucky for you I wash my hands when handling food.”

 _“What?!”_ Miss Parkinson screeched, wrenching her hand away as she staggered back, “Th-th-that isn’t- that isn’t possible, a _Muggle_ can’t even _see_ the school, let alone enter!”

“Tell that to me and mum. Muggle as the day we were born. Entering through the Floo system, we drag a little residual magic that lets...well, mum see things as they are. I don’t hear anything strange tho, so,” she shrugged.

“Angela!” Narcissa cried in reprimand. 

“What? Bigots don’t scare me, if she doesn’t like me just because ohhh I was born without ‘magic’, she can eat me,” and then her nose crinkled with some disdain, “well. I’m not much into that actually, no offense, it’s not just you, promise, I think it's safe to say it applies to everyone. But you can eat my brownies and be infuriated about how good they are. I’d say you could choke on them but unlike your old-ass ideals, my baked goods aren’t _dry.”_

“They aren’t! They’re amazing,” Hermione’s voice chimed...muffled. As she spoke around a bite of a brownie she’d pilfered from the platter in Narcissa’s hands. Honestly. “What?” she asked at Narcissa’s stare, “I’m having the painters in, this is stressful, and I’m hungry,” she shrugged, offering the mental assurance she could cast circles around Miss Parkinson with a mouthful of brownie and one free hand, should Angela need defending.

“Awe, ‘mione, that’s the pits,” Angela sympathized, promising, “I’ll keep you rolling in baked goods if you help me get back to mum’s. Toby’s around but one Floo trip a day’s about all we can ask of the poor guy, it takes him a bit to adjust going from one place to another so instantaneously. Genevive was probably a Witch in a past life, she just rolls with it no problem but I wouldn’t trust her to guide me anywhere but straight to the kitchens no matter where I say or what direction I try to go in. The House Elves like me fine but mum says there’s some new ones that mightn’t take to me. I mean I think I can get them to come ‘round, I mean who could resist this smile? Once they see my skills in the kitchen? Goners.”

Miss Parkinson was still reeling at a Muggle being capable of being in the castle, when she squinted at the girl. “You…” it dawned on her then, _“you_ bake? You baked those? How do you know you even did it right er…you’re…”

“Princess Pansy was it?” she asked as if she’d nearly forgotten the girl’s name. “I’m what?”

The Pureblood blushed a bit fiercely before venturing to say, “Blind?”

The Muggle girl sucked in a horrified gasp, reaching out, waving her arm a bit until she met Narcissa’s, grasping the Witch’s forearm as she turned her head in the woman’s direction to consult her with utter _shock_ , “I’m _blind?!”_

“And a comedian,” Narcissa drily assured, patting the girl’s hand. “Darling, do let us return you to your mothers.”

“Awe, I wanted to stay and braid Princess’s hair,” she pouted. “Oh, and invite you lot to dinner tonight.”

“We’ll be hosting Miss Parkinson for the whole of the holiday,” Narcissa informed.

Met with a shrug. “So? Bitchy-witch can come, mum’ll love her.”

“...I assure you your mother holds no particular hatred for Miss Parkinson, but neither does she love-”

“Maleficent McGonagall-Finnigan loves literally every stray that walks through her door or fireplace or magical portal of choice.”

Miss Parkinson let out a strangled sound, “McGona- _you’re-”_

“Minerva McGonagall’s one of my mums, yeah.”

“B-but you- you said your name was Holmes...no relation?”

“Yeah. My name is Holmes. Full relation to Minerva McGonagall, adoption-wise anyway,” she shrugged. “My parents passed when I was a baby, mums wanted me to keep their name, it's how I stay connected to them, honor them. Glad to, it's a lot easier to spell than either of mums’ and...mums tell me all about them, what amazing people they were, I’m pretty grateful to them, that they loved me enough to make sure I’d have some amazing mothers to step in if something happened to them.”

“O- oh.”

“Yeah, told you you’re a bitch, a blind orphan brings you brownies and you probably think she deserves to die for being a Muggle, huh? That’s right everyone, Princess Pansy wants blind orphans to die!” Angela offered like some announcement to the public at large, grinning wide.

“Oh gods, you’re- you’re a proper nutter,” Miss Parkinson was certain, disbelieving at how very brazenly the Muggle girl conducted herself. “If you were a Witch the Sorting Hat would scream Gryffindor before it so much as touched your head.”

“Regis? Yeah, he’s a babe...is he really a hat? Or is mum having me on? Love her, but like, I wouldn’t put it past my mums to have a gag my entire life where they let me hold a hat puppet while paying some git to throw his voice.”

“Regis?”

“Everyone has a name, rude to assume otherwise.”

“...he’s a hat,” Miss Parkinson assured.

“Whew. Well, I’ll sleep easier now. One of those things you lie awake at night and wonder about, you know?”

Hermione stuck the pad of her thumb in her mouth to clear it of crumbs that stuck to it, meeting Narcissa’s gaze and offering the thought that she would make sure Minerva knew Pansy was with them, give her all of the pertinent details. “I’ll take you back Ange.”

“Thanks! Oh, lovely home you have here I’m sure, Professor. Smell you later, Princess,” she offered with a wink in the Slytherin Witch’s general direction before Hermione linked arms with her, hugging the Witch’s arm before turning with her to face the fireplace. “Mum’s rooms!” she called when she heard the flames react to Floo powder and they stepped through, vanishing from sight.

Narcissa turned on Miss Parkinson the moment they were alone. “You will absolutely keep what you have learned here to yourself, or you will be made to regret it. If Minerva McGonagall’s family is brought to harm-”

The girl blanched at that, even as she looked indignant at the suggestion, “I- I wouldn’t! I mean, she’s just a Muggle, but still, I’m _here_ because I _don’t_ want people dying because of me, remember?”

She would not, if she posed threat to the Professor’s family. It would be much to ask of Hermione, but she was skilled enough, more than enough, to alter Miss Parkinson’s memories of their afternoon, clear them of her interaction with Angela if it posed danger to her family. She would follow Minerva’s lead on the matter. At the very least, “You will vow, Miss Parkinson, you will make vows to keep the McGonagalls’ confidence.”

She looked like she smelled something foul, at the thought of avowing herself over _Muggles,_ but after a moment’s hesitation, careful thought that led her to the conclusion it was not inherently gruesome and at the very least it would secure her to Narcissa’s offered sanctuary, whereas refusing might set them on the path to Miss Parkinson being sent on her merry way. “Yeah. Sure, whatever,” she supposed, eyeing the platter in Narcissa’s hand. “...you’re not seriously going to eat those.”

“Not all on my own, no. And certainly not in one sitting, tempting as that is,” Narcissa said, delicately raising a brownie off of the plate and taking a bite...she _would_ refrain from eating the whole of them, most certainly. She would. Good heavens the Muggle girl had to have _some_ magic in her. She brought the platter in range of Miss Parkinson, guiding it temptingly in her eye line before moving to take the sweet offerings to rest on her kitchen counter.

The treat tasted even better when the Slytherin girl trailed after her and tentatively took one in hand, looking utterly dumbstruck at how very good it was. She blinked a few times before saying, “...they’re um...yeah they’re alright.”

Miss Parkinson _did_ nearly choke on the morsel in her mouth, when the Floo flaired to life and Hermione emerged from it haphazardly, seemingly panicked as her voice raised in earnest,

“Oh my God, we have a problem!”

Narcissa’s wand was in hand in an instant as she stormed across the room to lay hands on the younger Witch’s shoulders, “Darling? What is it?!”

Hermione’s hands raised to grasp hold of the Witch’s wrists, “It’s Angela’s _birthday!”_

...that...well it was an emergency of a sort, oh goodness. “It is?”

Hermione nodded. “She really does want us to come to dinner to celebrate with her. McGonagall’s...it’s not her ideal, Pansy knowing about her family, she didn’t even know she was still here. I explained everything and she’s...cautious, definitely wants to talk to Pansy herself. So,” she looked to the Slytherin Witch. “Guess where you’re eating dinner tonight?”

Miss Parkinson paled. “What...what exactly do Muggles d-do for their birthday ritual?”

Hermione seemed to give the matter serious consideration. “Well...I mean it _is_ customary to sacrifice at least three Witches…” the girl quietly counted to herself, pointing an index finger first at her own person, and then between Narcissa and Miss Parkinson. “...huh...I’m sure that’s just a coincidence,” she shrugged.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa offered in gentle reprimand.

“What?” She giggled. “Ask silly questions, get silly answers. It’s a _birthday_ Pansy. Cake, ice cream, the thing I’m panicking about is presents. She insists we don’t need them, but…” she looked to Narcissa as if pleading. “...can we go shopping?”

Narcissa stared at her momentarily as she registered that yes, that was something the younger Witch thought she even had to ask. “My darling...that is the single most wonderful question you could possibly ask me.”

Somehow the statement made her blush, set a sweet shyness in her features as she took a tempting lip between teeth before smiling softly, saying, “I dunno. I’ll probably ask an even better question someday. Hermione Granger, master of inquiry,” she offered with a wink, before announcing, “ _I’m_...going to go change,” and slipping off toward the bedroom.

...had the young Witch just insinuated…

It was rather soon to be considering such things. But Narcissa...well, she had not thought she would ever wish to wed again, after the disaster her first marriage turned out to be. Taking vows with the man she so loved, believed to have loved her in return had wrought nothing but pain and misery save the single brightspot that was their precious son. But she did have...ideals, for her future with Miss Granger. Making a home together once the War was over...supporting her as she navagaited her education, decided what path she would forge to mold the future of the Magical World...and there was something heartbreakingly sweet at the thought...perhaps the younger Witch might someday wish to be a mother. A child imbued with her mothers’ joint beauty? Their magic? Raised in utter love, in true strength?

...she knew well, the consequences of vowing herself to another. But she knew well the consequences of avowing herself to Hermione. She had been freed of every restraint, retained every benefit of their bond…

“Ready!” Hermione’s voice drew her attention, the younger Witch appearing before her, a warm hand on Narcissa’s forearm. She’d entertained a mere change of bottoms, swapped sweatpants out to tuck her jumper into a black knee length skirt, donned burgundy knee-socks. She peered into the older Witch’s face with some curiosity, “Narcissa?”

“I do absolutely adore you,” Narcissa heard herself softly confess.

That earned her a blush and...a bit of embarrassment. She’d rather well forgotten they were not entirely alone, until Miss Parkinson made yet another choking sound. Hermione smiled and assured, “I think you’re pretty great too.” And then she looked to Miss Parkinson, “Jury’s still out on you...do you want to change, or go in your uniform?”

“I um...I think I’ll stick around here, actually. I can’t er...buy anything, not without my parents’ permission, so…” Miss Parkinson shrugged.

“I hold no issue lending you funds to this effort,” Narcissa said, “but neither is it entirely expected for you to offer a present to a stranger. You could merely join us for company sake?”

She gave it a moment’s consideration, looking about the quarters, pondering what she might feel once she was wholly alone in them. She felt safe...so long as they were with her. Oh, Narcissa did feel some guilt at her earlier anger, casting the girl from her home. She’d been petrified she would be permanently evicted from that space for her crimes, and she’d been nothing but nerves from head to toe, venturing out on her own, sick to her stomach with her dread of what might befall her without those who might defend her as Hermione had promised she would.

“Company...yeah,” she allowed. She did not like it at all, the idea of being financially indebted to the older Witch, but that was her prerogative.

“Very well,” Narcissa said, looking to Hermione, “Come along then darling, let us away.”

It was something of a great deal of fun, to shop with her darling on her arm. They cast for discretion, in the event any other persons from the magical world might be about, but Paris usually offered privacy. It was not a hotbed of activity Narcissa Apparated them to, anyway, she’d a handful of shops that came to mind, and they resided in a small side street, hidden gems she kept to herself, sharing as much with Miss Parkinson sent the girl smug, that for all Narcissa’s outings with the Lady of Parkinson house, it was her daughter who was privy to Narcissa’s close-held secrets on a single trip with her. She...was admittedly prepared for Angela’s birthday, inspiration had struck shortly after she met the girl and she...well she hadn’t expected to be invited to the festivities, in the rush of the season she’d forgotten entirely to ask Minerva just when they celebrated her daughter’s sweet life, but she’d planned to learn the date and pass her present and blessings along through her ‘work-wife’. So, it was just a matter of picking her present up, but she thought it best to save that venture for last given...it would take them into a bookshop and she was not certain just what that atmosphere might invoke in the Witch on her arm, she might well forget the task at hand. They entered a shop of...odds and ends. They sold an assortment of things from accessories to knicknacks, furniture. Each piece unique, one of a kind, she rather adored the selection she could find there. And there was something...a sweet bit of fun, that she was right alongside the younger Witch who pulled her along, excitedly showing her things she could well see herself, but it was Hermione’s excitement over their discoveries that prompted Narcissa’s delight in them.

There was something of a children’s rocking chair, resting on a coffee table, that caught Hermione’s attention. White and ornate, its back carved to look like winding vines that wove intricate lines, roses in full bloom at its head, adorned with soft pink cushioning secured with silver tacks.

“Darling?” Narcissa asked, stroking a hand along the girl’s hair.

She looked to Narcissa, “Do you think it would be um…” her eyes darted between the older Witch...and the younger one coming up behind them, chose to convey the rest of her inquiry silently. Oh! She thought it perfect for Jinsey, a rocking chair she might find purchase in with her babe! It was just the perfect size for the dear Elf, hmm…

“Yes my lo- dear, that would be splendid,” Narcissa agreed.

“...how old’s McG-” Miss Parkinson thought better than to associate the Muggle girl with the Professor in public, just in case. “Angela turning? That’s for a child,” she said, eyeing the chair critically.

Narcissa considered it carefully a moment, trusting Hermione would follow suit, she knew well their cover afterall. “Jinsey is away this holiday, selecting a new House Elf to train for my home. She’s found what she believes to be an excellent prospect, but they’ve yet to be born, she will care for them in their infancy.”

Miss Parkinson stared at her a moment, assessing. And then, “Good on her, obeying her Mistress. Yeah, that’s um...the ideal, actually. Acclimating a House Elf to their home after they're born instead of letting them stay in one house and transfer to another once they're bigger. That’s getting popular I hear,” she shared conversationally, averting Narcissa’s gaze.

“...Miss Parkinson?”

“What? I’m just saying,” she shrugged, daring a darting glance at Narcissa, just enough that the older Witch caught a glimpse of-

“...you’re aware Jinsey is with child.”

“No! It's like you…” she squinted at Narcissa momentarily, “...this Slytherin shit’s real stressful sometimes.”

“Indeed. Miss Parkinson, in the spirit of being forthright, _I am_ well aware my House Elf’s condition. She maintains secret only from the staff given it was unplanned and too…”

“You’re going to let her keep it.”

“Her, yes. Untraditional.”

“Yeah.”

“How...um...Jinsey didn’t say she told you,” Hermione voiced.

“She didn’t. She probably doesn’t uh...realize I know,” Pansy sighed, impatient. “I saw her sicking up the day you moved into Hogwarts. I couldn’t sleep after S-” she shuddered, could not bring herself to say ‘Samhain’ even in the months passed. “I couldn’t sleep. So I went to the Kitchens to see if I could nab something to eat and she was there talking to Dubby-”

“Dobby,” Hermione corrected.

“Whatever.She was making sure he’d...take care of Mistress while she went to take care of Mistress? I dunno, Elves talk weird. _Dobby_ got called to take breakfast to a Professor, one thing led to another...she hurled her guts up the second she smelled something that didn’t agree with her, and I dunno. It just sort of clicked for me. I ordered some crackers and left, barely said a word to her.”

She had, however, said one word. _“Here.”_ She’d lost her own appetite, gave the poorly Elf an offer of something both bland and salty that might soothe her stomach and put something on it after being sick.

“...Pansy,” Narcissa said, quietly clearing her throat. “I’ve an office in my quarters, and a guest room, a second bath at the end of the hall.” It had taken some negotiating but...well she’d wanted Jinsey and Dobby to have as much space that could be considered theirs as possible, neither did she hold much interest in sharing a bath with any...save a single exception in Hermione. She’d been permitted to alter her quarters to that end. “The space is limited...and Jinsey is to return to us shortly after her child is born, what is considered the guest room is her quarters in truth, but I...understand if your using it might put you to discomfort. If you would prefer I could alter my office or we can merely abstain from preparing the room until winter holidays have pas-”

“It’s fine. It...I think it's a stupid amount of trouble to go through for a _House Elf_. Granger’s got you possessed or something. But it's your house. Get the stupid chair, prepare the stupid room. I’m not...I’ll deal. It was stupid. I’d be a shite mother anyway.”

“Yeah maybe,” Hermione supposed, “Everyone has faults, Pansy, you’re working on yours, that's more than some people can say,” she said, reaching out and taking hold of the Slytherin girl’s hand. “You deserved…”

“I know.”

“And you absolutely deserve it in the future.”

Pansy grew very quiet at that, hunching in on herself momentarily before she cleared her throat. “So. Birthday shopping...looking for baby stuff? If you’re gonna go with that, everything else has to compliment it or it’ll look dumb,” she informed them, giving the store a cursory glance she spread about before deciding, “that lamps not bad.”

...it wasn’t. She’d spied an antiqued brass floor lamp, extending from its base were metal strings that surrounded it, cascading at differing, each line longer than its predecessor until there was one just inches from the floor, forming a winding path along which their ends bore frosted glass orbs, the like that light could be cast into, lines of clear glass throughout formed images of different flowers on each orb, roses, sunflowers, lilies, and testing as much on the store room floor revealed what light you placed within each orb shone with colors that correspond with the flowers they represented. The rose orb could be white or yellow or red, pink, black, the lily orb could be purple, orange, red, etc. It was quite the delightful find.

“Yes, I suppose we could alter the metal accents on the chair to match or vice versa,” Narcissa said.

“Why?” Pansy wondered. “...Brass is a warmer metal, it should be your stronger focus, I think, for a baby’s room. You don’t get a lot of sunlight down there, so,” she shrugged. “And accenting with a second metal type will only enhance it, they’ll play off each other. Like your weird book says about unlike wards crossing. Have you picked out a crib?”

“Yes, it only needs assembling,” Narcissa said. Hermione had offered to do as much, herself, for some reason. It was sweet of her to wish to cast the thing whole, for Jinsey, so Narcissa was inclined to let her.

“Yeah, I’ll tackle that tomorrow I think,” Hermione assured. 

“Not if it's ugly, you’re not,” Pansy said. “Wood? What sort.”

“Oak perhaps? It has been lacquered to appear matte, white, thus the chair drew Hermione’s attention,” Narcissa said.

“Cool. Is it person sized? We’ll look for a nice step stool then, to match. The side lowers, right? Good. What about a changing table? We can alter a coffee table or a side table probably, to suit her. Ohh, how do you feel about wall decor? There’s no windows but those frames will match the lamp and you could fill them with wizard portraits of nature or whatever, sort of like windows so it doesn’t feel so...dungeony. Does she need a mirror? Elves are weird about vanity but she’s Free, so...”

So...under an hour in the shop, the Slytherin girl lightened Narcissa’s coin purse rather impressively but it was well worth it, Merlin. Jinsey’s quarters would be well appointed. They had everything tagged and paid for, to be cast to appear in her quarters at Hogwarts once the intrusion was approved by the Headmaster. And Hermione found a silver...ear cuff? Decoration that would clip to Angela’s ear by dipping into the conch of her ear, wrap around her upper lobe, it did not require a piercing to be held in place. It was delicate, like a curling large-plumed quill that would lay atop and follow the curve of her ear. Pansy raised an eyebrow at the purchase and Hermione insisted,

“I’m not done yet, you’ll see.”

“Thank the gods she can’t,” Pansy jibed drily, huffing softly when Hermione stuck her tongue out at her before she resumed considering the item she’d been examining for the better part of five minutes...a music box.

“Has that caught your eye?” Narcissa questioned. The younger Witch shrugged. It was rather plain in her mind she thought it suitable for Miss Holmes. It was made of smooth planes of pale green glass, cool to the touch, seams lined with gold, it thummed with enchantment the Slytherin girl had been investigating and believed would appeal to the blind Muggle. Narcissa took the box up in hand, “I believe Angela will dearly enjoy it. Would you care for it boxed or bagged? I’ve a copy of the braille alphabet you may use to write your name on the tag.”

“I- I don’t have-”

“Consider it repayment, Miss Parkinson. You’ve rather impressively styled Jinsey’s quarters, a task for which I would have paid several dozen galleons for, to have done professionally.”

“It’s going to look amazing, Pansy,” Hermione encouraged. “You’re really great at the whole ‘interior design’ thing. Is that something you’ve interest in?”

The girl’s brow furrowed at that. “Interest?”

“You know. Being an interior designer?”

“That’s House Elf work!”

“...what?”

“They’re in charge of making sure everything looks good, putting rooms together. Witches don’t do that. I mean I guess they can sometimes follow their Mistress’s instruction but a good House Elf understands proper Wizarding style-”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Miss Parkinson your mother has the taste of the ghost of middle-aged male divorcè who spent the final hours of his life relieving his golden years of youth. Her estate is only so lovely because your mother pays hand over fist to bring in a French Witch to update her decor. House Elves might handle placement, but it is entirely a Witch’s purchasing and planning they merely execute.”

“...are you saying I have better taste than my mother?”

“A toadstool has better taste than Rowena Parkinson. And yours is greater still. So...do desist staying my hand in this regard. It is your thoughtfulness put to task, selecting this present for Angela, I’ve little issue at all funding it. Now. I’ve one stop more, and we can be on our way.”

The Slytherin girl didn’t look like she was entirely pleased with that reasoning but she accepted it without further argument. There was gentle tugging on her sleeve...amber eyes staring up at her so very hopeful. It was an entirely potent thing, if she requested Narcissa imbibe poison she would dearly consider it, in the need to provide whatever it was that the girl wished to request of her. Who was she to say no? Especially when her request was, “Is there a bookstore nearby? Do you think we could go? Or um...Flourish and Blotts just for a moment?”

“There is a Wizarding bookstore just down the street darling and we may absolutely go there, as that is the stop I referenced.”

“Oh! That works.” The younger Witch smiled, hugging Narcissa’s arm tighter, pleased and excited and it felt foolish to be so pleased with herself that she’d appeased her love so readily. Even more when she felt something in her warm and melt when Hermione appeared alight with a sense of mischief and- and beat her to taking hold of the bag that contained the purchases they would be taking directly with them. “I’ve got it!” she said.

She wanted to kiss the younger Witch breathless, truly she did.

Their time in the bookstore was surprisingly short lived, Hermione...seemed to steel herself, avoiding making eye contact with the shelves. She went straight to the clerks desk, politely asked if they’d a quill selection to choose from and followed the shopkeep with eyes to the floor until she’d an array of feathery writing implements to look through. It was...precious to watch her darling deny herself in this way, like it truly took the whole of her self control to keep from losing herself in the shop’s selection of works. It took the shops owner twice, calling her name to get her attention and even then it was Miss Parkinson clearing her throat and prompting with some confusion,

“Um...Professor?”

Narcissa startled slightly, looking to the man behind the counter, smiling her apology as she informed him she was prepared to pick up her order.

“Ahh, oui. Un instant s'il vous plaît.”

It was a moment that was all it took for Hermione to return to her...Merlin above she truly did enjoy finding presents, she was practically bursting with her excitement.

“Merlin Granger, have an orgasm already why don’t you. It’s a quill. What the hell is she supposed to do with that?”

“She can write, you know, and read too.”

“I know!” she hadn’t. But even as she did _now,_ “It just...dunno, seems stupid.”

“Well it isn’t, thank you very much. I have _plans_ Parkinson.”

There was a snarky, mocking expression on her face as she mouthed ‘okay’, an action Hermione returned in kind before the girls shared laughter over the matter.

The Gryffindor girl sat down at the kitchen counter, summoning parchment and the notebook...she shared communications with Draco through. She furrowed her brow at his first response to her, and took several minutes writing a reply before there was a steady stream of communication between the two that resulted in her working on her parchment a moment more and then she cast upon her purchases for Angela and returned them to the small jewelry gifting box, and the wooden box her quill had been packaged in. Miss Parkinson sat down alongside her after a time, as she worked, to consult the graph Narcissa had of the braille alphabet. She frowned at the series of dots, uncertain how they worked better, but when she realized they were meant to be raised, felt by the girl’s fingertips...she took a moments consideration, flipped the tag front-side down, and it took a few minutes, but she was capable of writing her name in braille...backwards. Ahh. so the press of quill to parchment made raised dots on the front side of the tag and once it was facing upward again, her name could be felt with accuracy,

“Oh, that’s smart,” Hermione complimented. “I didn’t think about the fact writing it frontways means the quill presses indents the opposite direction she’s used to.”

Miss Parkinson shrugged. “Good luck with your five-mile long name.”

“Writing Hermione backwards is...not going to be the easiest task. Narcissa either.”

“There is a card included in my gift, dears, it has been professionally transcribed for Miss Holmes perview,” Narcissa drawled from where she sat reading by the fireplace, keeping an eye on the time. She smiled when Miss Parkinson rolled her eyes at Hermione rechecking her casting on her presents, and snatched the tag away to take up the task of putting Hermione’s name upon it on her behalf.

“My name’s way cuter than yours,” Pansy informed her.

“In general or in braille?” Hermione asked distractedly.

“Both. But it’s more symmetrical in braille.”

Hermione drew her attention from her work, satisfied with it, before she looked to their present tags, “Oh, yeah, it’s pretty!” And then, after consulting her wristwatch, “Okay...I’m going to go change for dinner.”

“...me too. I can use the bathroom at the end of the hall?” Miss Parkinson checked.

“Certainly,” Narcissa permitted.

Narcissa took the moment of privacy afforded her in her living space to cast and change her own apparel, form fitting black trousers and boots, a crimson red blouse cut, albeit, on the lower side, billowy sleeves that cuffed tight at her wrists. She’d only just finished casting to ensure she smelled fresh, hair falling in waves just so, when Miss Parkinson returned. It seemed she’d tidied her hair a bit, opted for a simple black sweater dress. She looked almost like she was facing the prospect of a funeral as opposed to a celebration of life, mind full of the fear Minerva would cast her from Narcissa’s offered protections. It would...be a misfortune, to be at odds with her friend, she prayed it did not come to that, but she would keep her word to Miss Parkinson, absolutely. 

“Lovely, Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa complimented her change of apparel. “Do please be respectful while we are in the Professor’s home. I assure you, Minerva will hear your plight, see your conviction.” And when that did precious little to ease her mind, even as she nodded politely, Narcissa rested a hand on her shoulder. “She saw as much with me, and we have been well at odds for decades. You are young, your decisions at the mercy and guidance of your parents. Be respectful, show yourself an ally in earnest, hold to your convictions. That is how you prove yourself worthy of the risk of allowing you in our circles.”

She was very grateful for her darling’s timing. Not only in that it meant they would be on time for their festivities but...that she hadn’t shown up a moment too soon and robbed Narcissa of her intellect while conveying such a vital sentiment to Miss Parkinson. Gods above...she might not have so much as heard the Slytherin girl knocking on her chamber door if Miss Granger had been of a mind to execute her plans in full and wear what she intended for their date. Hermione stepped into the parlor with a soft click of shiny black heels. Narcissa followed them upward, to find legs encased in sheer nude stockings, all the way to her knees where they disappeared under the hem of a lacy off-the-shoulder...evergreen...cocktail dress. She felt her throat dry in the instant she realized she could see through the lace...but only for the first few inches, the dress had a solid layer beneath it past that. Well, yes, they were going to be before several others this evening. She’d piled her hair atop her head in a bun, a few short tendrils of curls fell loose from its hold, and revealed delicate silver, dangle pearl earrings...it should have likewise revealed the mark Narcissa left on her love but there was evidence she’d plied a bit of make up. Something to conceal her hickey, and lipstick that stained her lips a rosier hue. A lovely shade, truly, Narcissa vaguely wondered just how it might look on her once she stole a moment with this Witch. 

“...darling,” Narcissa breathed, only just catching herself staring, Miss Parkinson side-eyeing her struck-speechless state. She cleared her throat, “Very good.”

It wasn’t the level of compliment she wished to gift the Witch, and still it invoked blushing as she smoothed a hand over her dress, “Thanks, we sort of match, huh? Very Christmassy.”

The statement drew confusion in Narcissa until she realized that yes, given the season...red and green complimented each other nicely. “And so we do. How splendid. Do come along darling, if you’re prepared?”

They stepped from the Floo to the sound of laughter at six o’clock on the dot. Standing in Minerva’s kitchen space was a gleeful Angela and the Witch herself leaning against one another as they laughed rather uncontrollably, apparently doing so at the expense of poor Millie who stood in an apron, looking rather kitchen worn with flour and some sort of icing on her face as she pouted...presumably over the pan of charred...something. Square, that looked not unlike a block of charcoal. The air smelled sweetly enough the stench had been spelled away by her loving wife before she lost herself to her joviality.

“I really don’t understand what happened, I even had Minnie set the temperature you told her!” the scientist insisted to Angela.

“I told _you_ to take it o-out hours ago!” her daughter cackled.

“The instructions said to bake it for 190 minutes!” that only seemed to make matters worse for her wife and child, tears were spilling from Angela’s eyes and Minerva didn’t seem to be breathing. “What?!”

“Th-th-that was the _temperature, mum!_ 190 degrees Celsius f-f-for _35 minutes!_ You left it in there for _three hours?!_ ”

“Yes! Damn magic oven with its whatevers that keep things smelling fine. It smelled amazing earlier and I almost took it out and then it stopped but I thought that was just desensitization- stop laughing! Or you're grounded, both of you!”

“You’ll unground me, right?” Angela wondered to the mother at her side.

“...as there is no one who may unground me, save your dear mother...if I go down, you’re going down with me love,” Minerva informed her, working to calm herself. She wrapped an arm around Angela’s shoulders and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she rubbed her arm. “We’re sorry sweetheart, oh my love it was an excellent effort.”

“I ruined my baby’s cake!” Millie lamented, pressing her hands to her eyes.

“Oh mum,” Angela spoke with sympathy, “...it’s um...it’s fine. I…”

The woman raised her head at that, eyeing her daughter, “...you?”

“ _Kind of_ have a back-up.”

“You shouldn’t have to make your own birthday cake!”

“I didn’t,” Angela assured, smiling with some mischief as she announced, “...actually, it’s a little bit different but I went for cupcakes this year. Courtesy of one of the Witches that just joined us. Professor Black...Princess,” and then, “Hermione. Thanks again for the dessert.”

...that garnered some confusion from the younger Witch for all of a moment, before she paled for some reason. “Y-you r-”

“Wrote. Thanks for sending them through, spelled for stasis right?” Angela offered. A lie, a very convincing one but Narcissa heard well in her mind.

_Warm light of day, Sammi laughed as she pulled Angela along, the literal blind leading the blind. Toby whined a bit, since she was relying more on the girl dragging her and good old Gracie was leading the way, guiding them._

_“We’re almost there, mum and I walked there from the thrift shop, just a little further.” Ahh._ That _was why ‘meet me at Secondhand Styles’ turned into getting dragged on an adventure. “It’s amazing Ange, I never much noticed the place before so they just opened this month or something I think, but they didn’t have a single issue with Gracie, no questions asked, they didn’t bother her or anything either. They have like, the sweetest little grandson, he was the cutest! He signed into my hand and I sort of got it, but his gran asked for him too, if he would bother Gracie, petting her while I sat and ate. I expected a full on meltdown when I said I’d prefer he didn’t distract her, being in a new place. She’s a good girl but, you know. He just signed ‘ok’ and let me play blocks with him. Anyway I want seven kids over it now, oh my God.”_

_There was a veer in their movement, Sammi suddenly pulling her to the left and then the ring of a shopbell overhead._

_Followed by a distinctly familiar voice saying, “Good morning! Welcome to Whitakers, I’ll be with you in just a m-” it cut out._

_“Hermione?” Angela questioned. That..sounded like her. Another voice gasped sharply, and then there was something like a quiet excited squeal._

_“Sara, shh,” Hermione whispered sharp, greeted her warmly, “Angela! Hi sweetheart, what brings you here?” Sweetheart? Wasn’t she maybe a year or so older than her?_

_“Just checking the place out, Sammi came in and loved it, so here I am...you can work a weekend job from...boarding school?”_

_“I’m...it’s not a commonly allowed thing. I wouldn’t...be here unless I needed to be, um...I’d really appreciate you keeping this between us, but I understand if you can’t.”_

_She gave it a moment’s consideration but, “Eh. I’ve been sneaking vegetables into mumma-Millie’s food for years. What my mums don’t know won't kill them.”_

_Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks hon. What can I get you? Would you girls like to hear the menu?”_

The Present’s Hermione smiled, relaxing, “Yeah, no problem. Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, come on in, have a seat,” the girl invited.

“Oh yes, my apologies, I didn’t hear you come in. Oh, how kind, presents can go on the coffee table,” Minera said, waving for them to step further from her fireplace. “We’ve much to celebrate and...discuss. But first, you’re just in time for dinner.”

“Mum. If you cut the roast before it's finished resting...I’ll cut you. With love,” Angela forewarned.

“Something to drink first then,” Minerva said, smiling as she shook her head. “While we wait until Angel’s completed her finishing touches on the delicious meal she’s prepared.”

Narcissa and the Witches at her side had placed their offerings on the coffee table, and she’d moved to lead them to sit on the couch Minerva had pointed to, she and Hermione seating themselves though Minerva’s words brought Miss Parkinson up short. She halted, staring sharply at the Deputy Headmistress.

“You make your daughter cook?” she asked critically.

“Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa whispered quietly, nodding for her to take her seat.

“...we allow her to, yes,” Minerva said cautiously.

Pansy raised a brow at that. “Allow? You _allow_ her to be worked like a House Elf? Just because she’s a Muggle?”

“Uh...cool your jets there Princess,” Angela said, “I love to cook-”

“And I _love_ the praise I get from my parents for calling Granger Mudblood or agreeing to serve the Dark Lord’s genocidal plots,” Pansy snapped, “that doesn’t make it right.”

Narcissa opened her mouth to admonish the girl for saying that foul word! But Hermione’s hand was warm on her thigh, softly saying, “That...was growth I think?”

“Miss Parkinson!” Minerva spoke on her behalf, “Such language, intention aside, will not be tolerated in my home.”

“You can fuck my language, what the hell kind of hypocrite are you? Oh, _I_ can’t say a bad-word under your roof but you can treat your daughter like a servant because she’s different from you?”

“Different?” Angela questioned in sincerity.

“...because your mum’s a Witch?” Pansy prompted, impatiently.

Angela gasped, reaching for Millie who drew her daughter closer as if to pull her away from unexpected danger as they cried in unison, “You’re a _Witch?!”_

Miss Parkinson regarded the exchange with incredulity, shifting on her feet like she wasn’t certain if she should sit or storm over to argue further, but Angela spoke up, “Yeah. Mum’s a Witch. And a good mum. I’m not their personal servant or anything. I _love_ cooking because it’s something I enjoy doing and I’m kick-ass at it-”

“Language,” Minerva softly chastised.

“Sorry. Slap-ass at it,” Angela’s amendment had her mother looking skyward as if questioning the gods why she expected differently and just what she’d done to deserve such behavior. “So mums let me cook whenever I feel up to it, have the time. If I _could_ I’d cook for them every day, every meal but I’m a busy lady.”

“...really?” Pansy checked, and when the girl nodded, the Witch regarded Angela’s mothers momentarily before bowing her head, “I apologize for speaking out of turn and er...crudely, in your home. Thank you for inviting me on this blessed day. May your love build and grow, bear many safe returns.”

“Oh God, Minnie,” Millie said, waving her hands to gesture to herself and Minerva cast to cleanse her wife of her mess from her misadventures in cake baking, apron vanishing from her as she said, “I love her already!” and moved, swift of step to cross the room to get to Miss Parkinson and wrap her arms around the girl’s shoulders and pulled her down to hold her against her chest.

Pansy was ashen at the action, looking to Narcissa as she questioned, “W-w-what’s she doing?”

“Hugging you?” Hermione offered.

“Is...it...some kind of Muggle thing? Do I do something?” she hadn’t before, the few instances Mister Finch-Fletchly had done so, she stood there and waited for some indication what the _hell_ he was about.

Millie pulled back to look the girl in the face. “Young lady, am I to believe you’ve never been _hugged_ before?”

“Uhh...not really a Wizard thing.”

“A Pureblood thing, she means,” Narcissa supplied, just overlapping,

“You’ve seen me hug Draco!” Hermione said. “ _Narcissa_ hugged you!”

“Well you’re Muggle-raised so I figured you didn’t know any better,” Pansy defended. “And _she’s_ somehow friends with _you_ so clearly you’ve corrupted her!”

“ _Your parents_ do not _hug_ you?” Millie asked as if it were a matter of grave offense...and it was, given their daughter didn’t hold any objection to positive physical affection, she just merely...lacked understanding from a lack of experience.

Pansy scoffed. “No.” She squeaked when that somehow prompted the woman to pull her back into her hold.

“Minerva I’m keeping her, she’s ours now, go tell the government. Marquis Cake-pop.”

“Minister Fudge?” Minerva offered correction.

“Him too.”

There was a series of clicking noises, Narcissa looked over her shoulder to see Angela wielding a white cane, similar to one Mister Dara used to navigate her classroom. She used it to make her uncertain way around toward where she heard her mother’s voice and she came, the back of her hand brushing against Miss Parkinson’s side, “This you, Princess? Your shirt’s soft-”

“It’s a dress,” the Witch snidely corrected.

“Well I almost said ‘hat’, so bite me. Come on,” she said, linking her arm through the Witch’s, “help the blind servant orphan girl set the table. Your drama-queen moment gave my roast enough resting time.”

Pansy eyed the narrow space between the couch and coffee table before guiding the girl to turn the other way, go around the back of the seating area toward the dining table. “Why does it need to sleep if it's already dead?”

“They’ve had a hard day, and it lets the juices redistribute,” Angela said when they stopped at the table, she felt at it to lay hands on the plates, before feeling for the cloth napkins atop them, holding them out to Miss Parkinson who made no effort to take them. “Come on, if you help me I might even hug you over it. Definitely into hugs.”

The Witch took the napkins in hand. “Are all Muggles this weird?”

“Yes. Every last one of us,” Angela decided resting her cane against the table and laying a hand on the chair before using the other to rest a plate on the table directly before it, before taking up the stack in an arm and walking with a hand gliding along the edge of the table as she moved to the next seat. “We had a meeting, we decided, the vote was unanimous, world peace is real. We also hashed out that you set utensils, fork, knife, then spoon. So get on that, yeah?”

Dinner passed without further incident, Pansy held no hesitation with her meal, she immediately took up her utensils once it was clear there was to be no preamble leading up to tucking in...she bore no fear the Muggle girl would seek to poison her and it was clear she was competent with her craft. It was perfectly peaceable save for the tense...amusing standoff between mother and daughter when, from under the table, there came a soft clicking sound like plastic disconnecting, and Angela’s eyes narrowed, head turning to direct her ear at the woman seated across the table from her.

“Mother.”

“...yes my sweet Angel? Love of my heart?” Millie appealed.

“It’s my birthday. I spent hours on that roast. If you douse it in ketchup on this, what Princess has said is a most holy of days-”

“I only said it was blessed, and that’s just ritual,” Miss Parkinson snipply inserted.

“-blessed, holy, tomato potato, you said it, no take backs,” Angela said, before informing her mother, “If you...let a single drop of ketchup touch my roast, I swear to God, you might have dodged a bullet with the whole being Ace making the ‘sexually rampant teenager’ lifestyle lack any and all appeal for me, other parents might lie awake at night worried what their kid might be up to, but I can make you worry in other ways, I am creative, you raised me.”

“Mmm, you swear to God, huh?” Millie confirmed and when her daughter nodded. “Oh Angel-love, adore that I do your sweet faith, with all respect to your beliefs, I kindly put forth in absolute love, that in my world...there is no god,” and she promptly withdrew the ketchup bottle she’d been hiding beneath the table and poured a portion onto the edge of her plate to swipe her food through.

 _“Mum!”_ Angela said pleadingly, directed at the head of the table.

Minerva McGonagall did not so much as lift her eyes from her plate, one instant her knife was in hand and the next she wielded her wand and muttered an incantation that left the ketchup on her wife’s plate...looking like a handful of stalks of asparagus.

“Minnie! _Betrayal!”_ Millie cried in devastation.

“It wasn’t a potent charm I used, it might well still taste like ketchup,” Minerva shrugged, unbothered. “...but you won’t risk it, now will you?”

“I hate asparagus,” Millie pouted.

“But you’ll love my pot roast when you eat it the way _God_ intended,” Angela gleefully teased, smiling wide when she heard her mother sigh and the scrape of her knife and fork against her plate as she took up a bite of unaltered roast.

“...what does being good at cooking have to do with not wanting to have...er...sex?” Miss Parkinson voiced with some confusion. “Is that a...Muggle thing?”

Miss Holmes’s face went blank as she tried to piece together what the Witch was asking. “What? Being good at cooking?”

“Yeah you said being ‘ace’-”

“You think I’m ace at cooking?” Angela questioned with delight.

“I don’t _think_ it, it’s just a fact. You’re either good at something or you’re not, what people think about it doesn’t stop it one way or another,” the Witch rolled her eyes, for all she’d made rather the profound sentiment.

Angela giggled, shaking her head. “I wasn’t referencing my cooking skills. I’m Ace, as in asexual. Romance? I’m down. Hugs and cuddling and all that? Into it. Sex? See you later, except I won’t and that’s good by me.”

Hermione snorted softly at Pansy’s side, giggling into her hand. “Goodbye-me.”

Angela grinned widely, snapping her fingers, “Exactly, ‘mione gets it.”

Miss Parkinson didn’t, not really. She was seated between Angela and Hermione, directly across from Narcissa, and lacking an enthusiasm for sex seemed baffling...especially when paired with romantic designs.

“Pansy, there’s a difference between sex and romance,” Hermione said, “I mean we’re given example all the time, people holding no romantic interest in the people they sleep with, things just being purely sexual. This is just the mirror image of that. You can even be sexually attracted to one spectrum of persons, and romantically attracted to another.”

“Mmm, exactly,” Millie agreed, “I’m romantically and sexually attracted to Witches...but Craig McLachlan-” she sighed his name dreamily.

“We do not speak his name in this house,” Minerva interrupted.

“Oh Minnie, I’m not saying it, I speak his name in _prayer_ and we hold no prejudice in prayer in this house,” her wife insisted. “Nothing romantic in the slightest the way I feel about that man. Purely sexual, God love him.”

“...who?” Pansy quietly consulted Hermione.

“Muggle celebrity. He’s pretty, he sings,” and then, as if catching herself she looked to Narcissa, assuring, “I mean he’s _okay_ , other people are prettier.” Ahh, well, so long as she was prettier, Narcissa shook her head, endeavoring to suppress her smile.

Her smile was given full freedom when it came time for cake and ice cream. Angela directed her mother to where she’d put her back-up birthday dessert and Minerva returned with a rectangular platter that bore fifteen chocolate cupcakes...that Narcissa would have readily recognized as the Future Hermione’s handiwork, she’d only sent her a dozen individual cupcakes as a treat over the past few weeks. There were candles already in place, one in each cupcake, waiting to be lit but Minerva’s initial casting failed.

“Oh! Stasis, mum,” Angela offered the reminder.

“Ahh,” the woman said, relieved it wasn’t some failure of her magic, just a failure to remove what kept the cupcakes in freshly-baked condition. “Miss Granger would you care to?”

Hermione took her wand in hand and was about to raise it to the effort and then she blanched. _Oh holy crap_ sounded in her mind. “Uhh...someone else should do it probably. I’m um...entertaining my monthly guest and she might not be kind to my casting, I’d hate for something to go awry.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Millie said at Narcissa’s side, pouting a bit as she fretted, “honey you do look a bit pale, if you aren’t feeling well you can lie down in one of the bedrooms when we’re through. For a while or-”

“Maleficent,” Minerva spoke as if in warning. “She is staying with Narcissa, while we would gladly entertain her, you’re not to endeavor to take the girl in.”

Millie whined, “She wouldn’t come down last Christmas! _You_ weren’t convincing enough and your bitch painting lady wouldn’t let me in!”

“She did not wish to be disturbed regardless, I felt it best she come of her own desire-” Minerva looked like she dearly regretted her word choice.

“Mmm, yeah you are big on that huh. It’s why I married you.”

“Your atrocious humor is why I am so weary of this world, it is not my age, it is the decay of my soul,” Minerva assured. And then she sighed, raising her wand once more to undo the stasis in place over their dessert...with a bit more effort than what she initially thought she might. It left her staring at her dissipating spellwork with some suspicion. “That was very...powerfully placed, Miss Granger,” she noted, looking to her student.

“I guess I don’t know my own strength,” the girl nervously supposed, some fear in her...excitement-laced trepidation. The sort she felt when she wondered if she was truly going to grow into the Witch her future self was...ahh. She’d asked one of the older Witches at the table to handle dispelling her Future Self’s stasis...because it was stronger than Hermione’s present magic. She was incapable of undoing her own spell.

Minerva briskly cast to light the candles and they lifted their voice in song, Pansy tentative to join in, but she’d heard the tune in passing when there was the occasional Muggleborn celebrating their birthday either with friends gathered in the common room or occasionally it could be heard in their Great Hall at meal times, sung over their dessert.

“Make a wish sweetheart,” Minera warmly intoned.

Millie crossed her fingers. “Craig McLachlan.”

Angela snorted. “It’s _my_ wish mum. Hmm…” she considered it momentarily, eyes closed as she pondered and then she leaned forward ever so and blew the candles out. “Help yourselves everyone, there should be…” she smiled when she heard the rush of magic that banished their plates to replace them with delicate dessert plates, cupcakes appearing accordingly, candles removed. Miss Parkinson looked as out of depth as Narcissa felt at the prospect of eating the confection with her hands but...it was apparently the done thing-

Quiet casting from across the table had a clean fork and butter knife appearing at Narcissa’s side. For all the girl had found some amusement in how the woman consumed cupcakes with so much propriety, it was sweet she extended that bit of comfort...sweeter still when she took up a bite of rich chocolate dessert on her fork, Merlin.

“So I know you said the cupcakes are your birthday present for me,” Angela said as soon as she swallowed, “but I’m going to be that level of birthday b...witch?” she offered as of she could feel Minerva’s gaze on her. “And demand your recipe.”

“Sure thing,” Hermione agreed, blushing when Millie insisted.

“Mmm, yes, much better than my charcoal cake,” as she popped the last bite of her portion into her mouth and, with a cautious look not unlike a child seeking to sneak sweets past their mother, eyed her wife as she slowly reached for another cupcake.

“Gods Granger, _I’m_ the dramatic one?” Miss Parkinson wondered. “You acted like it was some utter shock, made a big deal about having to get her a present. You made her _cake._ ”

“Yes you did seem rather surprised to hear our plans when we invited you, Miss Granger,” Minera cooly observed as she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

Hermione cleared her throat. “...I...just didn’t expect to be invited, that’s all. I…” well, in truth she realized, as she thought about her Future Self offering her goods free of charge, “I provided dessert in lieu of a present since I figured I wouldn’t be around for the actual festivities. Since I am I thought a proper present was due,” she shrugged, shy as she said, “Birthdays are important,” worrying at her lip as she raised her gaze to Narcissa. Oh, she was grateful to see some healing had been rendered in that regard, to her own birthday and...there was something of excitement in her mind, that she was looking forward to celebrating Narcissa’s come January.

Narcissa...in the very selfish, near-childish part of herself that grew admittedly giddy over the offer of presents, was even more excited for what her Yule and Birthday might hold when it came time for Angela to open her presents, that from Hermione. Her mothers had a pile of presents to bestow upon their child but they opted to have her open her guest’s first, starting with Narcissa’s.

“I do hope it’s to your liking,” Narcissa said as the girl carefully unwrapped the book.

“It’s uh, great!” she offered with partial sincerity, she did appreciate that Narcissa had thought of her...and then, “oh! It’s in braille! Huh...is this…?”

“A Wizarding title, yes. My Dragon enjoyed this work over the summer, I thought you might, likewise.” It had been nothing short of a chore to get the boy to read anything that wasn’t a scholarly text, to read something written for leisure, for the sake of pleasure alone, but...oh gods, he’d been in such a horrible state, so stressed she feared she would lose him to the toll it took on his body. Lucius had been none to happy when she put her foot down and insisted Draco be allowed to rest and recover without the demands his father’s expectations, if it had been up to him the man would have had Draco practicing for duels, training for the next year’s Quidditch season, working to master darker spells of the same caliber he was working toward in his schooling that...would not be permitted on a syllabus at Hogwarts as per usual, when he’d an _ulcer!_ A hole worn through a vital organ her son dearly needed to survive!

 _“He will rest, Lucius! He will recover and you will leave him be!” Narcissa spoke in warning, magic blazing both in defense of her son and the beginning retribution for speaking out of turn with her husband as she railed at him in the hall just outside Draco’s quarters when he came demanding his son attend his summer tutelage. “He is_ ill, _Lucius and if pushed further he will not recover. I will take absolute care of him, he will be returned to good health,” she vowed, “but he must have time to do that.”_

_The man let out a snarling growl, gripping tight the hilt of his wand in such a way the serpent's head in hand dug into his palm in a way that must be painful as he seethed, “Go on then! Overbearing, honestly, that is what you are. Of all the inane excuses, what a worthless whelp, an ulcer, how dramatic. Draco would do well to remember his place, as you should yours,” he hissed out before turning heel and taking his leave._

Rather...permanent leave, for all it was temporary. She saw not hide nor hair of Lucius for well over a week after that...she did not see sign of him around the manor, nor was his presence noted in their bed. It was not until his father’s health came into rapid decline, his death imminent, that Lucius returned to their home in high dudgeon. It had been nothing short of hell, the man’s return after such restful respite with her son.

“You have a _dragon?”_ Angela questioned with some excitement.

Narcissa smiled at her enthusiasm, “A term of endearment I hold for my son, named after the constellation…” she smiled further as she recalled, “that which represents the Dragon, Draco, cast into the Heavens by Minerva herself upon his defeat at the hands of Hercules.”

“Ouch mum, harsh,” Angela teased her mother.

“Hmm well, when detention just won’t do the trick…” the woman supposed.

Angela bore some curiosity over Narcissa having a son she’d yet to meet but...her mothers had instilled in her not to question Narcissa as to _why_ her holiday was being spent without him. Kind of them, she supposed...he could have stayed, as Hermione had, for all the outside world knew she was spending her day in the library or the Tower, no other in her Year was staying at the Tower, older and younger forms didn’t pay much heed, neither did they expect her at table in the Great Hall, Narcissa supposed, after she’d...spent most of last year’s Yule in her dormitory. No one would have much questioned Draco not having a home to go to, keeping himself scarce with his friends mostly off and away, no one would have much realized if he was disappearing to see his mother or staying with her full stop. But...no, no she was glad he was in the safety and care of her future self, with the future’s Hermione who did...oh she did dearly love her son.

Angela took up Hermione’s offering next, smoothing her hand along the oak box, rubbing the velvet jewelry box with her thumb. “Hermione, two presents and cake?”

“It’s one present I promise,” Hermione insisted. “They work together um...I can show you?” she offered.

Angela nodded, and Miss Parkinson scooted backward with her chair to allow the Gryffindor girl room to work if she needed to interact with Angela’s presents. Hermione first summoned her own quill and parchment, jotting something down as she invited Angela to go ahead and open the boxes.

“Ohh, soft,” Angela smiled as she felt along the plumage of her quill. “A...feather?”

“A quill actually, be mindful of the nib it might be a bit sharp,” Hermione cautioned.

Angela nodded. “And this is...huh its got a weird curve to it...I like the texture though.”

“It matches your quill, and it's meant to be worn with it, sometimes at least. It’s an ear cuff, purely clip on so don’t worry if you don’t have a piercing,” she assured. “Okay, so, you can leave that off for right now. Try taking the quill up like you’re going to write, and drag it along this,” Hermione said as she cast to dry the ink on her piece of parchment before placing it before the girl, guiding the hand that bore her birthday present in it to rest on the parchment. It took a moment but Angela beamed a smile when, as she pressed the quill to the paper, there was an audible,

“Cu- t- whi- two-” as she moved the quill trying to seek the top of the page and when she found it, a pleasant feminine voice read aloud, “Granger Family Secret Cupcake Recipe.”

“Oh it's a secret?” Angela asked with some delight.

“Uh-huh. It’s been in my family...three years now? The big secrets the Elf sugar,” Hermione said, “I can’t much let on about that back home.”

“Ohhh I love Elf sugar, it’s super sweet and there's some magic involved where even just a touch of it locks in a great deal of moisture so-”

“A little goes a long way,” she and Hermione voiced in unison, laughing.

“Okay, so, that’s just for if you’re home alone and want to read something that isn’t in Braille...I spelled it so it _should_ read aloud if you draw it across Braille letters to, if you’d rather listen than read, you know? If you’re out and about, and either prefer listening or have something that isn’t in braille and you’re like, at the public library or a cafe or something, or would like to keep your reading quiet at home...you put the ear cuff on.”

Angela felt at the cuff momentarily, getting a feel for how it was meant to be placed before working to do as much herself. It took but a minute to get it on and then she tested once more, gasping in delight when it apparently worked. “Holy crap!”

“It’s not too loud? If it is I should adjust it for you now. If there’s ever an issue with this please do just let me know.”

“It’s perfect! I mean I’ll look a little barmy with the quill but-”

“Oh! Right, sorry. The magic involved is in the nib, which, in this style of quill...is detachable. The nib isn’t very big, but it should be comfortable in your grasp, enough to hold it discreetly, and drag across the page like you would normally anyway.”

“I love it!” Angela said, “Mum! Look...I’m doing _magic_ ,” she informed, removing her ear cuff to place it carefully on the table before her and then dragging the quill across the page once more to emit random sounds as she traced something of a circle with it.

“I always knew you could,” Millie warmly teased, swallowing as she reached for her wife’s hand on the table top. Oh, both women appeared rather moved by the present.

“Very good sweetheart,” Minerva approved, “a wonderful present indeed...thank you, Miss Granger-”

“I wonder if you might inform me of your methods to craft…” Narcissa blushed when she and Minerva spoke in unison, both halting when they realized they were speaking over one another but finishing, “...something similar for Mister Dara,” they said, sharing a smile at their joint concern for their student.

“Dara...oh! The kid in your House,” Angela said, “yeah, this would be genius, I can’t believe there was so much hassle getting him textbooks in Braille.”

“Draco and I have been working together on the magic involved for a while now,” Hermione confessed, “trying to make something like this for him, actually. Draco and Harry and Ron have been reading Ahan’s supplemental readings that can’t be found in Braille, aloud during their Free Periods, we found a charm that lets an enchantable object record and recite things said around it so he can listen to them when he needs to complete assigned readings for class but uh...occasionally that gets disrupted with background noise and it would be better for him if he could do it himself a better way. Narcissa and I have been reading Stocia’s work on warding and something we covered this morning sort of made it click for me that even though there aren’t definitive wardings for text-to-speech spells um...well there used to be no definitive wardings to imbue a place in warmth or to dispel dark magic until someone...made them,” she shrugged. “Making the spell and crafting it with intent, mixed with the right arithmancy? We got it. I was nervous it wouldn’t work without um...Angela having magic to interact with but- oh! Even if you aren’t wearing the ear piece, you should keep it close when you use the quill,” she cautioned, “Draco’s the one that figured out we could make their magics interact with one another to work, without needing an outside force to power them. If you separate them by a great distance they might stop working but just send them my way or your mother can probably fix them really, just, whatever works for you-” she stopped, blushing fiercely. “Sorry, that was a lot, I just- yeah, we can get something to Ahan. I can teach you the casting involved. Oh! I forgot to tell him it works-” she seemed excited to do as much and then remembered herself, taking hold of her lip between her teeth and clasping her hands together, fingers interlocked as she rested them in her lap and stilled the bit of bouncing she’d begun.

“My darling...you are absolutely a delight,” Narcissa warmly assured. She was utterly heartwarmed to hear her son and his friends had so sweetly helped their fellow student, taken the FIrst Year into their care. And she could never tire of the younger Witch’s grasp of magic, stars above, that she collaborated with her son? 

“Never be embarrassed to share enthusiasm over magical advancements, Minnie can’t get a word in edgewise when I’m blabbing about some new breakthrough,” Millie encouraged.

“It’s amazing, Hermione, seriously,” Angela said. “You bring me a present Princess?”

“Yeah but it’s not exactly a miracle quill, so don’t get too excited,” Pansy said as if bored, passing off her own wrapped present. Angela smiled as she felt at the tag first and foremost.

“Pansy wrote our names, she figured out writing them backwards on the back of the tag would make them easier for you to feel on the front,” Hermione saw fit to give credit.

“Whatever it's not Necromancy it’s just understanding how a quill works,” Pansy rolled her eyes, reminding herself it didn’t much matter if the present was _great,_ it was just a sign of respect to the girl’s mother who she desperately needed to appeal to at the moment.

Angela snorted softly, unwrapping the box and running her hands along its lid. “Oh! I like it, glass? Some sort of metal? It's cold in a nice way...just like your heart,” she informed the Slytherin girl with sweetness, earning a huff of laughter. “What is it?”

Miss Parkinson swallowed, as if nervous. “Um...it’s a music box. So like, okay you can feel what it's made of but uh...it’s this antiqued glass its edges are gold and the glass itself is this almost teal sort of pale green you get a lot of in Victorian antiques, it...for me looking at it, the color and the style, it's very calm, soothing,” she said, offering something of a translation of sense, “like you’ve walked into a holy place, ancient, with no one else around, everythings quiet, but if you make a sound, like your footsteps, they have an echo to them.”

“...like...walking in an empty cathedral,” Angela supposed.

Pansy nodded and then blushed, vocalizing, “Yes, I um, suppose so. If you open it there’s a painting in the lid that’s in deeper blues, the sky at night and the stars drawn, they cast light because um...magic so you might...be able to tell, if you open it in a dark room? It seemed like you could tell where the candles were in your cake because your mum dimmed the lights.”

“...I can see light, if it's bright enough, yeah,” Angela said softly.

“Didn’t know that beforehand but if it works, cool...uh...if you open it, there’s that. And it plays...sounds. There’s different things to press to summon each sound, textured so you’ll be able to feel them, they're portraits done in this sort of impasto style, with oil paint so each one has a different feel to them, so you should be able to differentiate eventually, so you can mix and change the sounds as you want. Some of them are like, natural sounds, and a few of them have portraits that imply they’re songs, classical pieces on the piano it sounded like when I tested it. Uh...there’s a blank portrait, you can slip a picture into it if you’d like, maybe an oval of parchment with braille to label it, and your mum can record sound with it, that it will play back whenever. It can be anything, a message or a song or just a sound you enjoy.”

“Oh!” Millie said with some excitement, “Mine and Minnie’s _heartstopping_ rendition of _Un-break My Heart_.”

“I am far too sober to indulge in karaoke, or your antics,” Minerva shook her head. 

“Um...she said a sound I _enjoy_ ,” Angela stressed, smiling as she laughed, “not a sound I _love!”_ Her smile grew to her mothers’ laughter and then she returned her attention to the Witch seated in quiet nerves at her side, awaiting some judgement on her offering. Pansy nearly startled when the Muggle girl raised a hand to rest on her shoulder...and she did startle when it appeared the act was meant to orientate herself appropriately so she knew about where to lean and press a kiss to Miss Parkinson’s cheek. “Thanks Princess, I love it. It’s a pretty sweet gift for someone you just met.”

“Well, you invited me,” Pansy shrugged, blushing fiercely. “It’s the done thing. I’d just be asking for equal misfortune on my own birthday if I didn’t bring _something._ ”

“And when’s that?”

“My birthday? February. The 12th.”

“Two days before Valentines day huh?”

“One day before Lupercalia...Muggle’s celebrate Valentines? Huh.” She thought as much, but she hadn’t wished to ask Mister Finch-Fletchley if it was a Muggle ritual, when he requested she be his ‘Valentine’.

Angela’s nose crinkled at that. “Lupercalia...my three day getaway to the wonderful Finnigan family home. Boring now that Seamus is here at school. God, I only see him like, twice a year, and I swear he gets more gullible every time I meet him, Hogwarts isn’t doing anything in that regard. Magically? Maybe. Common sense? Nope,” she laughed.

“Oh gods, you’re related to _Finnigan?_ ” Pansy asked, horrified and somehow delighted.

“Yup. He’s not really sure what to do with me? He’s like a thousand percent positive I’m made of literal glass and he has to take the utmost care with me, because yeah if something bad did happen to me on his watch mums would kill him. So I like to pretend I’ve gotten lost while walking around grandma’s house, or that I’ve knocked into something and gotten hurt, oh he just freaks out, a little ‘ow’ and he’s acting like he might have to cart me to A&E.”

“Hospital?” Pansy verified.

“Yeah. Christmas last we had a big family get together and I pretended that I’d mistakenly fed Toby chocolate, oh my God Toby was such a good boy, he played dead and Seamus.”

“You mentioned him before...he’s…?”

“Toby’s my guide dog. He’s a good boy he’s just decompressing from getting warped from our house to Hogwarts, but he loves it once he’s settled, Hogwarts is home away from home and Mum’s got to stick around on holidays when she has students staying in the Tower over the break, so,” Angela shrugged, “he’s resting in my room.”

“Minerva went to rest with him for comfort, she’s just the sweetest cat,” Millie said.

“...I am right here,” her wife drily reminded her.

Millie startled like she hadn’t realized as much and the woman had simply appeared. “Oh!” she smiled sweetly to her wife. “Genevie is the sweetest cat then.”

They settled into pleasant chatter in their living space by the fireplace, the guests seating themselves on the couch while their hosts sat in armchairs on either side facing each other, Minerva seated holding Angela in her lap, the muggle girl reclining against her mother as she chatted. Millie mightn’t be gifted in the realm of culinary arts, but she was capable of opening a bottle of wine she offered glasses all around, save her daughter who pouted when she was given a glass of butterbeer instead.

“Next year baby, sweet sixteen,” Millie assured.

“Butterbeer’s better than wine anyway if you know how to drink it,” Miss Parkinson assured even as she sounded bored.

“Are you about to tell me how to drink my drinks?” Angela wondered.

“Yeah. I’m bossy, deal. _Inalgesco,”_ she carefully incanted on the beverage itself, chilling it further to be ice-cold, the foam icing over.

The girl offered a short surprised appreciative sound when she sipped at her drink. “Not bad,” she supposed.

“...yeah...I lied, wine’s better,” Pansy teased as she took a drink of her own portion.

Meant, apparently, to lax her tongue. Not vindictively, the girl had been holding herself defensively the entire visit, she was so very on edge. She relaxed with her drink and their idle chatter, such that she did not flinch when Minerva turned the topic rather abruptly, to just _why_ Miss Parkinson was here, as opposed to home. Her tone had her daughter wincing like she expected her mother might be prepared for argument, and she got up off the woman’s lap to carefully pass around the coffee table and go to her other mother, Millie accepting her with open arms and pulling her into her lap with a satisfied hum.

“My baby! Mwah,” Millie said, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s hair and rubbing her arm. She’d foregone her box braids some time ago, she’d small coils of raven curls that fell past her shoulders. The woman whispered something in her ear and Angela yawned, nodding and rising from her seat to let her mother stand before the girl sat on the floor.

Ahh, Millie could concoct one thing in their kitchen with relative ease. She returned with a kitchen towel she placed around her daughters shoulder to shield her sweater, and a mug full of some mixture of warm oils, something that smelled pleasantly of coconut, avocado, and olive oil, a spray bottle hanging on her arm that she used to damp her daughter’s hair before testing the oil on the back of her own hand, and then gently massaging it into the girl’s hair with the mug enchanted to allow for fine lines of application she could work with...a task she would sit at for some time, she and her daughter contained to a specific spot in the room rather well preoccupied with what they were doing, so...it allowed within reason, that Minerva could cast for Miss Parkinson’s privacy. Keeping their voices contained to their half of the living space while the women she wasn’t quite familiar with sat unhearing as Minerva...she was to the point, but she did hold an air of gentleness. No nonsense, but...forgiving of Miss Parkinson’s nerves on the matter. It was precarious, her current position, she had to take quite the leap of faith that she would not be cast from their care, returned to her parents, turned over to the Dark Lord, her disobedience discovered. Narcissa almost wondered why they did not take this conversation to Minerva’s office, her quarters held as much, an office, two bedrooms. They could leave Millie and Angela the comfort of their living space to prepare the girl’s hair for cleansing, but...well, Minerva’s mind was a bit more open this evening. She was prepared to share mental communication with Narcissa if need be, too she was weary, to a point that as she _could_ relax her mental barriers, she did. Minerva was the sole person permitted to enter her own office space, at present, as it housed rather the important magical artefact for now. The Deputy Headmistress had been entrusted with the Headmaster’s Pensieve to…

Narcissa wasn’t certain. Her glance at a person’s mind could reveal much without them being aware their thoughts were on display. To press further would make her seeking known and she would not encroach on the woman’s privacy just...whatever reason Minerva had been given...no, requested...demanded really, use of Dumbledor’s Pensieve, was not entirely clear save for the strong memory tethered to knowledge that her office was off limits.

 _“Absolutely not!” Minerva’s voice was strong with her conviction as she sat before the Headmaster who looked on with some resignation that he was in for a lecture from the woman, “Of Age or not, Order Member or no, Miss Granger is our_ student, _Albus. She is still very young, and she is in our care as heads of this institution. It is our job to protect her! That man is not to so much as set foot on this campus with the intent to meet her! He’s not to set foot on this campus full stop as far as I am concerned! Meetings of the Old Crowd are one thing, private plots are all another!”_

_“Minerva,” Albus sought to reason, “it was merely a suggestion. If Miss Granger is to be examining the wards on the Cabinet, seeking to repair and restrict its access...talented as she is, she is, as you say, very young. Try as she might she cannot know everything, and furthermore, she has experience in the defensive. You know as well as I do there is a difference between defensive spells...and those meant to construct, build. The magic involved in repairing the cabinet will be just that, reconstruction wards, an area of expertise for-”_

_“No. Not with him, not even with aid. Narcissa cannot be expected to guard her, oh. Oh Albus if she hears of this? You will not have to fear Pansy Parkinson may take your life on behalf of the Dark Lord. If she learns that you considered this? Narcissa Black will be swift to remind you just why we fear her family name,” Minerva assured._

_“His activity within the school would be monitored, and you may vet his intent as you please. He has endured questioning under Veritaserum-”_

_“Not thoroughly enough if it left you thinking him_ this _trustworthy!” and then she sighed. Albus...eccentric, hard-headed, was unmoving in his ways even when evidence proved his methods wrong. But neither did he choose his methods without reason, often good in their intent. “I’ll want to question him myself. Furthermore I will examine his perspective of my questioning, I will need use of your Pensieve for that. That is non negotiable, Albus, I am her Head of House, I can very well dictate where she spends her off-hours.” She steadily returned his stare that said he wondered if she remembered_ he _was Headmaster and leader of the Order. She knew this well. She did not care._

_“I will make your demands known, and we will move forward from there,” he relented._

“...I promise. I don’t...oh gods I would never want s-something to happen- whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I would never go running to Death Eaters with information about your personal life. I’ll make vows, Unbreakable ones even-” Miss Parkinson was saying, returning Narcissa’s attention to their conversation.

“Miss Parkinson,” Minerva interrupted her, sending the girl silent as the older Witch stared at her for a moment, before she sat forward in her chair to better reach the girl at the end of the couch, taking her hands in her own. “I would never demand such a thing of a student. My family’s safety is first and foremost to me, but Unbreakable Vows are nothing to trifle with, it is not worth your life, such vows are too often broken in innocence, I would not risk you. Miss Granger assured me Narcissa is certain of your sincerity, in your wish to break away from the Dark Lord’s numbers, to stop his plans to attack your fellow classmates. I must say, I feel certain of it myself now that we’ve spoken. This took a great deal of courage, coming to us, and I commend you for it. I do have questions, and I may hold some conditions when it comes to securing my family, but I do assure you, I will bear your interests in mind. Your safety is likewise important to me. Do you understand?”

“Not really,” fell from the Slytherin girl’s mouth and she paled, averting her gaze, seeking the floor underfoot, “Yes? Wh-what questions do you have?”

“Are you capable of Occlusion, Miss Parkinson?” Minerva questioned gently. “Pansy?”

Oh, the girl had begun to tremble! “N-n-no I-,” her chin quivered, “I-I mean sort of? I’m garbage at it. The Dark Lord m-made B-B-Bellatrix Lestrange show me how. That…” she huffed a mirthless laugh, “Maybe that wasn’t the smartest idea...Azkaban never held an appeal before, but gods above it’s just _awful._ So, that’s...sort of another motivator. Not wanting to wind up in Azkaban for helping the Dark Lord kill kids.”

Being privy to her sister’s mind was...disturbing, yes. It was one expectation she had appreciated in Lucius...it was rather harsh, to expect their son to be proficient at Occlusion so young, and his intention had been to poison his mind against his mother, paint her the enemy that she was _trying_ to know their minds so she might manipulate them and that any decent Wizard should have a formidable mental stronghold. But, it meant they sat him down to lessons with Severus, before he could be further recruited by the Dark Lord. She shuddered to think of her sister being charged with molding her son’s mind.

Narcissa raised a hand to rest on the Slytherin Witch’s shoulder. She...had been assured that Miss Parkinson was prepared for their mission but she hadn’t been privy to further detail. She was about to offer the girl aid in her Occlusion, a proper education on the topic as...yes, her mental barriers left much to be desired if one wished her to secure a secret. However, before she could do as much,

“Well then young lady, we are about to be well acquainted,” Minerva said. “I cannot risk the next time you are called to a gathering of Death Eaters that my family might be exposed from your mind being searched. Neither would I wish you to expose yourself, your doubts and your current straying. I would better equip you to handle such an event, if you are willing.”

“You would teach me? I...I’m really bad at it.”

“Because you are not properly trained. I have not always excelled at my every realm of magical expertise,” Minerva assured, regarding the girl with open warmth as she shared, “my first endeavor in Transfiguration left my robes melded to my desk,” amusement tugged her lips into a smile, “I did not realize as much until I was forcibly faceplanted into my desk when I made to rise at the end of class.” She raised an index finger to brush along the bridge of her own nose where there was just the barest bump to denote what was apparently the result of, “I was rather embarrassed, endeavored righting my nose myself as opposed to seeking the Hospital Wing.”

Miss Parkinson looked rather amused herself, disbelieving almost as she snorted softly, smiling as she said, “Yeah, that’s dumb.”

A bit of laughter broke from Minerva’s lips as she nodded her agreement, “Quite,” she said, thumbs smoothing along the backs of the girl’s hands, as if to comfort. “We will work together, and you will be capable of protecting yourself. This is a perilous task you face, but you absolutely do not face it alone. You will remain here for the Winter Holiday. Miss Parkinson...you have danced around the issue, implied it is your efforts for the Dark Lord that make you worry about returning to your home. I must ask...do you feel unsafe in your parents’ care?”

Miss Parkinson gulped and for a moment Narcissa feared she would lie, for fear of her parents finding out she’d spoken, what they would consider, out of turn. “Yes.”

Minerva’s hands squeezed hers as she nodded. Her mind went to Mister Potter momentarily, she’d some worry as his Winter Holiday plans had been cryptic, he was to be at the Weasleys come Christmas, but beforehand his location was secretive and held similar implications, security-wise, to when he returned to the Dursleys’, given Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were in charge of ensuring that wherever he was, he was secure. It ached her that Albus refuted her at every turn...oh she had wanted with everything to take the boy in when the Order members in charge of watching him from a distance in his youth made concerning observations of his life with the Dursleys, that which they could observe from their post, that he didn’t seem to be growing properly, his cousin and uncle openly rough with him, cruel, whenever they left their home, Petunia doing nothing to aid him, encouraging her husband and son. That had only redoubled once the boy was brought to Hogwarts, Narcissa had seen the memorable day his name appeared on her list of students that wished to remain at school over Holiday, his First Year. Minerva returned to her home and got not a wink of sleep as she and her wife spoke over every facet of taking the boy in, what he might need, how best to help him adjust to life in the magical world, meet the demands made of him without sacrificing care of himself. They’d planned to bring him home to meet Millie and Angela over family dinner, to start, return visits that would lead to an offer of allowing him to Summer in their care. Albus had absolutely forbidden it, insisted it was not safe, put his foot down as Headmaster and Order Leader and unfortunately no amount of resistance on Minerva’s part won out. She realized if she pressed further she would be removed from the inner circle in charge of the boy’s care. Pansy Parkinson was no Chosen One child of prophecy, and Albus would not stay Minerva in this regard, there was no ramifications of blood-sacrifice to work within. “You are certainly not to return to them then. We will see about summer when it arrives but Miss Parkinson, I would aid in keeping you from returning to your parents’ home.”

“Princess can bunk with me,” Angela cheerfully invited, startling the Witches as...she was seated still within Minerva’s wards. The woman cast to dismiss them now so they might address her daughter, but at their stunned silence the girl grinned. “What? I read your lips.”

“Angela,” Minerva droned wearily, earning a bit of giggling from her daughter.

“Mum’s trying not to break out in her happy dance ‘cause hi, wash day, we’re about some important business over here. But I can feel her knees bouncing so I figured _she_ read your lips and saw you gave in and adopted Princess already.”

Minerva shook her head, patting Miss Parkinson’s hands before sitting back, even as she planned to rise in the next instant, “Well, that’s enough of that. Can I get you ladies anything else to drink? Another cupcake?”

Pansy was quiet, seeming done in as she shook her head, offered, “No, thank you.”

Hermione had found some interest in her wrist watch as they talked, she kept checking the time, subtly, not some passive aggressive motion to denote she wished to rush them, but as they were through with serious conversation, she checked it once more and said, “Actually, Professor, I’m pretty beat,” she confessed, breathing in a sigh as she turned her head to look to Narcissa. “If it’s okay, I’d like to call it a night.”

“Absolutely darling, it’s been rather a long day,” Narcissa agreed, looking between their hosts, “Thank you, for allowing us to celebrate your daughter’s sweet life with you.”

“Certainly, thank you for joining us,” Minerva said, her wife nodding her agreement.

“Absolutely, please feel free to come ‘round anytime,” Millie insisted.

“Thanks again for everything,” Angela said.

“Of course, blessed Birthday my dear,” Narcissa wished her, rising to her feet and only just catching herself when she wished to pull Hermione to her side. “Come along, ladies.”

Miss Parkinson was quiet as they returned to her quarters, offering a soft, “You too,” when Hermione wished her goodnight as she departed to the guest room, and they...once the guest bedroom’s door was closed, departed to Narcissa’s, closing shut the door behind them. Then she’d no hesitation whatsoever to pull the younger Witch against her, a hand high on her back, thumb brushing over skin as it peeked out from under her dress, _sinful,_ the display of her neck and collarbone had been nothing short of taunting their entire meal, and she was now free to caress the curve of backside the dress merely hinted at, hers to enjoy now that they were alone. Hermione blushed rather fiercely at her boldness, smiled as the older Witch relished in a proper kiss before the younger pulled back ever so to insist,

“I really am done in and...I think I’m going to go ahead and take a bath, turn in. It's late.”

Oh, she did look tired, and there was something urgent in her thoughts, she was truly distressed, if only minorly, at the time. “You should rest then. I’ll see to it you’ve fresh potion come morning my love.”

The girl’s expression dropped at that, “Y-you’ll be going to your lab?” she asked. “I don’t...it’s not an emergency, I don’t _need_ potion.”

Was she fearful of being left alone in Narcissa’s quarters with Miss Parkinson just down the hall? The girl was genuine in her efforts but...caution was due, Narcissa thought, given the circumstance and even with all the validation in the world, there was a great deal of bad blood, she had years of experience that said this was some trick, that Miss Parkinson would turn against her, put her to harm the moment the opportunity arose. “...I’ve the appropriate ingredients here from Miss Parkinson’s gathering the supplies I need. I could brew in my quarters, be just in the kitchen if that would suit?”

The proposal secured her rather the thorough, grateful kiss from Miss Granger before the girl pulled away and said, “Yeah, that’ll work. Don’t work too hard, okay? Wake me if you need me,” she intoned before she slipped from Narcissa’s hold, departing for the bath.

Narcissa sighed, the day beginning to catch up with her. It had been long...eventful, Merlin. She did not think they would any of them object to laying in, truly indulging in the spirit of a break from school. She would prepare potion, set it to stew overnight, bathe, and sleep with her darling at her side.However, her eventful day held one event more.

It did not strike her, until the clock on her mantle struck ten in the evening, that...well the day was nearly through. Only a bare two hours before midnight on the 21st...the Solstice. What would be the longest night of the year, darkness shrouding the world so early, lingering longer before break of day. And traditionally...well it had always been something that held ritual, in her family. Her son was always home for Winter Solstice, it usually did denote his return from school, a thing to be celebrated in and of itself. But there was some religious element to it, magical superstition. It was the responsibility of the youngest person in their house to light the Solstice candle, set it to burn throughout the night, to guide the sun to rise again after the longest stretch of night. When he was but a babe, Narcissa held him seated in her arm, her chest supporting his back as she held his sweet little hand wrapped around her wand, and she cast on his behalf to light the candle on the mantel in their primary parlor.

...there were potions that required the tears of Witches in their completion but it would not do, for potions for striking a balance with hormones, relieving her darling of cramps...in point of fact the addition of tears shed in sorrow might well imbue Hermione in sadness and _that_ was absolutely not her goals. She dropped her glass stirring rod into her cauldron, clearing her throat as she banished her gloves to wipe at her eyes before she could risk contaminating her brew. Never had she missed a Solstice with her son, let alone let the day pass without any recognition. She’d rather well pushed the date from her mind, even when she saw the lit candle resting on Minerva’s fireplace, likely lit by her child at sundown. Now as she faced the prospect of...going to bed, unrising until the sun did without ritual candlelight from her Dragon...oh she missed him dearly. Prayed that he might at least be participating in something of that nature in the future Hermione’s home...oh there was something of a sweet ache to the idea that perhaps Mister Potter was being introduced to the practice, lighting the candle as it was he who would be the youngest member of their household just now.

Narcissa startled at the rush of magic...it was dual, the clink of a privacy charm settling into place to secure all sound to her livingspace, and the warping _snap-crack_ of a Wizard arriving by Portkey. And then she was breathless for a reason entirely unrelated to fear. Standing in her home, appearing in the middle of her quarters…

A nervous smile was on his lips as he smoothed his evergreen jumper. “Blessed Solstice, Mother.”

“Oh, my Dragon!” broke from Narcissa’s lips, and Castle protections be damned, she was most certain she Apparated to throw her arms around her son to pull him to her- oh Merlin, he was as tall as she, now. How? Certainly it was just yesterday he was small enough to cradle in her arms? She held him as tightly as she could, breathing deep, the sweet boy smelled like a Christmas bakery, vanilla and cinnamon and brown sugar, and something like atmosphere, the way the world smelled before it rained like he had been at flight. Warm arms wrapped around her in kind, holding her tight. “This is a most blessed Solstice indeed,” she assured...met with soft sniffling at her ear. “Draco?” she asked, pulling back ever so to look into his face. He was not crying, but there were tears in his eyes to blink away as he cleared his throat. “What is it, my heart?”

“I um...I owe you an apology. For the way I’ve been behaving, mother I...I truly am sorry.”

“Oh, my sweet boy. I know things are...difficult, at present. We cannot show open allegiance when we are in public, and it is...hard to even in falseness, be cold to you. It can be stressful, I’m sure, having to meet in secrecy, ensure no one is tracking your movements, stress you do not need.”

He pulled away, but only to take her hands in his own. For a moment her heart stuttered in her chest when she felt the cool metal of a ring, thrumming with magic, wrapped around one of his fingers but...it rested on his index finger, an old, unpolished band of silver. Too it was...the future Hermione’s magic that was imbued in the ring, not Mister Potters. He averted his gaze a moment, shamefaced before he met her gaze, “I was trying to...protect you,” he softly confessed, looking a bit miserable with himself. “I went about it unkindly, and for that I’m- gods I’m sorry. I thought…”

“Protect me?” Narcissa questioned gently. “Come sweetheart, let us sit and speak and you will explain what it is you mean. Would you care for tea? Oh, what foolishness,” she waved the useless inquiry off, it was always time for tea. She cast to set the kettle in place, fill and boil while she drew her son to sit, offering him her own armchair while she took Hermione’s. Oh, it was her magic as well, Hermione’s that had cast their privacy wards...she knew well her son planned to surprise her, it was her magic at play in his Porting to her home...oh! “Do you need stomach calming draught, my Dragon? Portkey sickness is ghastly,” she lamented, brightened when her son smiled at that, huffing a soft laugh.

“It is, usually...except now Granger _knows_ I get Portkey sick,” he shook his head. “Something she did when she crafted the Portkey, kept it from whipping me around too much, there was a lot less spinning involved and my magic felt centered the whole time so...I’m right as rain, if your future self hasn’t assured her of that yet, I would recommend she do so now. Hermione...worries about me. Even when I mess up. And I’ve done that pretty spectacularly,” he confessed with some mirth in his tones to soften the claim as he wrenched a hand at the back of his neck, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Things have been more dangerous lately, yeah. But since my article in the Quibbler...I expected backlash. I expected the worst or...or at least I thought I did. I figured...I knew speaking publicly against the Dark Lord would lead to anything from death threats to actual attempts on my life. I was fine with that, threats don’t...threats on me don’t much scare me. And I’d like to see someone try to get through the range of friends and allies I have these days. But I…” he swallowed, a bit of pallor to his skin as he leaned forward in his seat, arms draped over his knees, head hanging momentarily before he raised his face to say, “gods, I wasn’t expecting the threats I’d get about you.”

“...me?”

He nodded. “We’re on differing sides, publicly,” he huffed a bitter laugh, “and I’ve not received a _single_ threat to my father’s life. But yours? It feels like every three for me there comes one for you and I’ve...gotten a lot.” He shuddered, shaking himself momentarily, refirming his mental barriers as he decided to close his mind off as such threats pressed to the forefront of his mind but...yes, oh, there were...some rather disconcerting sentiments people had the audacity to express to her son! Threats of her brutal death, or injury, or heinous violation in retribution for his speaking out against the Dark Lord or...there seemed to be some who would claim they were sided with the light, who wrote threats to her son, believing his leaving Voldemort’s camp to be done in an attempt to grow close to Harry Potter to either ultimately betray him or corrupt him for the Dark Lord’s cause, how utterly vile. “And then there’s...my biggest fear, if I were to ever be captured is that I wouldn’t...I might not be strong enough if Voldemort himself tries to see my mind. Decrying you in public does nothing to protect you if ultimately there’s blatant memories that prove we’re still on good terms, that you’ve actually been helping the Order. If your cover was blown because of me, if you were p-punished, killed, because I’m not strong enough to protect you I-” his voice was lost to him momentarily, “I can’t- that can’t happen. S-so I distanced myself, trying to make sure my only recent memories of you would all be the same, us speaking ill of each other, calling each other out in class.”

Narcissa sat on the edge of her seat to reach for her son’s hands. _“Draco._ My darling you are strong, so strong, and even still it is not your responsibility in the slightest to protect me. And I much prefer the risk of exposure over the loss of time with you. Whatever…” she thought on it, thought it strange because, “...just yesterday you refused to join Mister Potter when he came to see me. But...you agreed well over some weeks ago to pay visit to my Future self.”

He licked his lips, nervous, his shame renewed as he averted his gaze and said, “...and the Future’s Hermione…she’s who I’d an agenda to see,” he sighed. “I messed up. I mean I really messed up. She says she isn’t angry with me but Merlin help me, I don’t know how.”

“You caused the future’s Hermione some offense?”

His hands escaped hers, and he rested his forehead in them, “It was stupid, a stupid way of going about it, and I botched it all to hell and she...she still helped me. You’re more mad at me, I think, than she was. She uh...I don’t know that she was mad at you but…” he gulped, seeming to feel guilty, “you rowed about it. Not- not badly...it’s um...I feel awful about it but I’m...I’m not glad that it happened but I’m glad…” there was something that slipped through to the forefront of his mind, the relief he couldn’t articulate, that he’d born witness to just _what_ a disagreement between she and Hermione looked like. That...it was worlds apart from when Lucius was incised with her. And she saw a glimpse of it, the future’s Hermione, pale and weary, her hair was wild, disheveled for some reason, standing in a kitchen between Draco and Narcissa’s future self, hands clenched at her side, frame rigid as she stood listening to the older Witch rail, waiting until she took pause before interjecting, _“That isn’t fair, Narcissa, and y-”_

 _“That’ isn’t_ fair?” _her future self interrupted, “Oh pardon me, it seems my son and I hold similar misunderstanding then, as to what is fair!”_

“I’m just glad,” he settled on, drawing Narcissa’s attention returned, assuring, “Everything’s fine now. I’m still sorry about it though. I wanted her to…” he shook his head, “I explained to her my worries. I had a solution, I thought but uh, she came up with a better one. I don’t have to worry about my memories of you if I’m captured. She’s secured them.”

“Secured them?”

“Yes,” was all he had to say on the matter. What mattered most, was, “I feel better about it, safer. I’ll...if you can forgive me for how I’ve been acting, I...I promise I’ll come ‘round more. Visit you. We um...the now’s Hermione, she wrote me earlier about a spell we’ve been working on, and she...her future self made the Portkey for me to come here tonight, had Aunt Andy pass it along to the present’s Hermione to give to me. Both Hermione’s have been trying to convince me to celebrate the Solstice with you. I didn’t think I would but...now that it’s safe for me to make memories with you,” he shrugged. “She asked again, when we wrote earlier, if I changed my mind and I told her I had. Anyway she got excited about it, promising to butt-out if I wanted to spend time with you when she normally would be...proposed maybe we should uh…” he shrugged, “have family dinners or something, once a week at least. Saturdays, when our schedules are looser and our movements not quite so certain, and that way we could ‘catch up on each others weeks’ and ‘celebrate Quidditch matches’,” he said as if quoting the girl. “I think...she suggested it for us, me and you but uh…”

“But?” Narcissa prompted gently.

He flushed with some embarrassment, leaning back in his seat as he turned his gaze on the fire. “If you wanted...if family includes Hermione for you too, she can come. When you want,” he shrugged. “I-if you’re interested, that is.”

“I could ask for nothing better,” Narcissa warmly assured. “Darling, of course I hold no unforgiveness for you. I’m...grateful you came to me now, and explained it was not some wrongdoing on my part that put you off my company. You may visit me anytime you care to, Dragon, my home is yours, and oh...yes, family dinner does sound a delightful prospect. You...truly would not mind if I invited Miss Granger?”

He shook his head. “...yeah...she’s good for you, I think. You’re...gods you’re so happy, and you love each other and I...I can respect that. Appreciate it, even, the care Hermione has for you.” He shrugged, “I...I love her too,” he blushed, seeming embarrassed...and frustrated he could say as much about the Witch to his mother, but not to Hermione herself. “You know, as my friend.”

They were both startled by, “Awe! Draco!” her son’s eyes widening as the Witch seated herself on the arm of his chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, Hermione smiling as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I love you too,” she giggled, pulling away to yawn a bit. She was dressed for bed, jumper...horrible sweatpants though she supposed that was due given their company. Hermione looked to the older Witch, “Sorry, I checked to make sure but your future self might’ve fibbed. If Draco showed I wanted to wish him a blessed Solstice and get a quick hug, I asked her to write me once you two had gotten a chance to talk, as long as she was certain you wouldn’t mind. Oh!” she looked to Draco, smoothing the hair on the back of his head as she said, “Blessed Solstice. Thanks for coming. You’ve...gotten through whatever it was you were having a problem with? Good. Oh! The quill and earpiece work!”

“Really?” he asked, smiling wider when she nodded, holding up her hand, palm forward...ahh. He gently slapped his hand against hers in a ‘high-five’. “Great. Everything...is going well? We uh...heard about Parkinson crashing your holiday. You’re saying she isn’t making you miserable but that’s a bold-faced lie if I ever heard one.”

“It isn’t,” Hermione insisted.

“Granger, if she’s pushing you around, calling you that _word_ -”

“She isn’t!”

“Good,” Draco said...and it was, certainly. To his mind he could not recall a single instance where the future’s Hermione reacted in pain from her scar, which for him, meant he believed Miss Parkinson had gone without saying it’s trigger word full-stop. She’d said it, in truth...perhaps twice this day, the Present’s Hermione hadn’t been Occluding. If the Future’s held no reaction? That meant her scar truly was no longer active and oh, Narcissa could not be more relieved. “It better stay that way.” And then, “I um...I understand you’re…” he cleared his throat, “poorly. Mother’s making tea,” oh, she was, wasn’t she? Thankfully...ahh yes, there was a teapot on her counter space, now full of warm Jasmine tea for her son. She was about to raise her wand to summon it, but Draco was already casting, a teacup and saucer appearing before she and her son on the table to the side of their chairs, a third teacup and saucer appearing in his hand, offering it to the Witch at his side. “Warm...it’s warm beverages that make it feel better right, not cold? Bugger, it’s cold isn’t it?”

“Nope, warm, definitely warm,” Hermione assured him as she accepted the beverage. “Thanks,” she said, kissing him atop his head before rising from her seat. It was in her mind, the wish to draw nearer the older Witch and repeat the action, press a kiss to her hair before taking her leave but she didn’t wish to make Draco uncomfortable. “I think I’ll take this back to bed. You two enjoy your ritual,” she said, smiling warmly to Narcissa before turning to leave.

“...wait,” Draco spoke up, “er...would you join us? It’s nothing long, just a moment of reflection um...appreciating what the warmth of the sun does for us, remembering its blessings and then lighting the candle to guide it home.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Hermione encouraged, though… “You...we all know it’s the _Earth_ that revolves around…?”

“Around what, darling?” Narcissa questioned with put-on confusion, more than amused when the girl’s mouth worked momentarily, flummoxed because she did not wish to make the woman feel ignorant. Her laughter was rich in her throat as she confessed, “We are indeed aware that after ourselves, the world does indeed revolve around the sun.”

That earned her a bit of laughter she dearly cherished. She cherished this Witch, oh, with all of her heart. She could not be more grateful, the care that she held for her, for her son, she and her future self both.

And so it was nothing short of absolute perfection, to stand with the Witch at her side, Hermione leaning into her hold as she wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders, and together they watched as Draco lit the Solstice Candle seated atop the mantle.

In good time, as his Portkey was set to reactivate for a return trip before the midnight hour. He hugged his mother in farewell, wished them a happy Christmas before retrieving a silver thimble from his pocket and clenching it in hand. Hermione sighed content and well ready for sleep, and Narcissa kept her arm around the younger Witch, pressing a grateful kiss to the top of her head before guiding her to return to her bedroom, closing shut the door behind them. She cast for cleansing, far too tired for anything more than that and a change of wardrobe, casting to don her nightgown and banish—for permanence—those horrendous sweatpants.

“Narcissa!”

“Shhh, it is time for sleep, and I prefer you do that here, than in Azkaban,” Narcissa insisted as she gently pushed the girl towards bed, climbing in after her as the younger Witch let out a burst of laughter.

“Azkaban?”

“Oh haven’t you heard? My darling, those sweatpants are forbidden, Unforgivable with a capital ‘U’. That you do not serve a life sentence for wearing them thrice will only be by the grace of the gods and my cunning keeping you from the clutches of the Ministry.”

“You’re goofy when you’re tired huh?” she supposed, leaning to kiss the woman on the cheek, “It’s cute,” she assured, settling against Narcissa’s side, head against her chest, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Narcissa softly assured, fingers trailing a lazy path up and down the girl’s back as they drifted off to sleep.

Peaceful rest they felt in full, even when it was disturbed by the sound of the Floo flaring and then Angela Holmes raising her voice to call,

“Mama’s got some new kitchen gear to break in, so what’s up Witches! I’m making pancakes!”

* * *

Draco’s stomach was a tangle of knots that swayed with each turn of...Nymphadora’s automobile. Harry was practically bursting from his skin seated at his side in the backseat, legs bouncing hands fidgeting in his lap, lip tucked tight between teeth as he leaned forward to look out the front window, and then turned his head to look out of the one directly beside him, taking in the view whipping past them at...what he supposed must be a normal pace, it wasn’t the break-neck speeds they traveled in the Weasley’s automobile, but the Tonks’s family car wasn’t disillusioned. So his cousin had to follow the laws of the street...which meant she was seated in the passenger's seat while Remus Lupin kindly spared them the terror he’d apparently faced on the way to the train station, and took the wheel. The man had been ashen when he stumbled from the automobile that _slid_ almost wholly sideways to park parallel to the curb out front of Kings Cross. He looked like he’d just come through one of his moon-times, but the full moon wasn’t to be expected until the 24th.

_“Boys! Wonderful to see you,” he said, clearing his throat and smoothing a hand over bedraggled locks, catching himself against the automobile when it seemed he’d not quite gotten the hang of the world moving under his feet after his car ride. He shook himself and smiled brighter when Harry looked worried. “Dora’s...excellent at ensuring no one could follow us.”_

_“Thanks babe,” Tonks said as she stepped out of the car, cracking her bubblegum that...coordinated nicely with her hair, given it was the same shade of pink. “Oi. Get over here, you lumps. Give me my damn hugs,” she demanded, opening her arms, and when they were in range she pulled both Wizards to her, hugging them fiercely with a grunt of effort. “Missed you, mwah!”_

_“Tonks!” Draco complained, “There are several ways to offer greetings, slobber isn’t one of them!”_

_“Huh, never gotten any complaints about it before,” the woman chuckled, tussling his hair! But she smoothed it straight afterward, so that was some improvement. “You can call me Dora by the way. Or Nymphadora,” she shrugged. “Either uh...works.” and then, “C’mon, we haven’t got all day. We should get back before your mum decides to do something about her hair, you_ have _to see it!”_

_“...what’s wrong with my mother’s hair?”_

_Nymphadora grinned in a way that could be considered evil. “Bonding.”_

“I’m excited to see everyone,” Harry said, his fidgeting stilled only slightly when he decided to occupy his hands with Draco’s, lacing his finger’s with the quiet Wizard seated at his side. “Hey...you okay?”

Draco offered something of a fleeting half-smile, swallowing when he felt like he might be ill in the moment, there’d been just a small surge of bile that threatened a path up his throat but he gulped it back before he composed himself enough to quietly confess, “Nervous.”

“Dora, love,” Mister Lupin softly said, removing a hand from the wheel for a second to gesture at the little drawer? Cabinet? In the front of the vehicle. His cousin sat up from where she’d been slouching, curled up with a knee to her chest as she...she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and he was decently certain she was painting her toenails. Yes, she swiftly returned the brush to the bright orange nailpolish container, twisting it closed before she opened the cabinet. There was a clink of glass before she pulled out a vial of potion, twisting about to pass it back.

“Here mate,” she offered with some sympathy, “car rides can be a little rough even when you’re used to them. Remus always gets a little squeamish if he isn’t driving.”

“Ahh yes. It's motion sickness. The sickness invoked by the motion of the vehicle, and absolutely nothing else,” Remus assured, smiling at them in the mirror over his head. “Certainly not the terror of being driven by a woman who takes traffic laws as useless suggestions.”

“That one car followed us _two_ blocks!”

“It was a mail carrier!”

“It was _suspicious!”_

A smile tugged at the man’s lips and he blindly reached to take the Witch’s hand, bringing it to his lips, “Well, it was excellent evasion work, as I said.”

“And you didn’t die!” the woman cheerfully noted.

“And there is that,” he warmly supposed.

Draco swallowed his potion down in a grateful gulp, Harry rubbing circles on his back. Potion wasn’t supposed to make his stomach hurt, but it did when he felt familiar magic in it. His mother’s brew, to keep on hand if he needed it. She’d thought of that, thought of him. She was always thinking of him and...he didn’t very well deserve it, did he? He could read between the lines, knew well his...distancing was hurting his mother, and that killed him. But…

_Your whore mother’s going to wish you were never born. When I’m through with Narcissa Black, she’ll regret raising a blood traitor._

_...don’t worry, I’ll be sure to pass on her final words._

_...worthless Witches make worthless Wizards, she’ll see a real Wizard before she dies._

He’d waited so long to make a public statement on his desertion to keep her safe, make certain she wasn’t trapped with his father and his outrage when he saw his son’s defiance in the paper. He hadn’t thought for a minute the aftermath would be directed at her. If he’d known, he’d have kept his damn mouth shut, he’d wanted to help...he’d hoped it might reach others in his former position, who needed encouragement to stray from their parents path, he was willing to put up with people spewing hatred, the wish of death and worse on _him_. But not at the expense of his mother! And...then there…

There’d been something of a close call. He hadn’t...told anyone about it, only...the people responsible, and one other, knew just what happened. It’d been a Hogsmeade weekend and he...there was something about how packed in they were at Honeydukes, it’d been claustrophobic even for Draco. Harry had gone from open excitement at their day to just...completely shutting down, his hand lax in Draco’s as he stared blankly into space, frozen and unresponsive save for breathing that was all too shallow.

_“Harry? Darling, please hey, look at me,” Draco rasped quietly, hands on the other Wizard’s shoulders as he stood before him, trying to catch his gaze. Emerald eyes blinked slowly before lifting to meet his. “Do you need to leave?”_

_He tried to open his mouth but managed to nod instead, and Draco carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him out into the cold, the jarring temperature seemed to help a bit, ground him, he breathed easier being out in the open. “What do you need? What can I do?” Draco asked, and Harry wrapped his arms around the Slytherin boy, taking a deep breath, Merlin he was shaking._

_“M-m’okay. Crowds sometimes…” he shuddered. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t be, shh. I’m not much a fan of crowds either,” Draco assured, pulling back. “Let’s sit, okay? Take a few deep breaths,” he intoned, pushing the Wizard to seat himself on the bench outside Honeydukes. “Just relax a minute, focus on your breathing. I’m going to get you something warm to drink. Are you good here? Or do you need me to stay?”_

_“I can go with you-”_

_“Potter you’re shaking so bad a stiff wind would knock you flat. So long as you fall forward, the view won’t be anything to complain about on my end. You might feel differently. I’m just going to the corner, not backpacking across europe.”_

_“Take someone with you.”_

_Draco nodded. “I’ll be fine,” was all he said. It was a quick run to Three Broomsticks._

It had almost been a quick run to the Dark Lord’s lair. Soon to be his former home-sweet-home, but that hadn’t yet been the case at the time, it was the first Hogsmeade Saturday after Samhain. But he’d still seen something of a familiar face.

_A rough hand grasped hold of his arm, gripping with bruising strength to yank him into their hold and then there was the burning pull on his magic and when he was righted, set unsteadily on his feet, pain burst in his face as a fist slammed into his eyesocket, his nose- fuck he felt the gush of blood pouring from it as he was sent whirling into ground, guts shooting up into his head before dropping into his feet, before they settled like a winding punch in his middle, he heaved as he went to his knees, panicked breaths spurting from his lungs as his heart pounded out of his chest. Oh gods he-_

_“Garfield.” Father’s voice. Oh gods he really was dead. Where was he? The ground was covered in browning pine needles, wet and cold, there were trees...nope, nothing familiar save his captors. “Ahh. Good of you to call on me. I’ll disclose his Eminence's location, and you may go on ahead to report your success to our Lord, he’ll be most pleased. I can see our captive is secured...” Draco could feel his father’s stare, “I have a few questions for the whelp,” he sneered and-_

_His father’s boot made...glancing contact, none at all really, he barely felt it touch where his shirt hung under his ribcage, but Draco flinched all the same, like he’d been kicked. Lord Parkinson chuckled his glee over it._

_“Oh I’m sure you do,” the other Dark Wizard said, smarmy bastard. His boots left Draco’s line of sight and he tried to focus, reign his breathing in. He had his wand and- and he could defend himself. How many were there? His father and Lord Parkinson. Wait- that was Apparation, he heard the snap of it, so Lord Parkinson left whatever hellish dead drop this was._

_He wanted with everything to face off with his father, duel him. Kill him even, maybe, for the way he treated mother, treated him, the threat he posed to everyone he loved but now he couldn’t think of a single spell even...which one summoned wand light? That would be useless in this situation but it would be a spell at least._

_He was hauled to his feet, brought to look his father directly in the face and...it felt like...perhaps it was merely that he hadn’t seen the man in so long but it felt like maybe he’d never seen his father’s face before. His face was the same but somehow different, softer, open worry in his silver eyes and...Harry had mentioned he’d worn a bandage on his cheek when they met over a week ago, there was a paling scar there now, a slender slash from a knife. “Draco? We must be swift, I apologize, there’s no time. Where were you when you were taken? Why wasn’t anyone with you? Or did Garfield get brazen and nab you from your protections while they were at hand? Was anyone hurt? Dragon?”_

_“Don’t you dare call me- I’m not talking to-”_

_“You’re hardly in a condition to apparate on your own. What year is it, still 96?” he shook his head as if to clear it, “How...how old are you now?”_

_“You seriously don’t know-”_

_“Are you of Age?”_

_“Sixteen.”_

_His father nodded. “I just-” he swallowed. “I’m sorry. I should have phrased that more clearly I need...I’ve heard you’ve considered absconding of the Malfoy name, you can only do so once you’re of Age, thus I ask.”_

_“I am,” if he somehow survived this, “the second the Ministry will let me say what I should be called I’m dropping-”_

_“Your mother’s name is strong, powerful,” he offered like a suggestion. “And there is every honor in being a Tonks, should declaring yourself a Black be inadvisable at the time, your Aunts name might suit better. As you are presently a Malfoy...”_

_Draco’s eyes blew wide in his head as...for the first time in his life, his father...wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulled him to his chest, and pressed his lips to his forehead…_

_To murmur something. A rush of latin cresting over his lips with soft magic that…_

_He didn’t feel poorly anymore. The nausea and fear that had gripped him in his capture vanished, the pound of headache that had been building. His hands and knees had smarted fiercely, he was certain they were scraped from his landing but now they felt...fine. He’d seen scraped skin on the palm of his hand, it had been bleeding but now it was healed and his nose snapped back into place, no longer throbbing._

_His father turned his face away the moment he released hold of him, save a hand on his shoulder, and he swished his wand, muttering a muffled cleansing charm that coasted over Draco to clear away the grime and blood he’d garnered in the last few minutes._

_“Garfield...no great effort has been made to detain you recently, we’ve a greater focus at the moment thus the Order drew back on its guard of you. Lord Parkinson is overly eager to appease the Dark Lord as his daughter has made little progress with his plans. Do not ever leave the protections set in place for you, as long as someone is at hand, he will be too much a coward to risk making a move. I will speak with Albus, this will not happen again. Go.”_

_“...go?”_

_“You feel well enough to Apparate, I hope? If you would tell me where to return you, I would gladly do so but it is best I remain here for Garfield’s return. As far as all involved will be concerned, you bested me and escaped.” the hand on his shoulder squeezed...nothing painful, just...confusing more than comforting. “Go.”_

_And so he did. First to Grimmauld Place, because it was Secret Kept._

_And then he returned to Hogsmeade, directly next to Three Broomsticks, everything...he felt a bit of a mess, trying to catch up with himself. He...what...what had just happened? One moment he’d been fine, and then not fine and then...fine again._

_“Draco?” Ron’s voice startled him all to hell! Oh. He and Blaise were just about to enter the pub. “Mate...you okay? Where’s Harry?”_

_Oh fuck he left him alone! “Uhh we needed something to warm up with- can I help you?!” he snapped when Weasley grasped tight, painful hold of his shoulder!_

_“You’re bleeding! Blaise go get Hermione, she’ll have bandaging and know what to do.”_

_“I’m not bleeding!” Draco harshly assured, giving the Gryffindor a shove. Ron stepped back removing his hands like...he was truly afraid to. There..._ was _fresh blood on his shirt._

_It was a stain. The palm of his father’s hand from where he’d held onto his shoulder after cleansing him...what the hell kind of spell-_

_...some sort of Malfoy family magic. Nothing he’d ever encountered before, father never shared anything of lighter nature though he wasn’t sure something that transferred injury was wholly Light. He supposed it...would look like he’d fought his father off. He was...likely in trouble for losing him, injured...and Draco shouldn’t care about that, should he?_

_“Mate?”_

_“Draco, man, what the hell happened?” Blaise demanded to know._

_Draco cast to cleanse his shirt. “Bloody nose. I need to get back to Harry. You two get drinks for everyone and meet us out front of Honeydukes...uh...you mind watching me make the trip back?”_

_Blaise looked at him like he hadn’t made a bit of sense, and then he looked to Ron who kissed the Slytherin Wizard on the cheek and said, “Walk him. I’ll grab drinks.”_

_“Come on,” Blaise said, jerking his head backward in the direction they moved to return to Honeydukes. “What’s really going on?”_

He’d kept it to himself. He shouldn’t have, he knew, he should have at least reported it to the Headmaster or something. But...the Headmaster had reinstated his Order shadows, after that, so he likely knew. And he…

He wasn’t certain about anything that happened. He was embarrassed and ashamed he’d been caught off guard, that he hadn’t been able to defend himself. That he would have been royally fucked if his father hadn’t...saved him. All he was certain of...was he was an utter coward in the face of fire. If he’d been taken to Voldemort? His mind would have been an open book and the bastard would have easily seen...anything. Including his mother. Meeting in secret, laughing and talking and speaking of her work with the Order. Writing her Future self.

So...he stopped. He broke contact with the future’s Narcissa, only wrote back when it was utterly vital to. Stopped visiting his mother in secret.

And then the offer of Christmas came.

He had a plan. It would work, it would, he just needed Granger’s help. Hermione...understood memory magic better than he did. The future’s especially. And if he went to the present’s...he’d considered after he realized he couldn’t figure out how to execute his solution on his own, but she’d been rather well occupied with study to test out of Potions. He’d some fear, that she would refuse him and go straight to mother about it and that wouldn’t do, and there was double the risk with the Present’s Hermione in that regard as the Future’s would be made aware. But...he’d developed his argument well, he thought, and he...had a plan, to get the Future’s Hermione alone, long enough to convince her, he was certain.

It was jarring, when their automobile came to a stop. Not that Mister Lupin had halted the vehicle roughly, no, it was...where he halted them. In the street behind another vehicle, parked directly before a...house. He’d found the Weasley home small, and this was...a great deal smaller, tucked between two houses that appeared so similar he almost thought they were perhaps, related. All the same property. But no, he could see some glimmer of magical protections over his Aunt’s property and it remained confined to the short stretch of green immediately between the house they were in front of, and the curb. Outward slanting pale blue slats lined the walls, a great many windows at least, a pale oak door, a bit of fencing peeked out from behind the house so he supposed there must be a back garden of some sort. Still it was rather well worlds apart from the life his Aunt, he himself, had grown up in.

So he was surprised but...delighted, as he really looked at it. It didn’t hold any resemblence to any home he knew to be ruled by fear.

And it certainly wasn’t.

There were audible footsteps thunking to the door before it swung open and Uncle Teddy stood smiling wide, “Did you bring my boy?”

“Oh...crap, babe,” Nymphadora complained to her boyfriend as she stood and closed shut the passenger side door, “I knew we forgot something!”

“You did!” Uncle Teddy ignored her, rushing down the porch steps to collide with Draco once he stepped out of the vehicle and slung the open satchel he was carrying over his shoulder in the instant before there were arms around him in a bracing hug, the man pressing a kiss to the side of his head before he pulled back, “Good to see you, good to see you! Your mother’s just inside, lunch is almost ready.”

“You boys go on ahead, we’ll get your things,” Remus said as he went around to the vehicle's rear compartment. “Draco, would you like me to take your bag?”

Oh. “I’ll keep it, thanks,” Draco said, and the man nodded as Draco and Harry followed Teddy into the house. They stepped into a parlor, a large worn couch upholstered in blue and white tartan fabric, a large brown leather armchair, all seeming to be focused on the...large wooden box with a pane of dark glass on its front, a fireplace on the far wall.

“We’re baaaaaaaack!” Nymphadora loudly announced and then she winced, “Wait, shit, ‘mione feeling any better?”

There was an archway before them, he could see his Aunt standing in the kitchen, her hands in the sink, steam pouring up off of something she was straining. “She’s still lying down, but I’m sure she’ll rouse soon.” Draco’s stomach dropped. Was she poorly?

“Whoops,” his cousin sought to amend her earlier loudness by softly whispering the announcement, “We’re baaaaaaack!”

“I can see that,” her mother stage whispered in response. “Come on in here boys, set your things down, get comfortable,” she invited.

He and Harry followed Dora into the kitchen, a smallish space with so many people expected to be in it, counters lining the walls on either side, a kitchen isle in the center, wooden countertops. At the center isle sat his mother, perched on a stool across from where her sister stood at the sink and...oh.

“Oh wow, I like your hair Narcissa, it’s pretty,” Harry sweetly complimented, earning a smile from the woman as she laid eyes on them.

Her hair was pink. The tips of it, anyway, several inches toward the tips of her hair, was bright, bubblegum pink, to match his cousin, at the hands of his cousin apparently.

“Isn’t it great?! I asked if she wanted to match me and mum, and she agreed!” Dora said. Oh, Aunt Andy...he suspected the hair had turned white with uh...maturity, a streak of it toward the front of her hair. She kept it colorful, opting to match whatever color her daughter more regularly settled on at the time, so. “Can’t say no to her favorite niece.”

“My only niece,” the woman drawled, even as she couldn’t help the smile on her face as she regarded Nymphadora. Oh hell she looked so happy, warm and content, even as there was some trepidation in her as she looked to Draco again. “Dragon, I have missed you.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, clearing it to say, “I uh...I missed you too, mother.”

She relaxed when there was an exchange of hugs, Harry going for one with his mother first, while Draco was hugged by his Aunt, and then the woman waved Harry in for a hug, Draco went to his mother, carefully wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Gods he missed this, would miss it when their holiday was through.

“...there is something moving in your luggage,” his mother saw fit to point out. Oh. He was awake, huh?

“Uh...I hope you don’t mind, I wanted to er...surprise Hermione,” he said as he pulled away. His mother raised a delicate eyebrow at him.

“...with livestock? If your cousin has talked you into investing in a pet chicken-”

“Fresh! Eggs!” Nymphadora insisted, as if some argument was renewed. “Fresh eggs! Your garden would be perfect then!”

“It’s perfect now,” Hermione’s voice, rough with sleep, said. There were stairs leading down into the kitchn opposite the archway they entered and the Future’s Hermione stood clad in a large jumper, ‘H’ emblazon on it, a black skirt peeking out just under its hem to cover her thighs a bit more, bare feet on the hardwood steps as she rubbed sleep from her eyes, stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen to make her way to mother, sighing as she leaned against the older Witch. To hug her, press a kiss to her cheek, “Cissa did amazing with it.”

“Well, my Dragon selected our garden's contents, and you made purchase of the seeds, warded it so I might enjoy my craft year ‘round,” the woman saw fit to give credit as she examined the younger Witch, “you’re feeling better, I hope?”

“Andy’s potion’s kicked in well enough. My present self hasn’t woken up yet to take what you’re making for her,” and then she looked to Harry and Draco, smiling as she greeted, “Hey, you made it! I’m so happy you’re here!” as she released hold of his mother to draw nearer, arms open. Oh gods, she was _pale_ , features a bit pinched with pain and...he hadn’t seen her since before Samhain. Merlin, there were a few small scars, at her eyebrow, across the bridge of her nose, one at her lip, a nearly faded one horizontal on the peak of her cheekbone.

_They gathered together, the host of his friends in the Room of Requirement, Halloween night, enjoying treats and butterbeer. It was Luna who provided their drink this evening...she produced several cases of bottles of butterbeer to go around and upon questioning just how she procured their drinks on school grounds._

_“Oh, they’re Christmas presents from the Gulping Plimples,” she said._

_“...Lu, it’s Halloween,” Ginny Weasley, rosy cheeked from a single butterbeer Merlin help her, giggled as she leaned into Goyle, “she thinks it's Christmas.”_

_“Then it is,” Greg shrugged, sipping at his butterbeer._

_“Gregory is right!” Luna revealed, “Gulping Plimples experience time in reverse you know. Last week they celebrated the new year, and now it is Christmas. Halloween won’t be for months for them,” she frowned, “I hope the pumpkin cakes will still be in season for them, they love them so much.”_

_“They’ll have them,” Greg assured._

_“Yeah Lu, we’ll make some if there isn’t, mum’s got a great recipe,” Ginny promised. Luna beamed, leaning forward far enough she had to stand a bit to kiss her girlfriend and boyfriend on the cheek._

_Gods it had been good fun. Draco nearly snorted up his butterbeer as Vince finished up his horrendous impression of the Dark Lord enjoying halloween treats, a strange bit of comedy that resulted in absolute hilarity, declaring the sweets too sweet, that meant that they must be imbued with some goodness, some purity his evil body could not tolerate and therefore acted as poison. His bit ended with Vincent Crabbe slumped over ‘dead’ in his chair with chocolate smeared on his mouth, and everyone doubling over in their amusement._

_“Draco,” Hermione giggled when he sputtered, “h-here,” she laughed as she offered him a handkerchief to wipe at his face._

_“Thanks Granger,” he snorted, wiping at his mouth and nose before casting the handkerchief clean and offering it back. His stomach sank straight to his knees, heart stopping when she paled and flinched, letting out a startled sound as she slapped her hand over her left forearm, clutching at it as she curled in on herself like something hurt low in her stomach. “Hermione?!”_

_“What’s wrong?” Ron and Harry voiced, everyone falling silent._

_“I-I-I don’t know,” she said, voice shaking, “It feels like so-” a_ scream _tore from her throat as she clutched at her shoulder._

_“Something’s attacking her magic,” Greg shot out._

_Her magic...oh gods, her arm, her scar! Bellatrix’s knife, it was Samhain! “Shit! Shit! Shh shh, Hermione? Granger, look at me, focus, you need to Occlude, you need to Occlude now!”_

Gods, if she hadn’t Occluded it would have been so much worse. As it stood? Something in him felt certain she might die before he could get her to the Hospital Wing, he’d just- scooped her up, ran like mad, their friends hot on his trail as they stormed the Hospital Wing, overlapping voices shouting for Madam Pompfrey.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t feel like a hug, huh?” Hermione supposed when he didn’t move to do so, letting out a soft, “oh!” when he wrapped his arms around her, under her arms around her waist, he might have hoisted her a bit. She returned his hug, arms around his neck, hand gently scratching at the back of his hair, “Okay, hi, I missed you too.”

Oh shit, she wasn’t feeling well or something, right. He set her down, pulling away, “You needed potion? Is it...are you sick? Or is it your scar? Your present self, is she-”

She rubbed at her left forearm momentarily, smiling as she said, “It doesn’t even smart anymore when someone says the trigger word around me. I’m fine. Just uh...you don’t ever want to experience a period. And you definitely don’t want to experience it in double,” she assured.

“A period of what?” oh gods, “If...if this is a bad time, if um...if you're depressed or having some kind of anxiety spell we can do something else, stay with Aunt Andy or go on to the Weasleys if this is too much.”

“ _My_ period you goof. My time of the month?” time of…oh. That was...uh…unfortunate? “But that’s sweet of you. How are you doing? We haven’t heard from you much lately, and my Present self hasn’t seen you much outside of class and studying. You’re doing okay?”

“I am,” he said, blushing when she kissed him on the cheek.

“Good,” and then, “Harry...it's not an eyepatch but I do look more like I’m from the future huh?” she supposed.

“Ohh, distinctive scaring to denote the passage of time. I dig it, you look badass,” Harry said, kissing her on the cheek before he pulled her into a hug. Draco felt the bag at his back shifting more, yup, he was definitely waking up. He’d gotten into the bag okay, curled up and fell asleep but uh...he might hold some argument if he was kept there much longer, so Draco carefully pulled it off his shoulders and rested it on the counter top, getting a warning stare from his Aunt.

“If there is any chicken other than the one I have roasting for lunch on my countertops in the next few minutes…” Aunt Andy said with an air of threat. “Don’t try me boy, I've got all sorts of time on my hands, I need something to keep me busy.”

“No chickens,” he promised, opening the bag more, he’d left the top undone so the sweet thing could breathe, orange eyes blinking up at him. “Come on honey, up we get,” he said, reaching into the bag and pulling the creature into his arms, and he turned toward Hermione to show her.

He startled at her excited, “Ahh!” and then, “My baby!” she cried, reaching out and the cat let out a huff of air like he was annoyed but he leaned forward in Draco’s hold, didn’t object in being transferred to Hermione’s arms as she hugged him fiercely, face buried in the fur of his neck. “Crookshanks! Oh my God I missed you.”

“Oh darling-” Mother said in mild complaint, like it was upsetting that Hermione was uh...a little weepy as she held the cat. 

“It’s my cat! It’s my cat and my period and I’ll cry if I want to! I love him so much, he’s staying forever! Or until Draco goes back to school I guess. Whichever happens first!”

“I thought you might miss him, so,” Draco shrugged.

“Uh-huh. Not that _you_ would have missed him in the slightest?”

...perhaps. “He’s _your_ familiar.”

“Yeah he is, sweet grumpy boy. I missed you. Mwah,” she pressed a kiss to his fur and then she sniffled...oh gods she really was crying. “I haven’t seen you s-since the Burrow!”

“...the Burrow?” Harry asked.

She sniffled again, “Um...summer before Seventh Year,” she offered. Oh hell, it had been a long time to go without seeing her familiar.

“Sweetheart, come. Sit, and you should eat,” Mother intoned, glaring at her sister. “Your so-called treatment has stricken both Miss Grangers, and as we are heavily monitoring present progress my darling could not so much as stomach breakfast she was in such pain!”

“It was just cramps! It’s not Andy’s fault I have to focus on what’s happening with our present selves. Thank you for helping me,” Hermione said to the Healer as she seated herself...she moved to sit on the stool at mother’s side but the older Witch pulled her to sit in her lap, kissing her shoulder before resting her chin on it as she wrapped her arms around her waist. Crooks hopped out of her hold then, into her lap for a brief moment before dropping to the floor and going to investigate the house.

“Any update on Parkinson?” Nymphadora asked, reaching...the bowl that had been in the sink was on the counter now, full of steaming potatoes and she made to grab a fluffy chunk but, “ow,” she hissed when her mother smacked her hand away.

“Nymphadora Narcissa Tonks, if you-” Aunt Andy stopped, blushing a bit, before she looked to mother. “Do not...dare...let this go to your head.”

Mother looked taken aback, “You named your child-”

“It is a family name!” Aunt Andy defended.

“Yes! Because it is _my_ name!” mother said, “You hated me!”

“I did not and you know it! And-” she fell silent, mouth snapping shut with a _click_ of teeth.

“...dromeda?”

A frown tugged on his Aunt’s lips and she pulled her daughter close, Dora snorting as she hugged her mother back, “Mum,” she complained.

“Oh hush,” the woman said, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s hair. “Dora was...premature. Small, and sick...not unlike you, when you were born. I thought perhaps imbuing her with your name might...lend a bit of the power that kept you alive, had you thriving once you cleared the initial struggles of your infancy.”

“Awe,” Hermione’s bottom lip set outward in a pout as she leaned and turned a bit to look at mother, “you were a premie?”

“I was nearly to term but yes. Mother’s womb was rotten, Bella’s doing I’m sure. That Andromeda and I were born is nothing short of a miracle.”

“My birth could be denoted as such, yes,” his Aunt supposed.

“Your chicken is burning,” mother deadpanned.

“It is not!” Andy snapped, and then she blanched when she sniffed. “Oh gods it is!” she cried, moving to the oven and pulling it open and then, “Nar _cissa!”_

“My wand must have slipped,” mother said, the picture of innocence as she pressed a mischievous smile against Hermione’s shoulder as if to hide it. Ahh, the chicken was apparently still cooking, mother just...she pranked her sister and that would have been entirely amusing information for Draco to absorb if he’d had the focus to do that. His attention was rather lost to an earlier bit of information.

“Draco?” Harry questioned quietly, settling a warm hand on the back of Draco’s neck and massaging. “You okay?”

“Has Lord Parkinson done something?” Draco rasped.

“Dragon? Darling do sit down,” mother intoned, patting the space at the end of the counter. Oh, she’d taken Hermione into her lap so he could sit beside her, he supposed. When he did mother placed her hand over his, “no sweetheart he...Garfield is not the Parkinson we speak of,” she said, confused that he would jump to that conclusion. She felt him press a bit at his mind and she met his faux wall and rescinded her search when she realized he was opting for privacy, not silent communication. “Pansy Parkinson has sought sanctuary at Hogwarts. She is, at present, claiming a desire to defect.”

“She _does_ want to defect,” Hermione insisted.

“Well she certainly wants _something_ ,” mother groused, sullen as she held the Witch in her lap tighter. “Your present self and she...talked, I trust, before you fell asleep?”

“Yeah, she wants to talk to you, explain, she’s just really scared. Her parents are vile, Narcissa, she’s petrified.”

Oh...he was almost grateful, he was on a level, that...gods, he feared the worst, thought Lord Parkinson had made some move to harm mother somehow. Pansy could well be enacting some plan to do so. “You can’t trust her.”

“We don’t, not entirely,” Hermione assured, mother’s hand was replaced by hers, squeezing his hand gently. “That’s why we’re keeping a close eye on everything. Don’t even worry about it, alright? Whatever happens, we’ll handle it,” she promised. Warm, and so sure that what she was saying was true. Why did that make him feel...it made him squirm, internally, because ultimately it made him feel safe, and _that_ made him feel vulnerable. Gross.

Lunch passed without incident, the adults at the table wanting caught up on how Harry and Draco’s schooling was, how the Quidditch season was going. They sat talking after their plates were cleared and Hermione brightened, mother smiling warmly when the younger Witch summoned...oh, her journal she used to communicate with his present mother. He couldn’t tell what they were writing each other, but…

Hell, they all really loved each other, didn’t they? And,

“Your mother says she loves you,” Hermione passed along to Draco, and then she looked to Harry, “and you.” Draco had to look away when that put just the most brilliant smile on Potter’s face, honestly, it was already something heart-softening to hear that his mother approved so much of the Wizard he was dating, it was something deadly that the Wizard was so pleased about it, moved, loved his mother likewise. 

Though a moment after Hermione closed her journal mother straightened in her seat like she’d been jarred by something, holding the Witch more tightly, a smile at her lips she pressed against Hermione’s shoulder.

“Narcissa,” Hermione softly whispered like she was chastising the woman, a smile on her face as she blushed.

“Me? You are…” and then she let out a frustrated sound. “Very mean, Miss Granger.”

...she said it in a way that left Draco with the impression the girl wasn’t being mean at all to his mother, presently, and he truly did not even want to begin to know what that meant.

“Well, shall we head home? Have you a shift today darling?” mother fretted.

“Nope! I took the day for Draco and Harry. The 23rd and 24th are Whitaker’s days and then the shops closed until the New Year.”

“Splendid. You’ve been working entirely too much lately. Patrick’s finals were truly so all-consuming you had to take on every one of his shifts?”

“Mhm,” Hermione hummed, biting her lip, “I’m sorry, I promise...I’ll have to work a little late on Christmas Eve but I’ll be home in time for the festivities.”

“You will take the whole of January off,” Mother decided. “It is my birthday.”

“The 15th! The _15th_ is your birthday-”

“Right in the midst of the month, a centerpiece for a month-long celebration of my life, which I am well due.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. Now, summon that...creature you recognize as a familiar, and let us be off.”

“I got him,” Harry said, drawing their attention...to the long misshapen lump along his torso underneath his hoodie. He tugged on his collar and Crookshank’s head poked out under his chin, the cat licking at his own nose as he blinked at them.

“...why?” Draco asked, caught between amusement and being utterly baffled. 

Harry shrugged, “Dunno, he just crawled up there. He likes it!”

“Well at least he’s not wrinkling the shirt I laid out for you. You realize that was done intentionally, Potter? I did all the work for you all you had to do was put it on, and here you come, traipsing down in that,” Draco said, gesturing to the blinding red hoodie his boyfriend was wearing. “Where _is_ the shirt I left out for you?”

“...I’m wearing it!” Harry brightly assured, smile open and earnest with genuine excitement like he was thrilled he’d done something that might please Draco as he lifted his hoodie a bit, “See?” ahh. Nothing goes with a plum button up quite like a fluorescent red hoodie.

“...Potter.”

“Yeah?”

It was stupid. More than stupid. He wanted to say _I love you_ , he did. But he hadn’t...said it yet, directly to the Wizard, hadn’t been able to. And _this_ was hardly the romantic scenario he should declare his love in, now was it? He opted for kissing the Wizard on the cheek. In front of others and everything! He could have done without Dora’s catcalling, but...he loved the Wizard, damn it! 

“Well then, come along my dears. Let’s get you settled,” mother said.

Settled meant...getting into another vehicle. Their things had been transferred to its back compartment, Merlin...surely mother didn’t drive? Ahh, no, Hermione had the keys in hand, though she opened the passenger door...oh, for mother. Good. As she should. Though it was Draco she looked to.

“Dora said you got a little car sick on the ride here,” Hermione said, “sitting up front might help with that if you’d like?”

Mother gasped with some delight, linking arms with Harry, “And I may enjoy our ride home in your company my darling.”

“Sounds great,” Harry said, blushing, and he moved to step ahead of mother before opening the door, seeing her seated before closing it behind her. They wanted him to sit in the front of this contraption? That...was supposed to help people not feel sick? Strange. And it had not been car sickness that had gotten to him before but...he certainly wasn’t saying as much. It would do well to see what it was like, since...it was how mother was usually transported in such a conveyance and he would feel better about that, if he could verify for himself how safe it was. Granger wasn’t to cart his mother around in a bloody automobile if it wasn’t safe!

...but it...was. Even when there was risk it mightn’t be. Hermione seemed to know what she was doing, moving what was his understanding to weigh a literal ton machine through the streets, focused well on the task at hand, both hands on the wheel save for the instance traffic slowed abruptly, and in the same moment she halted their vehicle, her hand was on his chest...shielding him? Keeping the action from jostling him too harshly in his seat when the sudden stop had the automobile lurch, seat belt digging harshly into the Witch’s shoulder, her hips. She lifted her eyes to the mirror to verify,

“All good? Sorry about that.” Draco looked over his shoulder to lay eyes on his mother and boyfriend, Harry was resting his head on mother’s shoulder, her arm behind his neck, elbow propped on his shoulder as she carded a hand through his hair. Was he asleep? He was asleep, Crooks curled up in his lap.

“Jesus,” mother offered softly in tones of complaint, for some reason it made the Witch in the driver’s seat giggle as his mother grinned at having made her do so. “We’re well darling.” she assured, gaze dropping from meeting Hermione’s in the mirror to looking at her arm still outstretched before Draco, something in her warming all the more at that.

Mother was just...that. Warm and alive and so, so happy. Thrilled to show he and Harry around their home, openly exuberant. The house itself was full of decoration, garlands and tinsel on the end tables around, lining the mantle, stockings pinned along its edge, and in the center of the mantle there was a solstice candle waiting to be lit. There was a tree in the window of the ‘living room’, it was called, colorful orbs of emerald and maroon hanging, silver and gold tinsel intertwined to spiral upward around the tree, and Merlin the entire house smelled like vanilla, sugar, spices...cinnamon maybe? Like a bakery, he thought. Mother was excited to introduce Draco to the things she’d learned in her time living in…’non-magical’ home. The strange box was a ‘telly’, it offered...plays of some sort. Shows, she called them, and ‘movies’? She enjoyed one show in particular, Hermione had disappeared for a moment when they arrived but when she returned to mother showing them around, sipping at a vial of potion, she announced that his mother was a ‘major dork’ for someone named Xena. The name calling invoked a blush in his mother, and she drew the younger Witch to her, securing hold of her hand as she led them in a tour. It seemed a bit smaller than his Aunt’s house but...enough room for the Witches, Jinsey. And now he and Harry. Hermione...had taken on the delicate task of asking how they would like to sleep, they could each have a room if that wanted but uh…

So, they had Granger’s old room...Jinsey’s room, now their room. The bed looked a bit big for the room like it had been adjusted for the Wizards to sleep comfortably together.

“This goes right into the bathroom...it disappears if the space if occupied so no worries about walking in on someone. If it’s gone-”

“I showed them the downstairs lavatory,” mother assured.

“Thanks,” Hermione smiled to the older Witch, bopping her head side to side as she mulled something over, like she was running through a mental list. “Um...our room is just at the end of the hall, Jinsey’s been staying with us there most nights, but sometimes she feels more comfortable on the couch so...if you’re up late and sit up down there, please check before you sit. There’s an office/library situation across the hall-” 

She fell silent, flinched like she’d been slapped, and mother looked...nothing short of murderous for all of a moment before she grasped Hermione’s forearm.

“Darling…”

“I’m okay um…” a frown tugged at her lips, and she quietly cleared her throat as she turned her face away, wiping at her eyes, “I’ll um...tea! You boys could probably use a cuppa huh? Warm up, unwind, settle in. The garden’s lovely, so um, come down when you’re ready,” she said hastily, disappearing, footfalls on the stairs.

“Oh, that ungrateful girl I swear to the heavens,” mother seethed, shaking herself, “Miss Parkinson, of course,” she frowned, looking to the doorway Hermione just escaped through. “I should...darlings if you’re well…” she checked with them.

“Something just happened at school?” Harry asked.

“What’s Parkinson done?” Draco questioned, fists clenching at his side.

“She has said something abhorrent in regard to...Hermione’s Yule plans. That her parents despair of her and wouldn’t abide her company over the holiday.”

_“There you are!” Hermione’s voice startled him, “Merlin, it’s freezing out here,” she shivered, pulling her coat around her more tightly as she came to sit at his side on the Pitch bleachers. “Practice ended an hour ago, what’re you still doing out here?”_

_“It’s a quiet place to think when there isn’t anyone else about,” Draco drawled, he smiled a bit to soften the statement, he...didn’t_ hate _that the Witch was interrupting him. Something felt warm about the fact that she’d worried and drug herself away from studying for her exam tomorrow, to come looking...but neither did he like that she’d come alone...oh. Harry and Ron, Blaise, they were down on the field with their brooms gearing up for a bit of flight._

_“Is everything okay?”_

_“Yule-time retrospection,” he shrugged._

_“Are you nervous about your visit?” she wondered._

_“I’m fine. Looking forward to it,” he assured and she nodded._

_“Um...so I know...” she sighed, “I know the Solstice is important to your mother, to you.”_

_“And?” they would be spending it together. He and her future self, anyway._

_“And I know you said you didn’t think you could visit here but...I mean if no one could follow you, if you could pop in and out undetected?”_

_“Granger-”_

_“Just think about it, okay. I already made the Portkey-”_

_“So I can spill my guts on the dungeon floors? How festive.”_

_“Depends on how you celebrate,” she teased. “_ I _didn’t make it...but I did, okay? It’s safe. You won’t get sick, promise,” Hermione said, pressing something into his hand, small and metal, warm with magic. “Just think about it. If you want to visit to celebrate the Solstice, it’s set to activate at 10pm on the 21st. All you have to do is hold it tight in your hand and it’ll take you to her quarters, and it’ll activate to bring you back before midnight. No one will even know you were there, except, you know. The person who matters. Please? I know you’ve been busy but...she really misses you, Draco.”_

_Draco opened his hand, looked to the silver thimble resting in his palm._

He didn’t think...it would be right, if his plans went through, to string mother along, visit her. And if they _didn’t_ come to fruition, it wouldn’t do, making double memories of celebrating the solstice with both future and present versions of his mother. But he did consider, momentarily, maybe he could alter the portkey, set it for sooner, go give Parkinson a piece of his mind, tell her to leave his mother and Hermione the hell alone.

“You should go make sure she’s alright,” Draco said, and his mother smiled her relief, raising a hand to cup his face.

“Thank you Dragon, do come down and we’ll enjoy the gardens together, when you wish to join us. Jinsey is resting, but she’ll be excited you’ve arrived.”

Oh Merlin help him, had he missed the Elf?...perhaps. A bit. “We’ll be down.”

The moment they were alone Harry took hold of his hand, “See? So far so good, right? No one bad knows we’re here. Tonks and Remus, Teddy will run security. Make sure things stay that way,” he took both Draco’s hands then, squeezing gently. “Everything's going to be okay. If something doesn’t feel right, if you don’t feel safe? Just say so, we’ll reassess, handle it. We’ll keep your mother, ‘mione safe.”

“Yeah, we will,” Draco agreed, meeting his gaze. “Thank you. I…” love you. Two more words, that’s all it was. He said them to mother! Jinsey once, when pressed. He’d said them to Hermione...sort of. Written them. Well, ‘you too’, when she expressed that she loved him. Oh, and that embarrassing moment at Gringotts when the declaration burst from his lips unbidden, but that...just _happened_ , he hadn’t had time to think, overthink, he just _said it._ But now? Thought won out and he finished his sentence, “...think we should unpack.”

It took a bit, Harry could fold well enough, neat and tidy, better than Draco could, but it was a chore to get him to organize anything properly. Draco had to redo it all, it just...simply wasn’t done to have everything so out of order. Like things together, shirts with shirts, trousers with trousers, shirts, socks, underthings by color, trousers corresponding, hanging in order to match with the shirt they were meant to be worn with...it was important! Maybe he was stalling.

For the very reason he and Harry stopped dead in their tracks when they entered the kitchen. His own fault, he should have sensed the wards before they stepped through them but uh...there was nothing too scarring just, stepping into the kitchen there was fast movement, mother seemingly appeared on the opposite end of the room, her back to them as she raised a hand to wipe at her face, Hermione’s face and neck were bright red, she was seated on the counter, crossing one leg over the other as she greeted in a high-pitched breathless voice,

“H-hey! Hi guys!” she cleared her throat “What…” she sucked in a startled gasp, “Tea! Uhh, it’ll be ready in just a moment, there’s biscuits! Fresh from the oven this morning, o-on the table, please, help yourselves!”

“Your kettle’s uh…” Harry pointed out the tea kettle on the stove top, screaming with steam shooting from its spout.

“Oh! Yup, thanks Hare,” she said, dropping from the counter, blushing all the more, worsened further by mother having composed herself, not a single hair out of place as she returned to the younger Witch’s side, pressing a kiss to her hair before trailing a hand through it.

“Yes, my darling has been baking in preparation for your arrival, we’re glad you’ve joined us,” she assured, smiling brightly.

Was this...all the time? His mother exuding happiness just...consistently? For hours on end? This was her new default? He’d...never seen his mother truly happy unless...well it was usually something to do with him. He could make his mother smile, he’d always been...solely responsible for it, really, all his life. Mother’s state of being was always stoic, a false serenity. Never had he seen her so open with how she was truly feeling, even her momentary anger at Parkinson, mother usually kept everything under the surface of what was most safe, father couldn’t much be provoked by quiet stoicism, like he could with her anger or upset, she felt...at ease to be what she felt here. Draco…

He’d given her happiness, but he’d never been able to give her freedom. She had that here, with Hermione. She was safe and happy and loved. He...felt good about leaving her with that, without him. She...didn’t need him anymore, and that was good.

There was a soft pop of apparation that sounded in the living room, and then the call of, “Jinsey is about to be being entering the kitchen!” in warning, before there was a pause like she was allowing the witches a moment to compose themselves or return her warning with one of their own, before she waddled into the kitchen. Oh Merlin. Should she be up and about? He’d not much experience with pregnant Witches, let alone Elves, but he now understood the term ‘ready to pop’, like one wrong move might send the small Elf into swift, instantaneous labor. Her stomach passed her toes! But her smile was likewise big when she entered the kitchen and saw, “Young Master! Oh Jinsey is so much happiness to be seeing you! And Harry Potter! Dobby is being returning tonight, he will be happiness Harry Potter is visiting Mistress with young Master! Oh!” she said, just short of a yelp as her hands went to her stomach.

“Are you alright? Is it...er...time?” Draco fretted, she was due soon, mother said.

Jinsey looked up at him, smiling wide as she shook her head, “Oh no young Master, Jinsey is being alright, baby is just being awake and very happy young Master is here!” she said, holding out a tiny hand to him and when he took it, he had to go down on a knee as she guided his hand to rest on the swell of her stomach so...oh, Merlin, it moved! She moved, he supposed, she was a girl, Jinsey said. There was a firm, strong thump against his palm. Was he excited about an Elf being born? How utterly strange. Well, maybe not strange, mother seemed just as excited, Hermione...and Harry as well, he grinned like mad the whole time Jinsey repeated the action with him, bringing the Wizard’s hand to rest over where next her babe would make her presence known, and he said,

“Wow, she’s really strong, huh? You’re feeling okay?” Harry checked.

Jinsey nodded. “Jinsey is being tired, baby is heavy so she is being sitting more but Mistresses have been so much kindness to Jinsey! She is resting and working when she wants to and Mistresses is going to be helping her make Christmas Eve dinner so Jinsey can be making young Master’s favorites without being tired or sore!”

“I’m glad. We uh...can help too,” Draco supposed. He’d never cooked before but potions were a similar practice. He could chop and stir at least, if it helped. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

“Jinsey is being missing cooking for young Master! She is so much excitement to be returning to Hogwarts with baby, she will be being cooking for young Master whenever he is wishing!” she promised, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she rubbed circles on her stomach.

Maybe. He wouldn’t be visiting mother at all after this and he wasn’t...sure how his memories would affect those around her. He might not think to reach out to Jinsey either, so, “I’m really happy for you, don’t worry about me, focus on your baby, she’ll keep you busy I’m sure,” he offered with a smile. “We were just about to have tea in the garden,” he invited, offering his hand as he rose to stand and she beamed at him, holding his hand as he walked carefully, matching her pace.

The garden was just as beautiful as they made it out to be, and the warding was steady, strong. Hermione...put a lot of work into crafting and maintaining them for his mother. There was a dark-stained oak table and chairs that could be summoned to sit in the middle of the garden whenever they wished to sit and eat properly when they weren’t laying out on the blanket they used from time to time. Mother...enjoyed...writing out here, she said.

“In your journals?” Draco supposed.

Mother blushed like she hadn’t quite meant to divulge as much, but, “...recreationally. Short stories, poems, the like. Nothing of much interest but it is a pastime I enjoy.”

“It’s _beautiful_ ,” Hermione insisted, taking her mother’s hand as the younger Witch smiled with pride, “your mother’s just brilliant. I’m trying to talk her into publishing her original content once this is all done.”

“Perhaps upon the internet,” mother shrugged, “it is merely for fun.”

“I think a publishing house would have to be absolutely brain dead not to accept your work.”

“You say as much, but my darling I could produce garbage and you would adore it.”

“Yes...but I’d do so while very kindly letting you know it needs work. I wouldn’t tell you something was good unless I truly believed it was.”

“Ahh, you would _sweetly_ tell me my work is garbage?” mother supposed, amused.

“Exactly,” Hermione assured, smiling wide before leaning forward to press a kiss to the older Witch’s lips.

Mother shook her head, smiling fondly as she said, “I will...consider it, for later, yes.”

His mother liked to _write?_ Creatively? “I...didn’t know you enjoyed writing…” he almost asked to read something but he wasn’t certain how much of a point there would be to that, it would encourage her but...it might hurt later when he held little interest in interacting with her again. He settled on, “I’m glad you get to enjoy that in your spare time. I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“Jinsey is enjoying Mistress’s stories!” Jinsey said, breaking a cinnamon sprinkled, sugary biscuit in half and dipped it into her tea before eating it.

“You’re always phrasing things pretty when you write to us,” Harry encouraged.

“Thank you, darlings,” mother said, seeming bashful at their praise. She and Hermione were seated near enough the younger Witch could wrap an arm around her shoulders, let his mother rest against her side, Hermione making idle play with the ends of her hair, which had mother saying, “Oh, I should do something with this, I must look something of a sight.”

“I think it’s cute,” Hermione complimented.

“...truly?”

“Uh-huh, you’re beautiful, the most important thing is whether you like it or not.”

“...I might...entertain the change a bit longer. Nymphadora expects me to rid myself of it at my earliest opportunity, it might be fun to prove otherwise. Too, the children…”

“Oh, Gabbie-girl’s going to _love_ it, she already loves your hair. Jessie’s so smittin you could shave your head and he’d still try to steal you from me.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed at that. Was some man harassing them? “Who is Jessie?”

“Gabbie’s my goddaughter,” Hermione explained, “Jessie’s her big brother, he’s two and he’s the cutest.”

“He truly is, oh, Dragon, I do hope..we have regular gatherings, something of a family dinner with the Whitakers and Winters. Sara and I share love of the television programme I spoke of earlier, it is on something of a break just now but we plan to watch with one another once the season resumes, in the interim we watch favored reruns. Oh, those are repeat viewings of a show after its original airing,” she explained as if pleased to teach him as much, “My darling makes recordings of them for me so I might enjoy them at will. Ahh, but I was saying. We would host them here, this Tuesday instead of a Monday, to celebrate Christmas Eve together, if that suits? They are so very excited to meet you.”

“Of course,” Draco said after a moment of silently conferring with Harry who nodded.

“Sounds great,” his boyfriend said.

“Oh, darling, do you have a particular show you enjoy? We would indulge you while you’re in the non-magical world,” mother inquired with the raven haired Wizard.

“Oh! Uh,” he blushed a bit, “I’ve never watched much telly? Never really been allowed to,” he shrugged. “I’ve only caught the news sometimes when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia check it. Snippets of shows Dudley likes.”

Mother was very quiet for a moment as she stared at the Wizard before deciding, “Well, you are absolutely allowed to here. Come darling, let us see if there is something you might enjoy, you’re welcome to consume your dessert on the couch.”

“...really?”

“Certainly, you may even take charge of the remote! There are blankets and...darling we’ve still popping corn, do we not?” mother consulted Hermione.

“I picked some up...I know you wanted to wait, take the boys for the big Tesco run,” she said as if trying to explain herself, “but we needed a few things so I did a quick stop on the way home from work yest-”

Mother pressed a grateful kiss to her cheek. “You procured popping corn and more syrup for Jinsey and my wine,” she said as if she’d not been entirely certain where those items appeared from and now it was some mystery solved. “I adore you.”

“Well, I only thought to do it because…” Hermione grinned, leaning forward to softly conspire, “I adore you too.”

Mother smiled warm, eyes alight as she said, “How splendidly that worked out,” and then, “come along, shall we move to the living room?”

“Sure,” Harry said, and Jinsey disappeared, the sound of her apparation was muffled, coming from inside the house like she’d gone ahead to beat them to the couch. It...seemed like something that might well occupy his mother’s focus for a time.

“I’m um...rather enjoying the garden, the ‘telly’ sounds...interesting but…”

“You are still acclimating?” mother supposed. “It can be a bit overwhelming. We could-”

“Oh, no, go on ahead, please. I’ll join you in a while,” he said...and…

“I’m enjoying the garden too,” Hermione assured. He’d hoped she’d keep him company so mother wouldn’t feel badly for going off with Harry. “Your potion’s brilliant my headache’s almost gone but I’m not keen on poking at it with so much noise,” she shrugged...yeah, she was good about that, working around Slytherin pride, offering plausible excuses other than mother’s guilt at leaving him, or the potential that Draco might be lonely.

“Very good darling, do join us when you feel up to it,” mother said, rising from her chair, she pressed a kiss to the top of Draco’s head, and reached to take Harry’s hand, guiding him into the house.

“Everything okay?” Hermione asked when they were alone. “Your mother’s...been worried about you. I have too, really.”

“I need your help,” Draco said quietly. He wasn’t...certain how things worked here. Mother...father had different wards throughout the house, outside of he and mother’s bedroom, that allowed him to eavesdrop on conversations as they happened and Mother had like warding, subtle, imperceivable, she developed over the years to eavesdrop on her husband when he’d meetings in their home, to hear how they were going...to know what sort of mood to expect him in later, know how best to placate him. He hadn’t seen her cast but neither would he know if she had and...he really truly could not risk her knowing about this, and he would not put it past her, respectful of privacy as she was, to endeavor to eavesdrop to ensure their conversation was pleasant and perhaps overhear if he spoke as to why he was being distant. Not while she could thwart his success. He’d planned for as much though, so, “Can we talk someplace private?”

“...we are?” Hermione asked, speaking as softly as he was with some confusion.

He pulled out the notepad he used to write with the Future’s Hermione. _I can’t risk mother hearing. Could we nip out for a bit? There’s somewhere I can take us. I’d rather not announce as much by apparating._ It was part of his strategy, he just...felt badly about it. It was manipulation of a potentially unkind sort but throwing her off her rhythm would...let him get everything out before her mind could catch up and outwit him somehow, convince him to change his mind. _Would you be wholly opposed to flying somewhere with me?_ She paled when she read his message. _We’ll be back before we can be missed. Please?_

“Draco, whatever it is your mother will understand-”

“She won’t, she really won’t. I thought...you might though. If I was wrong I suppose that’s just how it’ll have to be…”

“Wait!” Hermione relented, “I- sure. If that’s what you need to finally talk about this, s-sure. We...I’m not uh...I don’t have a broom.”

“We’ll take mine. Uncle Teddy got me a nice Cleansweep- oh, but you know that, you were there. It’s safe,” he promised, fishing the shrunken broom from his trouser pocket. “Auntie Andy charmed it, so we’ll be concealed from Muggle view.”

“Great. Sounds good,” she said spectacularly unconvincingly. “Let's um...lets go.” 

He knew he might feel badly, using her fear against her but...he hadn’t expected to feel absolute gut sinking _guilt_ at how harshly the Witch trembled with her fright as they flew, her arms wrapped secure around his waist, face buried against his back. But being skybound gave him an excellent view of the landscape below and there was a stretch of woods, northwest of Muggle London there was a wooded area they could safely land in, not a soul around it seemed and the moment they landed Hermione was off of the broom, stumbling forward, hands on her hips as she doubled over and caught her breath.

“Okay...okay. What the hell is going on? You realize you’ve made your mother _cry?_ She’s been so scared she’s hurt you or done something to put you off her company, avoiding her and blowing her off like a little toerag!” she snapped, and then caught herself, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, just- I’m worried about you and pissed you’ve hurt Narcissa and I...I would really appreciate it if we could just apparate home after this oh my God that was _awful.”_

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been hurting mother but I...”

“But _what?”_

“I’ve been getting threats for months now, on her life, threats to hurt her, because of my change of alliance, speaking out in the press.”

“...what?” she asked, looking nothing short of devastated, “Draco...why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ve passed everything on to the Headmaster and he’s assured she can’t be harmed at school, that the Order is on the lookout-”

“No, honey, why haven't you _talked_ about this? Draco, that’s so much of a burden to bear on your own, if you just said...you’ve been avoiding talking to us because you were afraid you’d tell us about this? Scare us? That’s so much to put on yourself, you never have to deal with something like this alone. You have to tell us, so we can help you.”

“I don’t want- it’s not something I need to talk about, Granger, it’s something I need to handle! I...I’m dangerous, it’s dangerous for her to associate with me, so yeah I’ve been laying it thick, disassociating from her, hoping if these assholes think we hate each other they’ll stop targeting her.”

“I...understand wanting to protect your mother. And I get it might be difficult to decry her in public and see her more amicably in private but your mother knows you don’t mean the things you have to say in front of other people. You know she doesn’t mean it when she talks trash about you in class.”

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is it?”

“I...I can Occlude with mother because she respects my privacy. But if she actually _tried_ to break through? Or the Dark Lord for that matter?...I’m not strong enough, Hermione. I’m not strong enough to keep my composure under fire, I’m _not._ I’m a coward-”

“Draco! You are no such thi-”

“I am! Trust me. I won’t stand a chance if I’m captured and that’s...there’s definitely still threat of that, if I’m ever in enemy hands and can’t escape? The Dark Lord can tear through my mental defenses like candy floss. He’ll see my mind, my memories, and I’ll blow mother’s cover all to hell and he will _kill her,_ Hermione, and he will make her _grateful for it_ by the time he does.”

“Draco. You are one of the _strongest_ people I know. Defecting took courage beyond belief, you’re so brave, and you’re a powerful Wizard-”

“I’m really not, not when it matters. I’ll fold and I can’t risk it, I can’t risk her. Hermione…” Draco held her gaze, he needed her to understand, surely she would. “I need you to remove my memories.”

“...you...what?”

“When we’re done here, when we’re to return to the Weasleys for the rest of break? I need you to remove...I need you to erase all memory of my mother dating back to when you entered our timeline.”

Hermione’s mouth worked momentarily...her expression nothing short of murderous, hair raising a bit like it caught a spark of magic bubbling up under her skin, oh _gods_.

She looked nothing short of enraged...and she took a deep breath, turned her back on him and stormed away, put some distance between them and then she began to pace momentarily, before she returned, looking up into his face, “If you think I would _dare touch any_ of your memories, _especially_ memories of your _mother_ \- I cannot _believe_ you would- You-! You’ve been alienating your mother and h-hurting her for weeks, and- and- and then you- I flew for this and you know-” oh gods, she burst into _tears_ crying into her hands momentarily before she sniffled and rasped out, “oh I’m so _mad at you_ Draco!”

He...he hadn’t meant to make her _angry_ , upset with him. And he certainly didn’t like it. Gods damn it he made her _cry!_ He could fix this, he had to, “Hermione, I know this is a sensitive subject...I’m sorry, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but you have to know that if I _am?_ It’s because I _have to._ ”

“No! No you don’t! Draco there are so many other way less drastic options, we’ll work on your Occlusion, your mother or I can help-”

“It isn’t guaranteed and that’s what I need! All the training in the world is garbage if I’m too much of a coward to use it in the moment.”

“Draco...why do you keep saying that? ‘Coward’? You _aren’t,_ and if someone has told you that, made you believe it oh, I’ll- well one of me will do something about it!”

“I don’t need to be told something I know. If I’m captured, I’m fucked-”

“No one- Draco, you have so many people protecting you, I promise, no one would stand idly by while someone tried to take you. You’re _safe,_ and if you ever aren’t I know you can be strong, it’s,” she swallowed harshly, crossing her arms before her, hugging herself a bit...oh shit, yeah. She uh...knew well, she had experience to speak from. “Draco, you’re strong. So brave,” she spoke with certainty, “When we were taken...Harry was unrecognizable, his face was injured but you _knew,_ you _knew_ it was him and you lied, you looked the other Death Eaters in the face and you insisted it wasn’t him and that got him put in a cell instead of killed or taken to Voldemort on the spot. In the moment? It kept him alive, he and Ron were _alive_ when they seperated u-” she swallowed, “you took the interest off of them, possibly gave them their best shot at making it out of there in one piece, your mother and I just...didn’t stick around to see it through.”

“I didn’t mean to bring that up for you.”

She shook her head like that wasn’t important. “Draco, I _know_ you can keep it together-”

“Maybe I could in the time you come from but I can’t now-”

“Draco-”

“I can’t Hermione! I _froze_ , I _froze_ and I _panicked_ and if m-my father hadn’t been there mother’s cover would be _fucked_ I couldn’t remember bloody _lumos_ let alone anything useful to defend myself-” he stopped, choked on his next gulp of air when he realized what he said. He wasn’t sure if he was more horrified at his oversharing or the fact that Hermione looked like she’d been gut punched, face blown open in grief at his words.

“...Draco?” she rasped, mouth working momentarily and then, “What...what are you talking…” her eyes widened and she paled all the more because...he was crying now, as if this wasn’t embarrassing enough. Into Hermione Granger’s shoulder as she pulled him into her hold and cried out, “Oh God, _honey,_ why didn’t you say anything?”

He did say something now. Everything. Being grabbed thinking he was dead, freezing being unable to think of a bit of his training. Father sending Parkinson away...healing him, his broken nose and scraped skin with something that transferred injury from person to person, left his father looking every bit of his alibi, that Draco had overpowered him and escaped. That it all happened so fast, it was over, he couldn’t have been ‘missing’ for all of five minutes, so he hadn’t raised the alarm with his friends.

“I don’t care if you were gone for even a _second_ , if Lord Parkinson grabbed you and you broke away before he could take you somewhere, I would want you to run straight to me and _tell me_ , if we aren’t doing enough to protect you we need to reevaluate, if you’ve been put in a situation you were hurt or scared, I’m your _friend,_ you should tell me! _Someone!”_

“I told the Headmaster and he upped security and I...I was so ashamed, embarrassed, it was stupid! I went off by myself, it’s my fault he grabbed me, and then I was just _pathetic_ , I’m not strong enough to defend myself and I’m definitely not strong enough to defend my mother and I can- I can’t risk, Hermione if a-anything ever h-h-happened.”

“Shh sweetheart, breathe, take a deep breath, you’re okay. You’re safe, and everythings going to be okay, we can sort through this. I understand you’re scared, I’m so, so sorry this happened to you, but honey? It’s not your fault. The _only_ person responsible for what happened is Lord Parkinson, _he_ decided to take you, you didn’t step away hoping, with the goal to be taken.”

“I just- Harry- he-he wasn’t feeling well, I was just tr-trying to make him feel better without embarrassing him, I didn’t want to ask someone to walk me to get my boyfriend hot chocolate for his panic attack! But it was stupid I shouldn’t-”

“You should keep people with you, yeah. But going up the street shouldn’t be dangerous for anyone. It’s _not_ _your fault._ Okay? Just like it’s not your fault when I fucking _kill_ Garfield Parkinson. It will be _my_ fault because _I choose_ to kill him.”

“I mean I’d like to take some credit if you pull it off. I inspired you.”

“...if it makes you feel better, I’ll absolutely dedicate my murder to you,” Hermione assured, pulling back to look him in the face, raising a hand to his cheek, “You...haven’t talked to anyone about this? The threats you’ve been getting on your life, on your mother’s? This kidnapping?”

“...n-no?”

“Thank you, for telling me. Draco, honey, this is so much to keep bottled up, keep to yourself. In the future? Please come to someone, to me, to your mother, someone. You never have to face these things alone, we will always help you, always. You...this is all pretty stressful, you...you’ve been feeling okay?”

“Fine.”

“ _Draco.”_

“A few panic attacks, stomach aches-”

“Oh God, your ulcer-”

“Hasn’t come back-”

“Do you _know_ that? Did you slip off to medical school while I wasn’t looking? Congratulations!” she snarked, insisting, “You are telling your Aunt, letting her check you over.”

“That isn’t-”

“Negotiable, you’re right,” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at him in challenge- how did that make him feel like she was bigger than him? She had to raise her chin to _look up at him_!

“Fine,” he begrudgingly agreed. “So...are you going to help me?”

“Of course.”

“Good so...just...maybe you could see about taking us to the Weasleys? Say you’re seeing us safely there and once we’re away from the house you can do your thing, take my mem-”

“I am _not_ taking your memories. Draco, we’ll keep you safe, and we’ll practice, dueling and making defensive and offensive spells second nature for you. Your Uncle Teddy, Nymphadora, they have experience in training for situations like being captive, interrogated, they wouldn’t hesitate to help you feel better about that, prepare and train and if you want we’ll work on your Occlusion-”

“Please Hermione, _please_ , I can’t risk her, if…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Nevermind, I just- just forget it. It was stupid, cruel of me to ask this of you after everything with your um...parents. I just thought I’d give it a shot.”

“...Draco, that’s not the most reassuring change of heart.”

“What?” he shrugged. “You won’t do it, and that’s fine-”

“You’re not going to do something stupid like trying to do it yourself-”

“Well I have to do _something!”_ he snapped.

Hermione took a deep breath. “...alright. I don’t want you hurting yourself. If you’re serious about this...there is something I can do. But I need to go home first-”

“You can’t tell my m-”

“Oh, I’m not. _You_ are. I can secure your memories, absolutely Draco. But you have to tell her, you have to tell her why you’ve been avoiding her, and you have to tell her what you were planning to do because this was _dangerous_ and you could have gotten seriously hurt. Draco if you tried to manipulate your memories on your own you could have left yourself with all-encompassing amnesia at best, and _brain dead_ at worst! You’ve really messed up and she deserves to know she hasn’t done something to alienate you, and _you_ need accountability for your bullheaded decisions. That’s my condition. I’ll secure your memories-”

“She’ll stop you if she knows!”

“It’ll be too late, and she won’t mind my methods. I’m not _taking_ your memories Draco. I’m _guarding_ them, giving you a guaranteed defense for them, if you’re captured.”

“...you promise it’ll work?”

“Absolutely,” she said, “But I need something from home to make it work.”

“...alright. If this is a trick-”

“It isn’t. I’ll apparate us straight home, right to where what I need is, we won’t even see your mother until we’re done.”

Draco nodded, sighing. “I’m...I’m really sorry-”

“I know. I’m...I don’t know what I feel about all of this. I love that you wanted to protect your mother, I understand that, believe me. But how you’ve gone about it, how much you hurt her, how much what you were planning would have hurt her? That you expected _me_ to help you do that? It would _kill_ your mother if we actually did that,” she sighed.

“You’re angry with me,” he supposed.

“No,” was a hit of relief that came crumbling out from underneath him at, “I’m just really disappointed in you, Draco.”

Oh fuck. _Disappointed?_ “Hermione-” he stopped, swallowed, “I- I’m sorry, I’ll talk to her and make things right, I’ll make everything right I promise.”

Hermione frowned but nodded, sighing before she rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, a hand cradling the crown of his head and he felt the pull of apparation, the whirl that left them appearing in...a room. A bedroom? The space looked like it belonged in Hermione’s house...ahh. Their bedroom, she and mother’s. Well, he hadn’t wanted to see this, but...there was nothing scandalous about, the space was neat and tidy...warm, comfortable.

“Hermione?” he asked, catching the Witch against him when she swayed a bit. Oh, caught up in the whirl of her apparation still she...made sure he didn’t get whipped around badly and side along was difficult enough as it was. She wasn’t feeling well today, this...he went about it all wrong, made her cry, made her sick...made her disappointed, fuck! _This_ was Hermione _disappointed_ in him. Disappointment...felt like the very thing that hurled him through a glass display case and into a wall, bleeding and bruised. She’d picked the shards of his father’s disappointment out of his skin and saw him healed. Her disappointment kept him steady on his feet and saw him getting the help he needed to face his fears.

“Just a second,” she said, steadying herself and stepping away to the chest of drawers. She opened the topmost drawer and set a smallish rectangular wooden box on the top of the dresser, opening it to reveal a great tangle of bracelets and necklaces, a few rings, she poked through the assortment to pull out a single ring, an unpolished band of silver she cast on momentarily before looking to him. “This um...was my grandfather’s wedding ring. I’ve spelled it for you...Draco, once you put this on, you absolutely cannot take it off, not ever, unless you’re in danger. If you’ve been captured? Remove this ring...and it will remove your memories. Every memory you make of your mother from here on out.”

“What?! E-even after the War?”

“We can revisit the subject then,” she supposed. “But wars ending doesn’t mean the conflict is over.”

“...right, right, yeah. Okay. I can do that...your grandfather’s ring?”

She nodded. “He was a good man, brave. He fought in the Second World War. I think he’d like you, you’ve got similar senses of humor.”

“Even though I’m a Wizard?”

“He loved me and I’m a Witch. And...he knew, I think. My mum’s dad, we never disclosed to him but…” she thought it over, “about a month before he died...he and my gran came to visit for Christmas. We were sitting together watching the telly while mum and gran and dad were in the kitchen making supper and...he muted the show um…” her chin quivered momentarily, “he um...he said he just wanted to make sure I knew he was proud of me? Danced all around outright saying ‘I know you have magic’, just promised...he knew I was special and that I’m capable of and will do amazing things...it was the last time we got to talk before um…” she sniffled, “gran called to say she was taking him to Hospital, and less than a half hour later he was just...gone,” she shook herself, holding out the ring to him, “Sorry, here. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Draco nodded, taking the ring in hand, feeling the certain thrum of Hermione’s magic, considering a moment before slipping the ring onto his left index finger, “Would you...wait, I might not be able to undo a sticking charm you place-”

“It can only be removed by you and you have to have the intent to remove it in your mind, like when you cast any spell. Otherwise you, anyone else, can tug and tug and it won’t budge. See?” she offered, and his heart leapt into his throat when she pulled on the ring but...it didn’t move at all, held fast like it was one with his skin. 

“Alright. Okay, yeah, this will work. Thank you, Hermione.”

“Don’t thank me yet, now you have to make good on your end of our deal Draco Cygnus Malfoy. Downstairs, right now!”

For all she yelled at him to get downstairs, she went down before him and when they reached the bottom her hand reached back to take hold of his, offer a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey!” Harry said, after he heard their footfalls and twisted around to look at them, “...woah, mione, you okay?”

“Darling?” mother asked, resting her hand over Harry’s which held the remote and pressing a button that…’muted’ yeah, it silenced the telly even as it continued displaying images of...some sort of animation. A cat chasing a mouse around a house? This was muggle entertainment? “Whatever is the matter? Dragon?”

“We need to talk, privately if that’s okay Harry, Jinsey. We’ll just be in the kitchen,” Hermione said.

Harry looked to Draco first, and when the Slytherin nodded he said, “Okay,” and when mother rose up from her seat at his side on the couch, he patted the space next to him and Jinsey scooted to rest against his side while he took up the remote again and used it to let the telley make strange comical sound again.

Jinsey giggled, “Stupid cat...stupid like weather oracle.”

His heart sank into his stomach when he saw the rigid expression on his mother’s face, the look in her eyes the verification she was nervous as she followed them into the kitchen, warded for their privacy. Her gaze dropped to the floor for all of a moment before she raised to meet Hermione’s, before looking to him and then back to the younger Witch.

“My darling, what has happened? Are you alright?” ahh, of the pair of them Hermione was a little more worse for wear, hair wild from their flight, pale and weary.

She took a deep breath. “I want to start this by saying that everything is okay. Everyone is safe. Draco has some things he needs to tell you,” she said, looking to Draco then, “I can step out if you prefer to speak alone or-”

He gulped nervously, something that felt like reflex had his hand twitching and squeezing her’s in the process, “Stay, I think. If...if you would?” faced with the prospect he found he didn’t want to bring this to his mother alone, he didn’t think. He mightn’t be held accountable that way, might lose his nerve and lie and make things worse for himself later if they compared notes. Plus...she would know, she would see he would do something she asked of him, that he truly did want to make things right. “I’m sorry, mother, for avoiding you...that I only came here to ask Hermione something stupid,” oh gods, somehow he wasn’t sure how to begin, it took a moment to weigh the chances of him divulging what he’d wanted to do if he put it off too much...there was every chance he wouldn’t. “It’s just- there’s been threats made against you. So I thought...distancing was best, making sure there was no chance of anyone thinking they should hurt you just to get to me and- and the threat of my capture is very real and if I’m brought to the Dark Lord, I’m terrified he’ll find evidence of your betrayal in my mind, that you’ll be punished and killed a-and so I’ve been avoiding making new memories with you...asking Hermione to take all memory of you from the time you and she entered our timeline, back before you told me you didn’t want me to be a Death Eater, so-”

“You did _what?”_ his mother seethed. At him! Oh Merlin.

“Narcissa,” Hermione reasoned gently, “you should hear him out first, let him ex-”

The younger Witch flinched at her tone when his mother turned her gaze on her and snapped, “I would thank you not to interfere with how I correct my son!” before she returned her attention to Draco, “Of all the asinine things you could possibly consider! _Rid yourself of-”_ mother paled, looked caught between the overwhelming need to cry and the desire to yell at him for his transgression, the later won out, thankfully. “There is nothing in this world more precious to me than the time we have together, that you would rid yourself of it is _abhorrent._ Poor protection, in my opinion, and furthermore, it is not up to _you_ to protect _me._ Your only concern should- should something happen and you are captured, you are to be only concerned with yourself, anything that should come of it is not your responsibility.”

“I can’t just-” Draco stammered, “I had to do something! Nothing is worth losing your life over! I would rather have _you_ than mere memories. B-but I can have both now, Hermione’s helped me.”

“She has talked you out of your foolish plan, I trust?”

“She offered an alternative.”

“An...alternative?” mother’s gaze was severe when she looked to Hermione.

“Yes,” Draco said, “I’m not...I’m not sorry I want to protect you! I wouldn’t budge on the matter, Hermione wasn’t going to take my memories so I planned to just learn to do so myself. She didn’t want me doing that so we compromised. She’s enchanted this ring so if I take it off, it takes my memories of you with it.”

Mother...did not look placated by that in the slightest, before she could blow up at them Hermione raised a hand as if to halt her, trembling as she swiftly insisted, “If you let me, I can show you exactly what I-”

“I do not give a single _care_ how you-” mother was saying but then she met Hermione’s gaze and fell silent, locked eyes momentarily as the Witch offered her perspective, how she cast to enchant the ring, and the woman relaxed marginally, a bit of warmth entering her gaze. “...I see. I do...appreciate how well you’ve protected my son,” she took a deep breath, shaking her head before she looked to Draco. “This was thoughtless, Draco. Thoughtless and _cruel_ , how _dare_ you come here and make such a request of Hermione! She has opened her home to you and you took personal knowledge...of a subject she holds dear regret with and ask she make further regret of it? Interfere in our relationship? Was this some underhanded ploy to seperate us? Because that is the sole result of your plan meeting fruition, Draco, I would not abide Hermione altering your memories in the way you wished, of all the- oh I could not be more ashamed of you!”

“Narcissa!” Hermione cried, her own anger riled as she stepped to be before him, put herself between he and his mother.

“I am not the offending party here!” mother snapped, “I don’t care for your reprimand of how I should handle this.”

“You haven’t let him explain-”

“I do not _need_ explanation, he has taken it into his head to do something foolish and hurtful because he is a teenager and he believes he knows everything!”

Hermione was patient...even as mother interrupted her at every turn it felt like, she took care not to return the favor, hands clenched at her sides, frame rigid as she stood listening to the older Witch rail, waiting until she took pause before interjecting, “That isn’t fair, Narcissa, and y-”

“That isn’t _fair?”_ mother snapped, “Oh pardon me, it seems my son and I hold similar misunderstanding then, as to what is fair!”

“Don’t yell at her!”

He...didn’t realize just who yelled that until it suddenly sunk in that _he_ had, at his mother.

“I-” mother’s mouth worked momentarily as she sought her next words, “Dragon, that was hardly raising my voice, I am in my right to be upset and therefore sound as such-”

“You _sound_ like father!” oh shit, that was a shade too harsh. “You aren’t being cruel,” he amended, “but you aren’t being kind either. You- gods is this what fights look like between you? You shouting at Hermione until you finally feel like letting her get a word in edgewise to explain so everything can go back to normal?”

“I- I do not-” mother started but then, “oh…”

“It isn’t a big-” Hermione sought to assure.

“It is in fact, a pressing matter,” mother said and then she raised a hand to cover her mouth for a moment before she dropped that hand to her heart. “Damn it, I do keep...not allowing you to speak. Oh gods...darling I- I am so sorry, I- I did not realize I was doing as much, truly. I- I will seek to guard my tongue, in future.”

“You’ve had to guard your tongue for over a decade, I don’t mind that you feel safe and comfortable to speak up when you're upset, but um...yeah, if you would let me finish what I’m trying to say? I’d appreciate it. I don’t...I don’t interrupt you because...” she looked over her shoulder to Draco before looking back to mother, “clearly that's a trigger. Reminds the both of you of trauma, if I can avoid doing that to you? I will. It’s not that big of a deal for me,” and then she turned to face him entirely, taking his hands, “Draco, your mother and I do fight from time to time but...we love each other, we’re never abusive or cruel, and we usually make up pretty fast. I know I can’t much stand when I’ve upset Narcissa, she feels the same way about me. She’s upset, and lashing out, this is hurtful you understand? There’s no one in this world your mother loves more than you, no memories more precious to her, that you could even _consider_ getting rid of them?... _I know_ it isn’t easy for you to decide to do this, you feel the same way she does the only difference...Draco, honey, the way you feel about your mother’s life being at risk? If you’re ever taken before the Dark Lord, it will be your life absolutely at risk in the moment and _that_ is all she’s concerned about. If anything...seeing your mother’s betrayal? Might divert attention off of you, save your life in the moment while he goes into a rage dealing with the matter of traitors in his ranks.”

Oh. He hadn’t thought...about the fact that mother would consider it a tactic for his safety but, “I’m not giving up my mother for the chance the Dark Lord will target her instead!”

“And she isn’t willing to give up with you...so you’re at rather the impasse, huh?” she supposed, “You’re both...just going to have to accept you’re always going to put each other first...so the best way to keep each other safe? Is to take care of yourselves and make your own safety a priority,” she concluded. And then she took a deep breath, looking to mother. “I’m sorry if...defending Draco makes you feel like I’m criticizing your um...parenting. It’s just- this is hard for him to talk about and he _needs_ to, I know you’re upset but he needs you to listen...and you’ll feel a lot better about everything if you do, you’ll feel awful if you say anything else you’ll regret.”

“...alright, darling. I...yes, I will hear what my son has to say for himself,” mother agreed.

Draco stepped forward to rest a hand against Hermione’s back, she was shaking a bit, “Can we sit?” he proposed to his mother who spread a look between them, and something in her softened in a way that was warm and albeit remorseful.

“Yes, do let's.”

So they sat at the kitchen table, Draco pulling out a chair at one end and motioning for Hermione to sit, mother sat opposite her, and he seated himself between them, turning in his seat to face his mother more and she reached out, resting her hands on the table top to take his as he did his best to talk her through...what started all of this, dropping his Occlusion so she could best understand. Momentary capture making him realize he might not be able to guard his thoughts under pressure. Mother was pale, squeezing his hands as she listened, looked a mix of murderous and anguished.

“Lord _Parkinson-”_

Hermione did interrupt his mother’s seething to say, “I already called dibs on killing him, but I’m not opposed to sharing.” His mother nodded slightly like she supposed that suited.

“Your...father rescued you,” mother said.

He nodded. “I um...I thought I was dead when Lord Parkinson delivered me to him. It was...I still don’t know what to think about it. I can’t...trust it, you know? It’s not the first time...he was unbearable to you, constantly...vile. He wasn’t great to me but...but sometimes...I dunno. Sometimes he was...decent. Kind, almost. One minute he’d show outright care, and then turn around and…” he wasn’t sure how to articulate it. Father could hold this conflicting mix of cruelty that felt like kindness, sometimes his words were cruel and his actions kind but...maybe they weren’t really? He was never sure, it was always confusing, when his father would show him kindness. He could rescind it just as quick.

 _Draco was in the garden, maybe all of seven years, crouching as he finished working clay in his hands he’d just finished carving ‘Mother’, and the clay hardened solid, became like stone in his hand as he cast on it. But when he tried to make it light up...it wasn’t working, he tried and tried and nothing! And then his stomach sank to his shoes when a shadow fell over him as he worked. “Just what the devil are you doing in the_ dirt?” _father’s voice inquired harshly._

_He gulped, rising to his feet, heart pounding in his chest as he turned to face his father, looking up to see him sneering down at him. “M-making mother a present.”_

_“A present?” his father questioned like the notion was daft._

_“Y-yes sir.” She was going to be sad today, really sad. She always was, every year, she was quiet, cried if she thought she was alone. He figured it out last year, it was something about...April 22nd. The date always made her sad, and he wanted to cheer her up! She was afraid of the dark like he was sometimes...he had to be a strong Wizard about it and he was! He only cast for light whenever he had to get out of bed in the dark, that just made sense. But it was okay for mother to be afraid even if she was in bed, she was just a Witch, she didn’t have to be brave, he could protect her!_

_“What use is that?” his father asked tiredly. Not like he was disinterested or bored but just...physically tired._

_“I…”_

_“Speak up.”_

_“...I’m trying to charm it to light. S-s-so she can keep it on her bedside table, she won’t be lying in the dark.”_

_Father was quiet for a moment, something softening in his expression. “That is...very much like something your mother would do for someone she loved.”_

_“Really?”_

_“She is a very clever Witch, always thinking of inventive ways to help her loved ones,” he said, crouching to be level with him and whispering almost like he was afraid he might be overheard. “Draco, whatever else I might say, know that I am- I could want nothing more than for you to be just like your mother.”_

_“...you think mother’s clever?” Draco asked. He knew she was, but sometimes he wondered, because father always talked to her like she was stupid, or...the only time he ever said she was clever he said it like it was a bad thing, that she was out to get him or something._

_“I do. I lo-” whatever he was about to say caught in his throat, he looked panicked for a moment, hand reach out and grasping Draco’s forearm to keep him still and going silent, waiting as if to see if something bad was about to happen, and then, “You’re nearly finished making your present?”_

_Draco nodded carefully. “I just...I can’t get it to hold onto the light,” he confessed._

_His father looked sympathetic for all of a second before his expression hardened and then he sneered, “Of course you can’t,” voice ice cold as he rolled his eyes, “honestly, I don’t know why we pay those tutors for. My only hope is Drumstrag will manage to pull something worthwhile out of you. Give me the damn thing,” he snapped, snatching the stone from Draco, casting on it as he rose to his feet, imbuing it in light that stayed before dropping it carelessly for Draco to scramble to catch._

“A cycle of abuse,” his mother nodded.

“Yeah, I know that now,” Draco said. He also learned, through time with his estranged family, April 22nd...was Aunt Andy’s birthday, for all he’d taken up the habit of giving his mother presents of some sort on that date. Her light stone the first year he marked the day, and then in the years that followed he gifted things like chocolates or cakes or flowers, from a proper florist, he daren’t touch her garden for fear of hurting something...huh. Strange, he’d never considered in his youth, how the galleons he spent to get her presents just appeared in his coinpurse a week in advance every year. Mother perhaps? But she didn’t realize she could expect presents until after a few years of consistently receiving them.

“Dragon...you should have come to us as soon as this happened, this-”

“Is a lot to keep to myself. I should have told you, I was just...I was ashamed. Embarrassed. But um...Hermione,” he shrugged, “she...talked me through how it’s not my fault. And I- I’ve already promised er...that I’d tell Auntie Andy, that I’ve been stressed lately, have her examine me. Adjust er...potion, if needed.”

“I cannot believe you’ve- Dragon, this was so dangerous, you may have made yourself seriously ill, darling you were so poorly over the summer, you could well have-” she blanched, tears springing into her eyes and she couldn’t look at him for a moment. “This was reprehensible. I understand your mentality but- this cannot happen again, Draco. Never. You are to be forthright, rely on us. Keeping this to yourself only hurt you, and everyone involved! Darling it has been _torment_ believing I’ve somehow alienated you, worrying I had lost you. You could have hurt yourself physically, you could have addled your mind if you endeavored to cast upon yourself to secure your memories! And you’ve- I am hurt and angered and-” she sighed, “and I love you, darling, that is a great deal of _why_ I am so hurt and angry.”

“I’m sorry. For everything, f-for distancing myself and hurting you, and...coming here under false pretences. I should have just talked my worries over with you two, and this would be handled months ago and...” he looked to the Gryffindor Witch, “I’m sorry, for what I asked you...how I asked you.”

Mother breathed in something of a horrified gasp as she saw plainly in his mind, “You took Hermione _flying? Draco!”_

“I know, I know it was wrong-”

“He just wanted to talk to me without the risk of being overheard,” Hermione defended.

“Oh he knew _precisely_ what he was doing, he was seeking to manipulate you and that was a cruel way of going about it!” Mother railed, voice raising.

“I-I’m sorry, I just-” Draco gulped, “I couldn’t risk you overhearing a-and-”

“You- you are certainly not permitted to fly in recreation for the remainder of your Winter Holiday, and- oh, Draco,” she growled in some frustration.

“Please don’t- I’m not upset about it,” Hermione insisted. “It wasn’t the best thing in the world but I um- I- oh God please just make up, _please_ don’t fight over-”

Oh hell, she started hyperventilating! “Hermione?” Draco rasped.

“Darling, breathe, please,” mother pled, going to her side and kneeling to rub circles on the younger Witch’s back as she worked to catch her breath, whispering quietly to herself, something...grounding. Everything was just calming down and then nearly starting up again and...she’d almost had a panic attack when they were flying, it was why he landed them so quickly, she’d probably...been walking the edge of one that was catching up with her now. “I- I will drop further quarrel for now but my son must absolutely be corrected in this,” his mother looked up at him, eyes glittering with tears, “this was a horrible abuse of Hermione’s love of you.” She returned her attention to the younger Witch. “My love?”

“I think I’m okay. Just tired.”

“We’ve been rather tiresome today. Between my son and myself’s arguing, our flare for dramatics...it...is understandable, if you would be weary of it,” mother tentatively supposed, like she was afraid the younger Witch was well sick of it, ready to despair of them. 

“I am,” Hermione supposed with a nod, and then she offered a small smile. “So I’m going to take a nap. And then we’ll move forward, no more arguing, no more secrets.” 

Draco nodded, relieved he hadn’t messed things up for his mother...an uncomfortable sort of relief when he realized it was because _he’d_ been just as afraid as his mother was, that they would drive the Witch away, ugh. He swallowed nervously, reaching into his trouser pocket, charmed to summon from his stash of chocolate, well, Uncle Teddy’s. The man always had something on hand, chocolate, a peppermint, to offer after a shock or upset. He taught Draco the charm so he could feel free to take from his Uncle’s stores when the man himself wasn’t there to offer that bit of comfort. “That’s sound. Here,” he said, holding out the treat, something of a peace offering that, to his relief, drew a smile from the weary Witch as she accepted it.

“Thanks.” Hermione took a deep breath, rising shakily to her feet, offered something of a silent communication to his mother...something that had the older Witch melting with her relief.

“Come along then, darling,” she said, pulling the younger Witch close when she rose a bit shakily. “Have you need of me, Dragon?”

...oh, they were both going to nap...and that was the only thing they did in that bedroom, as far as he was concerned, napped. “...always,” he assured, pleased when that pulled a smile from the woman. “But yeah, you can go on. I think I’ll investigate the telly.”

His mother pressed a kiss to his cheek as she passed, pulling Hermione alone and...the younger Witch rose up on her toes to dole out a second cheek kiss. “...try to avoid the local news? The weatherman stresses Jinsey out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Back in Ch7, the first coded message Narcissa sends in this fic using her 'spelling the message with the capital letters in her missive' method, is to her present self under the guise of 'instructions on how to take her nutritive potion' to keep Hermione from seeing what she really wants to say to her Present Self which is: We can save her. It was something I executed uncertain if anyone would pick up on it, and I wasn't sure how to make it clear without giving too much away, so! This note is for readers who caught it and wonder if that was the game afoot there, and also for those who didn't but would find the interaction more meaningful with that knowledge.
> 
> Christmas Christmas coming soon! 🖤


	13. Pansy Parkinson and the Strangest Christmas Quite Possibly Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We do start off with our favorite ladies celebrate Christmas Eve with their loved ones, Hermione has some tricks up her sleeves and Narcissa is ready to learn some things.  
> Pansy Parkinson, to her utter horror, finds her Winter Holiday filled with Gryffindor's at every turn, Muggle equivalents at that. The learns a little more than how to Occlude.
> 
> This is, by its summary, apparently a very educational chapter 😂 I'm good at summaries.
> 
> A heads up: We do get into some rated M activity toward the end of Narcissa's POV when they leave their Christmas Eve celebration, and immediately following Hermione and Narcissa apparating upstairs there's talk of/Narcissa experiencing Hermione's memory of sexual harassment/being touched sexually without permission! If either of these should be avoided, the sexual harassment is all in italics, and all adult content is passed at the next big space between scenes! 🖤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! I dearly appreciate all the sweet comments, I'm so sorry this took so long but uhhh *gestures to the world at large* and also *gestures to me* I'm not rolling in a great deal of energy on a great many days and I had to take a break and work on other things to keep the serotonin rolling, please be patient with me 🖤 This is 60 pages of the 107 I have written so far for the next few installments, so I promise it's getting done 😂 I just have so many plot things going I have to write far enough ahead to ensure I don't paint myself into a corner with inconsistencies.  
> Though I *will* confess I've been a little distracted lately...it would seem that I have acquired a girlfriend! 🖤 Like an actual living, breathing, gorgeous, intelligent woman I want to climb like a tree and she's cool with it! So, my days went from *slogging away at the professional life* / *throwing myself into working on fic to escape some Spicy Turmoil* to...doing that but with the added bonus of having a pretty lady to share it with and being a little extra gay with her, so! It's not all writer's block/surviving in a pandemic/personal illness slowing me down, there's some really amazing things too!
> 
> As always, many thanks to inkheart9459 for reading and cheering me on with the writing of this fic. The ideas I've shared with her about Anathema Zabini inspired her to write her own fic with her, it's a BEAUTIFUL work called "Ask Me No Questions (I'll Tell You No Lies)" which is a OT3 Narcissa/Anathema/Hermione fic, a more serious take on the "truth magic" trope that is an absolute delight to read and if you haven't already, 🙃 GOOOOOOOO! Read her fic! Show her some love! I absolutely adore her writing of Narcissa and Hermione and Anathema, and it's just a neat gay time!

Christmas Eve arrived for Narcissa all too soon. Merlin...dramatics handled, this was nothing short of _bliss!_ Her son, his sweet boyfriend at hand, getting to celebrate the Solstice together, Hermione standing in her arms as they watched her Dragon hold Harry’s hand as the raven-haired Wizard lit his first Solstice candle. She had been bitterly disappointed in his choices of late, but...well, his time with her Present Self, the relief she felt that he would resume spending time with her, helped to ease that ache, too…

_Narcissa stirred when Hermione shifted in her arms, the girl moving to rise from their bed in the middle of the night, the evening of the 21st...though it might well have been the 22nd given the hour. The Witch rose, padding softly toward the bedroom door, “Darling?”_

_“Be right back.”_

The younger Witch had been roused at her name being spoken, as the room her son slept in had been charmed to do, when it was Jinsey’s. All resentment for his behavior, melted, when Hermione returned, pushing a blood-shot eyed Draco into their bedroom, Harry at her back until she stepped around the Slytherin Wizard to return to bed before reaching over Narcissa as she patted the empty spaces at their sides, _“Come on, climb in.”_

_“Do, yes,” Narcissa agreed, waving her son into her arms. “Dragon?”_

_“It’s stupid,” Draco complained, “I’d a nightmare, I don’t need-”_

_“Mmm, unless you’re going to talk about it…” Hermione said, leaning to the side to press a kiss to the Wizard’s cheek, “shut up and go to sleep.” she smiled as Harry climbed in on her side to lay almost on top of the Witch, snuggling against her with his face against her shoulder as he got comfortable and...almost instantaneously fell asleep._

_“Are you alright darling?” Narcissa fretted, carding a hand through her son’s hair. Remnants of their argument lingered in his mind...speaking of his capture led to revisiting the incident in his sleep but his father...behaved as he expected, had him tortured for betraying the Dark Lord, that shifted to him seated at table with she and Hermione, Narcissa screaming how she would_ never _forgive him, a most horrific turn where Hermione’s panic left her unable to catch her breath eternal until he feared the lack of oxygen and pound of her heart would leave that vital organ strained to the point it ceased functioning altogether, in his fright he called to her seeking to calm and comfort, and woke to the Witch doing just that for him, because he called her name in his sleep and she found him thrashing, Harry trying to wake him. Narcissa pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Everything is just fine, my heart. We are together and we are safe. Do you wish for potion?” he shook his head ‘no’. “Very well, let us sleep,” she said, she and her son sharing a smile when they heard the soft pop! of Apparation that announced Jinsey had woken, realized there was something of a sleepover happening without her, and magicked herself from her bed on the other side of the room to join them in theirs, waddling to settle her weight between her mistresses, and taking her Dragon’s hand to...oh, commune with his magic, offer him sweet sleep._

So Narcissa had gotten to hold her son as she slept...rouse several hours later feeling a rested sort of sleepy, where she could rise if she wished but...she could linger a while more as well, and she chose to, because she only woke because of soft voices whispering conspiracy to one another. Draco was awake, his head resting on Narcissa’s chest, the Wizard voicing some confusion at being woken, Hermione lying next to her saying, _“We’re going to make your mother breakfast in bed.”_

_“Muggles have kitchenry installed in their beds?”_

_“No you goof, we’re going to the kitchen, making breakfast, and bringing it to her.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because she’s a good mum, and you’ve been making her feel like she’s not. She punished you for making me fly by revoking your flying privileges until the end of the holiday. I’m punishing you for hurting her by expecting you to treat her like a queen...indefinitely.”_

_“You can’t punish me. You’re not my mother.”_

_There was a soft snort and then, “Not yet,” she teased._

_He made something of a despairing sound. “I...walked right into that.”_

_“Now I just need you to walk right on downstairs.”_

_“I’m a Wizard, Granger.”_

Her son had softly disapparated, Hermione had followed suit, and Narcissa opened her eyes, hand resting over her heart, half tempted to go and catch them in the act but...she’d remained in bed, fell back to sleep, woken to find Harry had shifted in Hermione’s absence to rest against her. She’d woken because the door swung open, kicked gently by a foot as the Witch’s hands were well occupied with one of the trays she and Draco carried, her son proudly presenting the breakfast he aided in preparing, his mind awash in warmth from working alongside Hermione, following patient instruction, every misunderstanding or incident met with calm and encouragement, ever success met with praise, their end result leaving him excited to do this for his mother. She had been a bit reticent with the idea, it sounded messey at best and lonely at worst but...well, magic aided in keeping trays stable and sheets clean, and they had brought meals for everyone, seated together, Hermione and Draco at the foot of the bed, Harry, Jinsey, Narcissa seated against the headboard as they started their restful Sunday. For all that, as they finished their own breakfast, their Present Selves were woken by...Angela. Narcissa had remembered the startle of the Muggle girl coming into contact with Miss Parkinson, but...with everything that happened, their own drama, and finding focus in the joy of celebrating the Solstice with her loved ones, it wasn’t until the following morning they reviewed their Present selve’s memories from the night before. It was a relief Angela kept her word about being discreet in regard to having run into Hermione out of bounds. The Witch had been rather frantic when she returned home from work that day, and they had considered forewarning their present selves but...it had been an isolated incident, too, Miss Holmes hadn’t specified _when_ her Birthday was, Hermione had no reason to believe her stasis wouldn’t be broken later that evening or at some point in the following week, to think her Present Self would be involved at all, invited to the day itself. There hadn’t been reason to add stress to their Present Selves with warning of something that wasn’t likely to come up for them. The incident had been small, manageable, save...Minerva was likely suspicious. It was believable, Hermione offering to provide dessert for Angela’s birthday, it was even believable, if not slightly less so, that she appeared caught off guard on the topic, because she’d not expected to be invited to the celebration. But...the Hermione Granger’s magic that laid stasis on her cupcakes was a great deal more powerful than the Hermione Granger seated at her table, incapable of breaking the spell she supposedly cast.

_“I think I made myself nervous, really...embarrassed, even?” Hermione said as they laid in bed after breakfast, Draco and Harry gone on to see to the dishes, “Realizing how much more powerful I am, but...I didn’t...I didn’t think we were that much different? We weren’t, when we first got here but...I think...I think I’m stronger because_ she’s _building me to be? Figuring out how to make Tag’s work in her Sixth Year instead of...a month after we traveled back in time, so...over a year and a half in advance in personal time? My Present Self is training more, and testing out of Potions and working with you and Draco on magical solutions to help the students we tutor and teach when...before, it was just me, figuring it out on my own and I mean I barely figured out how to do half the stuff we have together. My Present Self hasn’t reaped the magical rewards yet, but...I have?”_

_“Your magical strength is...impressive,” Narcissa supposed with some heat, speaking against Hermione’s ear before pressing a kiss to her hair, earning,_

_“Narcissa! Serious discussion about McGonagall figuring out we’re time traveling, no-” the Witch let out something of an amused, frustrated huff as she was swift to take Narcissa’s wandering hand in hers to halt it’s venture to slip into her sweatpants. She laced fingers with the woman’s as she pressed on, “And if my magic is impressive yours is…” she struggled to find a word to denote Narcissa’s magic superior._

_Well that hardly helped. “You’ve admiration of my magic, darling?” Narcissa asked, magic preening._

_“Well yeah, I’ve only said as much since day one, haven’t I? That I think you can do anything?”_

_She had said as much...numerous times. And Narcissa had never readily believed her, not that she doubted Hermione felt that way, but...she’d grown tentatively more confident that perhaps...she was capable of magic, she formerly believed lost to her scope. But with the changes in her own magic...ahh, well, that wasn’t the topic at hand, and as one hand was well occupied weaving through russet curls, and the other trapped in her love’s grasp? Narcissa decided to stick to topic and say, “Yes, Minerva does seem to bear some suspicion something is afoot. Until she deigns to give voice to those suspicions...I believe we’ll just have to handle that when the moment comes.”_

Their restful Sunday turned...an amusing sort of unrestful as Miss Granger...Present and Future both, set about constructing the cribs that would reside in their respective homes for Jinsey’s child...without the use of magic. Hermione seated herself in their living room as the crib could be shrunken for transport to its proper place, the Present’s mirroring her in Jinsey’s bedroom at Hogwarts. They were both of them seated on the floor, and had meticulously unpacked each and every individual part of the cribs, setting to task. Her Dragon came to stand at Narcissa’s side where she stood leaning in the kitchen archway to watch her love with delighted amusement, _“...should...should someone tell her there’s a spell that instantly-”_

_“You will do nothing of the sort,” Narcissa was quick to insist. It was entirely fascinating and a wholly heart melting thing to get to watch the girl work to do this for Jinsey. Her Present Self experienced their delight likewise, watching as Hermione was wholly absorbed in the task at hand, something she called a ‘screwdriver’ in hand, she had been admittedly curious to see the impliment after which Anathema’s favored cocktail was named._

_“...what’s she doing?” Pansy asked with some disgust._

_“Working, you are absolutely not to disturb her,” Narcissa distractedly informed._

_Miss Parkinson stared at her for a moment before informing, “I’m gonna go meet with um, Professor McGonagall. Occlusion lessons and uh...lunch. Maybe dinner too if...if we work late or whatever.”_

_“Miss Holmes does make working late to enjoy her dinner preparations tempting.”_

_“Whatever,” Pansy snapped, blushing rather fiercely._ _“Just don’t go sending a search party if I’m not back awhile. Have fun with whatever this is.”_

Monday brought further delight when, as she’d seen Draco mull it around in his mind, the desire to ask Hermione if he might help her with Breakfast again, Narcissa informed him it was _she_ who planned to prepare breakfast as she did usually endeavor to handle the task whenever Hermione’d work, so the younger Witch could sleep in and he could absolutely help her.

_“...why um…” Draco had been uncertain just how to phrase the question inoffensively._

_“...does Hermione work?...at first I’d no access to my finances, she took up her job to support us, and to aid her employers through a time of struggle. She maintains her job for love of those she works with, and too...she wishes to maintain some independence. She does not want to burden me alone with the cost of our living here.” Draco had nodded, seeming pleased._

He hadn’t been...all too pleased when Narcissa Apparated he and Harry into the Whitaker’s apartment, to take them to see Hermione, go with her from her shift to take the boys to their favored diner for dinner. He’d had no issue with the Whitaker’s home, nor their place of business, he thought the place charming...enjoyed that despite the cautions Hermione had instilled in him, that it mightn’t always be safe to hold his boyfriend’s hand in public, he felt perfectly at ease to do so as they entered the shop. But...she’d explained she worked at a tea shop, it just hadn’t been an idea that told him she worked as a _waitress_.

_“What is she_ doing?”

_“Refreshing her customer’s coffee. Would you like anything, Dragon?”_

_“I’m not ordering from- gods they have her in an apron! You let her work here? I thought she handled their books or something not bloody working like some House- s-service...person.”_

She’d been about to assure her son Hermione enjoyed her work, that there was nothing at all wrong with such labor, when he met one of the reasons why she was so endeared to it. Sara had announced her existence with an excited scream and launched herself at them, grasping Narcissa and Draco’s forearms and delightely announcing, _“Oh my God! You have your mother’s adorable grumpy-face! He looks just like you, I can’t stand it! Gimme a cheek, grumpy-face, I’m Sara and I love you, with all my heart, I could die right now. Narcissa you made a handsome baby! We have matching handsome babies! Oh God, the thought of him meeting Jessie makes me want to jump Mike and-!” she took in sight of Harry and let out another excited cry, “You’re Harry Potter!”_ and just as Harry steeled himself to be reminded he was only recognizable on sight because his parents had been murdered and their killer left a distinguishable scar on his face a majority of those he met based their entire treatment of him over, he was absolutely delighted to hear, he was recognized in this instance for, _“You’re Draco’s_ boyfriend!”

_“Yeah I am,” Harry said, smiling warmly. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”_

_“Mom and dad are in back, they’re dying to meet you.”_

Her son had been rather overwhelmed by the barrage of open affection from people who he considered strangers who all...readily adored him, simply because he was Narcissa’s son. John shook his and Harry’s hands, offered bracing hugs and his wife was swift to wash her hands of flour before she pulled both boys in for a hug and asked if they were hungry.

_“Hermione says you boys are fans of strawberries, and blueberries,” Violetta prattled excitedly, “We hoped you’d be in today so there’s blueberry muffins and Narcissa I’ve made more strawberry poke cake since you and your son might just share a favorite.”_

She got to sit with her son and Harry at her usual table by the window and share her favored cake with her son, he still seemed like he felt uncomfortable when Hermione came to their table bearing a tray of tea for them, made to their liking...though he relaxed as she lingered a moment, excited to see them, asking about their day of lounging together at home, reading and watching the telly, she smiled when Draco voiced his intrigue at their plans to spend Tuesday at the library and getting to see what ‘the Tesco’ was, his relaxation rendered when she carded a hand through his hair to smooth it and said she was glad he was enjoying his holiday.

He spent that evening of his holiday...fretting. Was Hermione sore after her work? She was poorly, he called it—entertaining her monthly—and she had been on her feet all day. He’d insisted she be the first to enjoy her bath that evening and when she returned he had her sitting alongside Narcissa on the couch and...in her absence, he’d asked for instruction from Jinsey, how just to prepare hot cocoa, had a mug waiting for her which he handed off the moment she was seated, wondering if she wanted for anything.

_“No I’m...great, Draco, this is sweet of you but you can relax.”_

“You _do this,” he defended, “...show courtesy to people in your life, do things like...cook and bring tea and help them be comfortable and the like because you er...love them. I can’t- I- I want to-” he struggled, opted to say, “ ...so I’m doing the same for you.”_

_“...because you love me?”_

_“Yes.That.”_

_“I love you too,” she said, patting the space next to her for him to be seated, “now stop hovering like a loon, you need a little context for Christmas Eve, your mum and Sara want to re-watch the latest episode. So…” she took the VCR remote in hand, “meet Xena.”_

Hermione was very right, in regard to her son’s need to relax. Tuesday, the morning of Christmas Eve saw them in Andromeda’s kitchen once more, she and Draco, Harry. It was sweet to see the raven-haired Wizard hold her son’s hand while he sat up on the counter space and allowed his aunt to cast diagnosis.

“Have you been entertaining stomach upset? Any vomiting?” Andromeda asked.

“Um...nauseous from time to time, yeah. I was...sick, a few times the week after Hogsmeade, not much since then.”

Her sister nodded. “Well...you’ve certainly agitated your stomach a great deal, there’s new wear, where your previous ulcer healed. I’ll be prescribing potion I’m certain your mother could make or I could call it in from a trusted provider, one you’re to take after each meal, and another you’re to take before bed each night for the next three days, it will promote healing in your sleep.”

Narcissa called Hermione on her mobile, from Andromeda’s home phone, to request that her Present self send the appropriate ingredients through. Whitaker’s clamored with the sound of...a great many children, Merlin, it sounded like they were mobbing the place, squeals and laughs and a great deal of crying, the hum of chatter filled the background of Hermione’s end of their conversation.

“Is this a bad time darling? I could write your present self?”

_“I always have time for you, this is important. I’ll write you immediately-”_ then, _“I’m on break,”_ she said almost defensively, speaking to someone else, it sounded like she pressed the portion of the mobile she spoke into against her shoulder, their response was rather muffled, but sharp in tone. Her own response was a bit muffled but Narcissa heard, _“Well Roberts can kiss my ass at this point, let’s see him find a replacement smack dab in the middle of Christmas Eve, or is_ he _going to squeeze his ass into these tights? Didn’t think so. Bugger off.”_ Tights? Oh. She’d taken to wearing these evergreen stockings, several times a week over the course of December, she insisted they were ‘festive’, she’d worn them today. _“Sorry.”_

“Was that Sara?” Narcissa wondered with some confusion at her tone.

_“Uhh yeah. Roberts is a...customer. Sara was getting on my nerves about him, I’ll apologize. Anyway, I- oh! You just wrote back-”_

“I recall,” Narcissa caught herself. Well, not nearly in time but, she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, you were saying, darling?”

_“Just that you wrote back, I’m sure you know what you said but um...she’s offered to handle making potion so you can enjoy your time with Draco and Harry.”_

“Very good. Thank you for handling that, my love. I’m going to show the boys the library now, and then we’ll stop by the Tesco to pick up a few last minute things, Jinsey says she has dinner preparations well in hand, she’s feeling energetic today but she might call you if she feels poorly, Draco has his notebook to receive communication from you, to write me if she needs assistance. You’ll arrive with the Whitaker’s this evening, yes?”

_“Yup! As soon as we’re off, I’ll be home in time for everything, I’m...I’m really sorry I couldn’t be more help for tonight-”_

“Darling, do not worry yourself. We’ve everything handled.”

_“I promise today’s the last crazy hours day, Whitaker’s doesn’t open back up until the New Year, and um...it isn’t the month but I am off the week of the 15th.”_

“Oh truly?” Narcissa breathed, dearly appreciative. It had been...jesting of a sort, but she would have loved an entire month of having the girl to herself. A week would suffice.

_“Of course,”_ she said, _“I have to go soon. I love you, stay safe. Is Draco there?”_

She wished the phone handed to the Wizard who accepted it with some uncertainty...held it upside down at first but Narcissa set him to rights. “Yes?” he questioned.

...it was faint to Narcissa’s ears but she was standing alongside where the phone hang on the wall, Draco just before her, and, _“Hey. Thank you, for seeing your Aunt. Your mum’s going to make potion...oh. I’m helping I think? Yeah, lucky you I just got an O testing out of potions huh? I’m really proud of you Draco,”_ sent her son blushing, _“for speaking up and getting this done, being honest about how you’re feeling. I’ll write you when your mum writes that she’s sent your potion through...oh. Wait. I’d absolutely do it, but things are a little wild here. You have your journal for you and your present mum, right?”_

“Yeah.” Narcissa...could have had her son write her Present Self but...she’d admittedly had some interest in hearing Hermione’s voice, foolishness as they’d only just seen each other, she was not usually so sentimental but...something in her craved the sound after the stress of worrying over this appointment, hearing her son had so nearly become so sick again. “I’ll write and ask she tell me when she sends potion through. Um...it isn’t awful, right? Do you want us to bring you anything, lunch or something?”

_“No! Um, it’s really a madhouse here, hon, you probably couldn’t find a seat, and your mum sent me with lunch. I should go, have fun with your mother and Harry, stay safe, love you.”_

Her son had been rather red faced as he handed her the phone to handle, he wasn’t certain how one hung up the phone, he was wholly relieved when Narcissa instructed he and Harry to await her in the parlor before she turned to her sister, albeit nervous, but,

“I’ve Christmas presents for your family this evening, of course, but...an offering, as well, for your son, his tree, if...that would be considered respectful.”

“I trust your ability to bring something appropriate,” Andromeda said, offering, “Dora...she used to leave sweets under Cyggy’s tree, trying to share. Of course we didn’t find out until we’d an ant problem in our garden.”

Narcissa offered a sympathetic smile, shaking her head as she summoned her present, handing it to her sister who readily accepted the small, silvery windchime. “It is enchanted to imbue the tree with strength, hold firm against harsh wind, maintain moisture, endure the winter and therefore be able to blossom all the more come Spring, maintain its beauty until Autumn.”

“Gods, Teddy was a wreck trying to right it when it was uprooted in a storm, he was petrified it would stunt or kill it. It’s all we can do for him, you know?” the only care they could afford their son. They did not get to feed or clothe him, hold him save for the few hours after his death, they would never see him grow up, but they could keep the tree his body had been buried under alive, water it, feed it sunlight and fertilizer, see it grow in his memory, a way of coping and remembering, a sweet memorial Andromeda shared with her, when she first visited their home. Her sister sniffled, hastily wiping at her eyes with a hand as she said, “Thank you, Cissy. If you make me teary tonight...I will share how you cried buckets the year Bella hexed all your presents to turn to coal as you opened them.”

“You’re free to do so. Does Teddy know about the Christmas Anathema sent you-”

“Irrelevant! And we weren’t even dating...we’d just broken up, _how_ Anathema even knew is beyond me.”

“She’s always had informative connections.” In that case, Narcissa, but that was truly irrelevant she thought. “It was hardly anything terribly embarrassing, she sent you a kiss.”

“That stained my lips with her lipstick the rest of hols!”

“Well you would look strange with red lipstick on your cheek the rest of the holiday.”

“Oh do shut up!”

They left her sister’s home, for the library...which wholly enchanted her son. He was utterly lost to her the whole of their time there, searching the stacks with his boyfriend in tow. They returned to Narcissa when it was time to depart, finding her just logging off of the computer, she’d offered them use of the library card Hermione had helped her acquire, as they had a month to read and place them in the sending sack for she and Hermione to return.

Her son stayed very near her side when they entered the Tesco. As there were three of them, and not a great deal to pick up, the only thing that truly marked the trip a ‘big’ one was it would be Draco’s first endeavor in a grocers, they Apparated to an alleyway nearby. Harry was pleased with their visit, offered to push the trolley and that afforded Narcissa the chance to walk arm in arm with her son as he cast an overwhelmed gaze about the store as they browsed. It was rather crowded with people rushing to get their shopping for Christmas dinner done at the very last minute, she saw why Hermione insisted they do theirs a week in advance. They picked up fresh bread, cheeses, things for… ‘snacking on’ Harry phrased it, while they awaited dinner with their guests. She nearly grabbed a bottle of wine but...well, that hadn’t been necessary since her trip with Andromeda. She’d procured several bottles then and...there were a few of them still unopened. They would suffice, should any wish to partake tonight.

Draco looked at her curiously when she took pause at the wine and kept moving, noting that during his visit, “You...haven’t been...having more than a glass now and again, at dinner.”

“I’ve still the occasional nightcap, when Hermione indulges in an evening drink but...yes I have...cut back,” she supposed. “I did not know my drinking worried you.”

Draco shrugged. “I’ve got Anxiety, most everything worries me,” he offered blithely but in his mind, yes, he’d...held some concern. Similar to that he held in her time, in the future when the Dark Lord lived in their home with them. Her son had been rather concerned she drank...never to a point she lost herself, but she did take any opportunity to dull the harshness of their situation with drink, the major serving of such a beverage taking place in the evening, while alcohol was not conducive to restful sleep...she could only take so much Dreamless sleep, and when she needed a break, wine was an excellent substitute. Well, perhaps not excellent, but, it worked to render her hazy and readily falling to sleep. In this time...it was not quite so extreme, but when she shared a home with her husband, she was known to go through several bottles a week, taking a few glasses at dinner, another toward time to retire. “...I’m glad, that things are different.”

“As am I.”

Harry was absolutely delighted to return to their home to find Dobby aiding Jinsey in the kitchen, the female Elf relaxing for a moment in a kitchen chair by the table, Crookshanks lying at her side as the Elf idly petted him, while her counterpart stood on a high stool at the stove, pan roasting vegetables.

“Harry Potter!” Dobby cheered.

“Dobby!” the boy greeted, as if he hadn’t only just seen the Elf at Hogwarts a few days ago. “Oh! We’re not at school so I can finally say, congratulations! You’re excited to be a dad, huh?”

Dobby performed something of a bouncing dance that made the stool underfoot wobble while maintaining its upright position rather miraculously. “Yes yes yes! Dobby is so much happiness to be being father of baby! Dobby is loving baby and Jinsey for giving him baby with all of his Elf heart, it could burst! Dobby might be dying from happiness, and he isn’t thinking any House Elf is being dying like that before, it might be wonderful!”

“Dobby isn’t to be being dying!” Jinsey commanded rather forcefully. “Never ever, he has to be being raising baby with Jinsey!”

“Dobby will certainly try, it is Jinsey’s fault, making Dobby be feeling so much love!” the Elf gleefully informed her, pressing a spindly fingered hand over his heart. “Harry Potter is enjoying his time with Mistresses and young Master Draco?”

“It’s been really great, I kind of feel bad we’ll be leaving tomorrow, but…” Harry turned to look at Narcissa, “You and Hermione’ll have a great Christmas, right? I’m really glad you have the Whitakers and Jinsey and everyone, the Tonks? I’m sorry all we can really do consistently is write to you.”

“Oh, my sweet boy, you needn’t fret. Hermione and myself experience the time our Present selves share with you at Hogwarts, and your writing to us is more than sufficient,” Narcissa said, reaching to card a hand through dark curls, “you are absolutely to enjoy yourself tomorrow at the Weasleys.”

Draco made something of a derisive sound, “I still can’t believe Parkinson’s tagging along with Hermione. If she insults Lady Weasley’s house…” he spoke in warning.

Narcissa opened her mouth to offer correction to her son but Mister Potter beat her to it, “Hey, be nice,” he said, taking her son’s hand. Draco blushed, looked away from the other Wizard as if fearful if he looked upon his boyfriend he would have no choice but to agree to his demands of kindness. “You haven’t always been great about Ron’s family, made fun of the Burrow. Hermione says Pansy’s trying to make a change, just like you did. And she gets on with McGonagall’s daughter, and she’s a Muggle. Hermione said to look out for her though, something about her dog won’t be at the Burrow and she’s kind...like too nice for her own good or something and her dog usually protects her?” he asked confused. “I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant but Hermione wouldn’t ask without a good reason so I told her we would.”

_“Blind,_ darling,” Narcissa gently corrected. “Angela Holmes is kind but she can well hold her own. Her service dog aids her in navigating the world.”

“Oh! Yeah, we’ll look out for her, the Burrow can get crazy with everyone packed in.”

“ _Blind?_ Is McGonagall out of her mind, letting Pansy anywhere near her? She- she has a- how does she have a Muggle daughter? Wouldn’t she be a Squib?”

“Adoption, Draco, do watch your tone. Minerva McGonagall is no fool,” Narcissa assured him, and her son looked rightly ashamed. “Miss Parkinson means Angela no ill will, and she has been enduring a time of trauma, Dragon...while comparing experiences does not negate either’s validity, her experiences have been even more devastating than your own. Defend yourself and your friends if she lays insult upon you, but do not meet the girl ready to cast her aside before you’ve gotten the chance to see how she is trying to change.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Thank you, darling. Why don’t you and Harry wash up, relax before we’ve guests to entertain?” Narcissa proposed, her son nodded, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek Harry copied before Draco pulled him along upstairs, something in his mind about...checking the bathroom wards? Altering them somehow so he would not have to recast to renew wards he hastily placed within the guest room that morning? Oh.

_“Good morning, darling,” Narcissa murmured, voice rough with sleep as she stepped into the tub behind its occupant, arms snaking around the younger Witch’s front to pull her back against her chest, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as Hermione squeaked and,_

_She giggled around the whispered reprimand of, “Narcissa!” she shook her head._

_The older Witch pressed a kiss further along her shoulder, nearing her neck, “Yes, my love?” another, closer still._

_“I’m getting ready for work- you- Draco and Harry are asleep right next door! What if they hear us? Cissa!” she laughingly complained, when the woman finished trailing kisses to the goal of her neck, taking tender flesh between her teeth, the younger Witch’s arm shooting out to steady herself against the bathroom wall._

_“Wards, darling. Our bathroom is warded for sound.”_...sounds of going to the restroom, perhaps. That of voices remained intact, Narcissa remembered now out of the...er...moment, as to hear if someone needed assistance.

_Hermione gasped when a hand slipped low to reach under and brush against her sex, “I’m still on my period, it’s slowing down but still.”_

_“The shower is for cleansing is it not? I can easily wash my hands.”_

_“I- oh God, you’re sure they can’t hear?”_

...she had been, then. Oh Merlin just how much had they heard? Draco had apparently woken and...heard something distressing that sent him casting to keep sound from entering he and Harry’s bedroom. Oh gods, Hermione had muffled herself, crying out into the crook of her elbow for safety sake but Narcissa had...been rather vocal while her darling returned the favor by dropping to her knees in the shower and plying that clever tongue...neither boy seemed awkward when they joined them for breakfast, save Draco did not join in inquiry to how well they slept...upon reflection, his mind had held the memory of Hermione’s giggling, a bit of echo to it, she thought it some effect of hearing it in her son’s mind, but...no, her disturbing Hermione in the shower had likely been enough to tell her son it was best to cast. She certainly hoped so.

Well, that was not the issue she wished to address...ever, but certainly not right now. She sat down at the kitchen table alongside Jinsey, the dear Elf smiling when Narcissa took her hand though she deflated minorly at her inquiry, “Have you come to a decision, my darling? I would not rush you, I merely check to ensure you know I am genuine in my encouragement for you to meet your brother should you wish.”

“Jinsey is...curious to meet Tadby. But it could be being tricks and traps for Lucius Malfoy to meet with Mistress, Jinsey would never put Mistress into danger. But...future Mistress has been being talking with Jinsey, planning…”

Narcissa...had not spoken to the invitation outside of assuring Jinsey that if she wished to meet her brother, she could absolutely do so. “Future Mistress?”

Jinsey brightened, “Mistress Hermione! She is saying...Dobby says Lucius Malfoy won’t be involved, Tadby would be meeting Jinsey on his own, but Jinsey isn’t being on her own, and they would be being meeting in the Room of Requirement so Tadby isn’t having permission to enter Mistress’s quarters. Present Mistress Narcissa is wanting to be with Jinsey so she is being safe, but she isn’t wanting Present Hermione involved in case there is being danger...but future Hermione Granger can be being there, to keep Mistress safe, we is thinking.”

_Mistress Hermione was being sniffly again, and avoiding her Jinsey! Jinsey could be being getting her potion, Pepper-Up, quick quick quick! But the Witch insisted they keep some distance while she was being coughing and sneezy, searching the kitchen cabinets for where Mistress Narcissa kept the back up stores of potions when her accio came out too stuffily for her magic to execute. So Jinsey was watching from table, wondering how most Brilliant Witch could be such a dumb-dumb. Adorable dumb-dumb, in a way that was making Jinsey’s heart squeeze usually, but she was being poorly and not letting Jinsey help! That was squeezing Jinsey’s heart in a way that ached instead of warmed! But she was also being smart and brave, “Of course I would sit in with Narcissa,” she paused to turn away from the cabinet she was searching, to cough into her elbow, “sorry. Oh! Thank God,” she breathed, taking up a bottle of Pepper-Up and sighing with relief as she knocked it back, shivering as steam began billowing from her ears. “If that’s what you need to feel safe about it? You deserve to meet your brother...I mean Jins, baby could have an uncle, and at the very least? You might get some closure.”_

_“Jinsey...would feel safer with Hermione Granger guarding Mistress. Jinsey will be thinking. After Hermione Granger is eating soup and napping.”_

_“I don’t need sou-”_

_“Jinsey will be making Hermione Granger better! She would not let Jinsey help before potion, it is not Jinsey’s fault she is feeling better without her! Hermione is to be resting and Jinsey is being telling Mistress she was being poorly again.” The Elf whined a bit. “Hermione is being catching colds. Why is so many sicky people coming to Whitakers? Jinsey is thinking Mistresses could ward against them.”_

...they had to a degree, but it was more that communicable disease could not pass through the air in Whitaker’s, as everyone deserved a warm cuppa they did not have to craft themselves when they were poorly. She’d wondered how her darling came by continuous colds, was met with a sleepy hum, _“Mmm, children are our future and horrible little snot goblins.”_

“Our _future, darling?”_

_“...the future. I mean our future too…” and then, “We are not having a time travel baby.”_

_“I wasn’t going to suggest anything of the sort! ...of course if_ you _found some appeal to the idea I could perhaps be swayed…”_

_“No time-travel babies,” she steadily insisted, sighing as she settled more comfortably against Narcissa. The older Witch was certain Hermione was no longer entertaining fever even as her face felt warm against the woman’s skin. “Someday tho, yeah.”_

Narcissa squeezed Jinsey’s hand, “I’m certain my present self is capable of defending herself but, if there was some altercation. I trust it will be nothing dangerous...but if it would put you at ease, yes I believe such a thing could be arranged, Hermione joining me in our meeting.”

Jinsey nodded, rubbing soothing circles on her stomach as she considered it. “Jinsey will be thinking but...she would very much like to be meeting her brother. After baby is here, can be safe with Dobby while we is in meeting. Tadby will not be meeting baby unless it is being safe.”

“Certainly, Jinsey...are you nervous my darling?”

“Jinsey is being excited! She wants to be a good mother to baby. Jinsey is nervous but she is being very blessed she is having such good example to go by.”

“Your own mother loved you very much,” Narcissa gently agreed.

Jinsey’s head tilted with some confusion, “Jinsey’s mother was loving Jinsey with all her heart, yes. But Jinsey is meaning she is hoping to be being as good a mother to her baby as Narcissa is to her Dragon.”

“Ah,” Narcissa cleared her throat of the lump that formed there, smile warm as she nodded. “I am honored. You will be a most wonderful mother. Have you need of anything?”

...Jinsey’d no need of anything. But Sara was rather insistant she’d need of Jinsey, when the Whitakers arrived...albeit earlier than Narcissa expected, Hermione had conferred with Sara on the time...they were to arrive together after work were they not? Only Sara and Violetta arrived to their doorstep, Jessie in tow. Oh but,

“Mike’s parking,” ahh, John and Hermione were still in the van, Narcissa supposed. “Gabbie’s finishing up her nap, she’s gotta sleep off a hard day of being the world’s cutest baby and all that. Do you think Jin’ll mind if he lays her down upstairs? Great, thanks,” she said when Narcissa nodded, “Is _Jinsey_ in?” she asked...speaking the Elf’s name with some added volume to her voice.

“...she is,” Narcissa assured with confused amusement at the woman’s enthusiasm.

“Great! I’m just so excited to see _Jinsey!”_

Narcissa’s heart all but stopped in her chest as Jinsey called from the kitchen with alarm and then her voice sounded, shrill and panicked, “Oh! Jinsey’s water is being _breaking!”_

The Witch Apparated directly into the kitchen in the next instant to find Jinsey standing in the midst of her kitchen with water pooling at her feet, Narcissa’s mind utterly blanking oh gods they needed...something. Things! Blankets? Bandaging? Water, hot or cold? Where was Andromeda?! She would be arriving shortly, oh! The stone, she should use the stone to summon her, or would the phone be faster? “Jinsey? Darling, don’t panic,” Narcissa spoke assurance over the soft litany from Sara in her living room whispering _‘go go go go!’_ , was she seeking to get help of some sort? Was it Violetta or John who held medical knowledge from their time in the Navy? “Everything is going to be just fine.” there was the sound of heavy footfalls...was someone retrieving the sigil stone to summon Andromeda? Where were the boys? They would be more readily able, than their non-magical guests, to use such a thing-

Jinsey’s ear twitched when there was a slam of a door upstairs and then she smiled up at Narcissa with some bashfulness, “Oh...Jinsey is being confusion. Jinsey is merely spilling water on Mistress’s floors and not seeing, stepping in it and thinking it is because she is done being with baby,” she shrugged. “Whoopsies daisies!”

Narcissa blinked, mouth working, “...you...you are not experiencing labor? No contractions, you…merely spilled actual water?” that made no sense whatsoever.

_“Sara is being needing distraction?”Jinsey asked, seated on the Winter’s couch, Gabbie’s magic making play with baby’s magic as she held Jinsey’s ear, not being tugging roughly, but she was being enjoying putting the edge of Jinsey’s ear in her mouth, the way she was doing with her grandmother’s long hair. “And it is to help Mistress?”_

_“Hermione, yeah. Surprise your other Mistress with something...oh my God, I still can’t believe she’s-” Sara caught herself, regarding the elf with some suspicion, “If I let slip the surprise with you…”_

_“Oh Jinsey is always honest to Mistress, she can be...distraction but…”_

_“You’ll fess up as soon as possible, huh?”_

And...so she was. “Thank you for your honesty, but darling...please do not startle me like that, in future. You could have merely called for my assistance, it would gladly be given, I very nearly suffered heart failure.” But...she would be keeping Andromeda’s Sigil Stone tucked away in a pocket on her person at all times, for the future. ...there was some surprise, for Narcissa? She had made agreement to be intentional, in restraining her natural legilimency when around her non-magical counterparts, so they might keep their holiday surprises a secret, as there was some level of excitement to be lost if one learned, prematurely, of their presents, though now she was unbearably curious. Oh, it would be only a few hours until she learned just what Hermione had gotten her that was apparently worthy of deception to...sneak it into her home? Would it not be wrapped and under the tree? ...she prayed it was not livestock of some sort, as aloof and unobtrusive as Crookshanks could be, growing vocal only when it was absolutely _time_ to fill his dinner dish, Narcissa had little interest in taking up another familiar.

…’working her ass off’ to secure Narcissa’s present, Sara had said. Which led to some confusion when Narcissa returned to the living room to find the host of their occupants and guests save for Mike, in attendance...without sight of Hermione, who was supposed to be returned to her now that the work day was clearly over. Dobby was returned from seeking something he had to go out and retrieve...ahh, they had forgotten mistletoe, though that was not necessarily needed in this house what with several couples that were overly affectionate as it stood, it was a fun sentiment that earned him something of a huff from Jinsey when Dobby snapped his fingers to have the mistletoe holding fast to the center of the archway into the kitchen where...she had her fair share of bearing unfortunate witness to her Mistresses affections. _“Jinsey can not be making her Mistresses snacks for afters Mistresses is making love if Mistresses is conducting themselves in the kitchen!”_ the Elf had lamented nary a week ago.

Draco and Harry were descending the stairs as they realized they’d guests...oh, it was sweet, it seemed Harry opted for a deep green hoodie to match her Dragon’s button-up. They had all of two seconds to offer greetings to their guests before Jessie bound up to them hands waving in question if they understood Sign, and he bounced in place when they offered up that they had some decent knowledge of the language. She thought the boy might have questions for them, given he knew they were Wizards, the first Wizards he’d ever the opportunity to meet...but in fact the boy merely wished to make play, he’d toys in the bag of necessities his parents kept at hand when traveling with their children, and in less than a minute of their meeting, her Dragon was hoisting Jessie to sit on the window seat, seating himself nearly in his boyfriend’s lap as they sat together on the opposite end to face Jessie and when the boy Signed that he needed down to get his toys, Draco favored him a warm grin and summoned his playthings to appear before them, earning a delighted squeal from the toddler. Oh _Merlin_ , he...he truly would make for a wonderful brother, would he not? Where was her darling?

John and Violetta were seated on the couch with Sara who offered a sheepish grin as Narcissa and Jinsey entered the living room, Narcissa found purchase on the arm of the couch, summoning a kitchen chair she meant to make comfortable for Jinsey but...ultimately it was John who seated himself there, he rose from his seat on the couch when they joined them and offered it up for expecting Elf to seat herself at his wife’s side.

“Where is Hermione? She was to return with you, after work, was she not?” Narcissa wondered...the question earning something of a squeal from Sara who fidgeted in her seat, knees bouncing as she looked imploringly to her mother in law. 

“She’ll be home soon anyway…”

“...baby girl, I love you...you would not stand a single minute in an interrogation,” Violetta sweetly informed.

“Oi! I have known for _two entire weeks_ thank you very much, and I haven’t said a thing! ...to Narcissa!” Sara defended, before looking up at the Witch, “...babe, Whitaker’s doesn’t even _open_ on Christmas Eve. We’re here early because I’m an insistent little shit who needs you to know what your girlfriend’s been up to, I will not let her ruin my satisfaction by either telling you herself or keeping it from you and all other Human beings for time eternal out of sheer embarrassment.”

“...she is embarrassed?” Narcissa fretted, Sara I’m...everything you are saying is confusing. Hermione lied when she said she was going to be at work today?”

“Oh no, she’s at work. She’s been at work all day, just not at Whitaker’s. Your little girlfriend has herself a side hustle, that _I_ discovered and have incriminating photographic evidence of,” Sara cheerily informed her, reaching into the diaper bag at her feet, “...this one’s mine, but if you want your own copy I’ll set you up,” she conspired as she withdrew...a picture she’d had _framed_ , handing it to Narcissa for her purview, drawing a curious Harry and Draco from the window seat and coming to stand at her back, peering over her shoulder, Jessie seated on Harry’s hip and he let out a giggle, Signing _Auntie!_ as they took sight of the...evidence. Incriminating evidence of...a rather delightful sort.

“What the hell is Granger _wearing?”_

Her darling’s ‘festive’ green stockings...were apparently a part of her uniform for her secretive line of work. As… “What...what is she, exactly? This is a costume of some sort?” Hermione was standing before some sort of...indoor snowscape that bore a few Christmas trees, large ornamental presents, and a...throne for some reason, gold, cushioned in crimson. She was wearing some sort of horrible evergreen outfit, a shirt with large fuzzy red buttons, cuffed and collared in that same red, a matching green skirt that fell to her midthigh, stockinged feet tucked into...strange red flat-soled shoes, the toes of which curled upward and back on themselves? She’d a hat she was certain had to be kept over her curls with a sticking charm, it almost looked like a sleeping hat? Green, trimmed in red, it tapered to a point that flopped sideways, bore a fluffy white ball at its tip. Too...a great deal more makeup than what Narcissa had ever seen her wear, something that enhanced her lip’s natural color and mascara which...yes, she’d been leaving the house in that lately, but after she was out of sight of Narcissa she was apparently made to apply...a great deal of blush to her cheeks and the tip of her nose, such that only the reddening of what could be seen of the skin of her neck gave way to the fact she was truly blushing beneath garish makeup. She felt admittedly giddy at such a nonsensical sight, that only doubled as Harry and Draco broke out into open laughter. 

“Santa’s Helper...usually called ‘Elves’ but,” laughter burst from Sara’s lips, “she- she refused to wear the ears t-t-telling her boss they’re _racist!”_ she wiped at her eyes, “I mean yeah, it is I suppose? But he’s not a Wizard or anything so there’s some poor bloke running management at the mall who thinks ‘mione’s got a screw loose, believing in Elves and what’s more, sh-she’s afraid of insulting them!”

“Hermione...has been working...but when?” Narcissa asked as she returned the picture to Sara, “She has been taking nearly full hours at Whitakers and...our magical means of time travel has not left it’s rightful place.” It was a thing of security and...accountability, that they should be alerted if ever the Time Turner was removed from Hermione’s jewelry box, even by one another. She’d seen that protection plainly just this morning, it had not been removed or tampered with.

“Comes in for her shifts at Whitakers, then books it to the mall or vice versa...oh, she hasn’t been taking...I mean yeah, she’s worked a few more hours than she has been since she’s gotten back after she was hurt, but nothing extreme.”

“She said she was covering Patrick’s hours.”

“Nope,” Sara shook her head. “He’s got presents to buy and bills to pay, so there haven’t exactly been a lot of extra hours to go around, she’s mostly been squeezing extra time in coming in early to fill her cupcake orders. Second side gig sort of, making her own recipe of cupcakes mom and dad have her keep the profits from.”

“We insisted, she offered to split profits when she made her proposal for the season,” Violetta assured, shaking her head, “But she shares that magic sugar that I’m sure is an expensive ingredient we don’t provide, and I swear there are people who come in just for her cupcakes, they usually order something to drink, and she won’t let me be a bit of help to her when she’s baking,” she lamented.

“Speak for yourself,” her husband said, patting his stomach, “I think I put on half a stone helping her.”

“Being spoilt with cupcakes and calling it ‘taste testing’ is not helping,” Violetta returned with some mirth.

What in heaven’s name required such funding? She supposed the girl had been eager to spoil her godchild, Jessie, sought presents for her friends, Draco...Narcissa’s, which was something impressive, Sara made it seem when she spoke of it to Jinsey. She hoped she hadn’t...placed unfair pressure on Hermione, she’d been rather overwhelmed by what she considered extravagance with the wristwatch Narcissa gifted her, she’d seen it in her mind, the worry she couldn’t possibly keep up with returning the same caliber of present to Narcissa in a financial sense but that was hardly what any present was about! The value of Narcissa’s gift was the idea she wished to provide such a thing for her darling, took into consideration that she’d need of a timepiece but might abstain for her discomfort with pressure circling her wrist, and found a solution. The _care_ not the wealth she used to execute it in due fashion.

Narcissa heard the rush of distanced Apparation overhead, and a moment later Hermione’s voice sounded as she reached the top of the stairs, “I’m back, I went on ahead, everyone should be here-...soon,” the younger Witch took pause as she reached the bottom of and saw their guests, dressed as she had been for her shift at Whitakers, stockings and a black skirt, evergreen jumper that was far more complimenting than that ghastly thing she’d been putting on to play ‘Santa’s Helper’. Why did Nicholas _need_ assistance with offering the presents he gifted at random on Christmas Eve? He was rather old, even for a Wizard she supposed. Her eyes narrowed as she looked to the non-magical woman giggling as she buried her face against Narcissa’s arm as if to shield herself. _“Sara!_ We agreed on you coming after I got off at 7!”

_“Hermione!”_ Sara returned, scandalized, “I didn’t know Helpers were _that_ kind of helpful.”

“You know what I- ugh!” Hermione...stomped her foot and then whisked out her wand, Sara meeting the action with a peal of giggles as opposed to fear that the Witch might cast on her, and she didn’t, she cast...ahh, a very rudimentary diagnostic spell Andromeda had taught her. To ensure...no ‘horrible little snot goblins’ had sent her home with illness. She breathed a relieved sigh, and took the last step into the living room, sheathing her wand and looking to Narcissa, nervous. “...how mad are you?”

Narcissa did take a moment to consider. She did not appreciate secrecy but...secrets were not always malicious, evil things. With Hermione? That was never the case, she...knew well, if Hermione had voiced desire to procure something out of her price range for Narcissa’s Christmas, the older Witch would have...likely done something well-intentioned but demeaning, like offered an allowance of sorts, for her shopping. Hermione was a touch independent for that. She’d pushed herself but...not dangerously, save for continuous interaction with plague-ridden children...what? Seeking audience with Nicholas? Endeavoring to summon him to their offered throne? His gift-giving was notorious, she knew, picked up fame that rose to wild tales of gifting presents to the world at large when in truth he was a thing of chaos, charitable, but...unreliable. The man caught wind of the non-magical uptick of popularity, the myth of St. Nicholas, and he, a Wizard baring that same name...took it into his head to gift a few needy children within the non-magical community with presents that appeared magically, using the magic that could be found left dwindling in their Christmas trees, if they were genuine trees that could resonate with such spells and not the mix of metal and plastic the Whitaker’s put up in their shop. That only propelled the revival of the myth in full and he continued the tradition whenever he saw fit, just not nearly as spectacularly as what fiction described. The man was a Wizard who was more likely to be summoned by a decent bottle of Fire Whisky and a beautiful woman than the clamoring of children. But the issue at hand. Narcissa believed it best to summon some Fire Whiskey _for_ a beautiful woman. 

“I do assure you I mean this in the least Stepford of ways, but my darling? Do come sit down, and have a drink. I am not displeased with you.”

“Really?” Hermione asked with utter relief.

“Truly. Oh my love,” Narcissa offered with some sympathy, realizing the younger Witch had been fearful of upsetting her. Violetta pulled Sara into her lap so Narcissa could seat herself on the couch proper, open her arms to the girl who drew near and fell into the older Witch, sighing contentedly as she settled in her lap, resting against the woman who cast to accio a proper glass and summoned a pour of Fire Whisky Jinsey letting out a soft ‘Oh!’ as she snapped her fingers to summon drinks for their guests. Narcissa smiled as she carded a hand through the Witch’s curls, oh, her darling was exhausted. Grateful to be off of her feet, in fact she was seated in Narcissa’s lap and she thought the Witch was curling up against her, she did relax against the woman’s chest but it was Sara’s lap the girl rested her legs over as a form of vengeance she supposed, accepting the glass from Narcissa and taking a careful sip. 

“Narc,” Hermione labeled the non-magical woman.

“Oi! I’m not a _narc!”_ Sara retorted, “And I mean, you were in costume, I _had_ to take pictures-”

“There’s pictures? Where? Unrelated, Narcissa, don’t you think a small bonfire in the garden would be festive?”

“Like I don’t have a hundred copies as backup,” Sara cackled, a somewhat evil sounding laugh before she showed Hermione her framed evidence.

“No! Sara! Ho- I- how am I smiling and looking right at you I swear to God I didn’t realize you were taking my picture! I didn’t even _see you_ until you were in line with Jessie.”

“Had my trusty camera to take pictures of the babies, caught you looking like a total cutie which, um, hello? Not hard.”

“I hate you,” Hermione assured as she reluctantly passed the picture back.

“Would it help if I told you Mike’s upstairs fulfilling his top-secret mission?”

“...maybe.”

“...and when he comes back down...he’ll have Gabbie.”

“...let me hold her and we’ll talk.”

It was utterly wonderful. Her Dragon summoned more seating, so he and Harry could sit with the adults, another for Mike when he joined them, Jessie squeezing himself into the space between Hermione and Narcissa, and his mother. Mike returned, bearing Gabrielle in his arms and Hermione set aside her half-finished drink to take the babe in her arms, a cooing sound breaking from her lips as she held her goddaughter close, peppering kisses to the wispy blonde curls atop her head, “Jinsey! Did you make her a jingle-bell bow?”

“Jinsey did make little miss’s jingle-bell bow!” Jinsey brightly assured, squeaking with soft surprise as Dobby at last he appeared, sharing her seat on the couch, he’d been concerned with the finishing touches on their dinner, preserving everything so it would be ready when they were. He wrapped his arms around the blushing Elf at his side smoothing a hand over the curve of her stomach, a finger tapping as if in response to movement he felt beneath his hand.

“Jinsey has been making so many pretty bows for baby! And Mistresses has gotten her so many clothes! She is being making them match!” Dobby announced with joy and pride. 

“Kill me, I love it! It jingles! Oh God and she likes it!” Hermione lamented when she gently tapped the bells adorning Gabrielle’s hair Christmas-themed bow and the bells did in fact jingle softly, eliciting giggles from the babe that had her godmother speaking as if she found that so precious it circled around to causing her grief.

Sara made an almost alarming sound as Jessie maneuvered himself, half-kneeling on his mother’s hip as he shifted to climb into Hermione’s lap, the Witches he climbed atop grunting at the unexpected added weight as he settled himself in Hermione’s lap while she held Gabrielle in the crook of her arm and he signed _They make sound? It makes Gabbie happy?_

“Yeah baby,” Hermione assured.

Jessie bounced in her lap, clapping thrice before raising a tiny finger to gently disturb the bells atop his sister’s head, a squeal breaking from his lips as he clapped when he saw his sister smile and laugh.

“So I love your children, but I have career goals that surpass Santa’s Helper,” Hermione said to Sara, “please take them now.” Met with the refusal of,

“Tough, Granger, _I_ have ‘don’t get pregnant twice in one year’ goals!”

“Jinsey is already being with baby, she will hold adorable children. Is Jessie wanting his Dobby?” Jinsey asked, small hands Signing with care.

_Zip! Zip!_ the boy Signed, which apparently was a call for Dobby to pop! From one end of the couch to appear standing before the Witches on the couch and Jessie slid down to stand alongside the Elf, hugging him tightly with an excited giggle while Dobby held out an arm to take Gabrielle from Hermione who...for all she requested as much, held the babe a moment longer, pressing a kiss to her hair before passing her off to Dobby who... _zipped_ , Apparated back to his seat at Jinsey’s side Gabrielle appearing in Jinsey’s waiting arms and Jessie seated in Dobby’s lap, absolutely delighted with the magic in play. 

Draco looked albeit disturbed at the bare mention of Hermione perhaps one day having children, presumably with his mother...ahh, oh goodness he was disturbed at the fact that, to his great horror...he did not wholly despair of the idea, if that was what made his mother...and Hermione likewise, happy.

Andromeda was quick to take up Gabrielle shortly after she and her family arrived, to unburden Jinsey as she ate, of course. Oh, Teddy melted at the sight of the small Witch with magic like his Dromeda’s, Nymphadora looked wholly startled when she saw there was a baby, horrified like she expected some hellish nightmare of a wailing child, the thought crossing her mind that she didn’t even know what to do with a baby, thank Merlin Remus was reticent on the subject of having children. Well...if their alterations to the timeline did not affect her niece’s impending pregnancy, she was in for the delightful surprise that, according to Hermione, she was excited to be expecting, despite the strife surrounding the event. They moved to gather around the dining room table, the Elves made to cast to summon their meal but Violetta was swift to insist they rest themselves, the two of them, she knew well how much work went into providing such a large meal for so many people, she could start bringing things out from the kitchen. Harry rose up when she disappeared into the kitchen, to aid the woman though he nearly walked directly into her as she left the space he was entering, the two of them letting out startled ‘ohs!’ and Harry sweetly informing her he and Draco were glad to help—her son hadn’t announced his moves he merely rose up and followed his boyfriend’s example and Harry did not even need to look over his shoulder to verify that was what was happening.

“Thank you lovey,” Violetta intoned, holding fast the large bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans she held in her hands.

“No problem! Oh,” he smiled as he looked up, “there’s mistletoe.” Her son blushed fiercely, seemingly preparing himself to be kissed in front of their family and friends but...no, to his utterly smitten amusement, Harry was standing with Violetta, beneath the bit of foliage, and that meant the Wizard popped up on his toes to kiss the elderly Muggle woman on the cheek before he passed her by.

Jessie took up some excitement at meeting Remus, he was seated in a chair with a booster seat attached so he might sit near Andromeda holding his sister, placing him directly across from the Werewolf who he Signed to with interest, his mother offering translation to, _Puppy! You’re going to be a puppy soon when the moon gets high. Dora isn’t scared to sit with you, she loves knowing you’re safe, and she wants you to feel safe and loved! You don’t hurt her, you just sleep. You’re always careful with your potion and Auntie makes it special! You sleep and snuggle! You won’t ever ever hurt Dora or Sirius when they stay with you!_ He Signed...somehow knowing Harry’s name-sign for his Godfather, they’d only just met, the Wizard certainly hadn’t brought the man up. Oh, his magic already presenting in his ability to Sign, his Seeing interacting with him on a level he could fully understand, make him capable of communicating who he spoke of when he’d precious little capability for spelling even familiar words, and certainly not that of a strangely spelled name of a stranger? That very much spoke to the certainty that magic could and _would_ present itself through Jessie’s Signing. 

Remus looked albeit wistful at mention of his departed friend. “I would like to think that I wouldn’t, now that I’ve regular potion I’m mindful to take...but I very nearly did hurt Sirius, once. I am not the cute sort of puppy, Jessie.”

Jessie’s head tilted in some confusion. “Um...how?” Sara translated, “How could you almost hurt Sirius? He isn’t born yet.”

“Born yet?”

Jessie nodded. _Two springs, it isn’t a joke, it’s Sirius!_

“I believe Jessie means to say...you and Nymphadora are to name your future child after Sirius,” Narcissa offered with amusement, Hermione grasping the older Witch’s forearm with some anticipation. “Darling?” she asked quietly.

“Jessie... _is_ that what you’re saying? Dora and Remus name their baby _Sirius?_ Their little boy born _two_ Springs from now?” Hermione pressed.

_Yes!_

“Oh my God! We saved-!” she turned a bit, looking to Narcissa, “a-at least I think that means…if Jessie’s _Seeing..._ ” she offered up a few pertinent memories that...oh they tore at Narcissa’s heart, the grief and isolation she’d felt...rather consistently, traveling the countryside on the run and in search of Horcruxes. She had apparently gone to great effort to reach out to Nymphadora, offer her sympathies for the loss of her father...and not long before the manor, she received response in which the woman informed that while there could be no great ceremony for her father, she was considering honoring him by naming her son ‘Teddy’. They were uncertain if Jessie’s visions were a thing set in stone but...that there was so much certainty in their child's name, when the couple was wholly uncertain such a child would ever be conceived? Spoke to fate and the certainty of destiny. If the Future spoke and told Jessie their future child’s name would be Sirius? It mostly likely meant it was because Teddy Tonks was alive and well, using his name well enough on his own, he needn’t his grandson to bear it for him.

“...I believe your conclusion to be sound,” Narcissa nodded, looking to her sister who readily allowed her access to her mind to press confirmation, that this was some sign of her husband’s survival. She reached for her husband’s hand, the man smiling and bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles as he looked bemused at his daughter’s frantic insistance of,

“Woah woah woah wait! _Me?_ Have a _baby?_ I _am_ the baby, thank you very much, I can’t even remember to do my own teeth cleansing charms before bed!” Nymphadora assured, though, “...strange Seer baby is right about um...love I am serious about sitting with you.”

“It’s not a joke?” Remus offered with some mirth.

“...no?”

“It’s Sirius,” Narcissa and her sister spoke in unison, sharing...something of a giggly, giddy laugh. Oh Merlin, Teddy’s survival felt certain and Dromeda having a grandson named after their mischievous chaotic cousin? The woman was doomed in the best of ways.

Oh. It was a blessed Christmas indeed. Dora and Remus dearly appreciated the gift of a couple’s trip, set for a secluded resort geared toward rest and relaxation for them to enjoy while Remus recovered from his pending moon-time. Hermione’s idea, and Narcissa’s funding. The man blushed fiercely, insisted it was too much...as his fiancee gladly took the resort passes and itinerary in hand and thanked her favorite Auntie and…’Step-Auntie’ Dora said, a bit smug as she looked to Draco who met her teasing with a glare before the woman and her fiance took their leave as...yes, the moon would be high and prompt his change and as docile as potion would make him? He was more than due his privacy and peace of mind, changing in the comfort of a cut off location where he knew well he could be of harm to none if something went wrong.

Their presents of a training Wand for Jessie and enchanted cloth nappies for Gabbrielle...more a present for her parents, but she would likely prefer being dry and clean continuously instead of having to give voice to her discomfort. And she and Hermione together made purchase of Opera tickets for the Whitakers, dinner reservations secured on their behalf. Mike and Sara got the offer of their child minding while the two enjoyed dinner and their choice of movie, there was an aspect to non-magical shopping Hermione had introduced Narcissa to, it was utterly delightful—gift cards. They paid off the expense of a movie viewing and snacks to accompany it, and in exchange they received a card to gift the couple, to be presented at the venue to use in lieu of currency. Dobby and Jinsey were excited to receive matching attire, what looked akin to formal Wizard’s dress robes that they might wear on what could be offered of a proper date, it would...not likely be accepted, House Elves being _served_ in a restaurant, but they could freely enjoy what atmosphere could be provided in the Room of Requirement, enjoy dinner cooked by the Witches who would gladly serve them.

Andromeda...seemed reticent when it came time to receive her own gift, she was nervous Narcissa might push her vault key on her before the others, pressure her into accepting it. The thought...had crossed her mind, but no, she would do no such thing to her sister, she understood...on a level, why she refused her family’s once withheld wealth. She’d sought to offer the key some weeks ago, her Present self had, and Andromeda had flown into an outrage over the offer thinking it belittling. She supposed it might seem as such, Narcissa hadn’t intended to press something painful.

_“If this is because I’ve lost my Ministry clients, you- ugh! I’m_ fine _, Narcissa I have...other patients!” the woman bitingly, if not a bit unconvincingly, insisted._

_“...Dromeda, this is because your vault is rightfully_ yours, _what are you talking about?”_

_“I..._ sh _it,” her sister sighed, slumping in her seat. “You...didn’t know.”_

It was through no fault of her own she lost a great deal of her clientele, the Ministry upped requirements of Healers treating their staff...that required levels of education that had been provided to Andromeda over dual decades of experience...but that education was not _formal._ Even her husband and daughter were not to see her for so much as a sniffle. She assured she was getting by and...seeking other realms of employment, if not the Ministry, Healers were needed everywhere. Her experience had to be worth _something._

And in the meantime, the woman would enjoy the early edition of a Wizarding medicinal journal not set to be circulated for another few months, and her husband was rather ecstatic with the book on audiotape, he prefered listening to stories, some mystery novella he could enjoy through a cassette player, an offer of an enjoyable night in while they’d their home to themselves with Nymphadora taking leave for her weekend with Remus.

She was terribly excited to bestow her Dragon’s Christmas present, relieved that when she broached the subject with Andromeda and Teddy they were unoffended. They’d provided so well for her son when he was disinherited, the Cleansweep they made purchase of was dearly cherished by her son, and reticent as she was about Quidditch...she accepted her child’s love of the sport and wanted him to have the best...imbued likewise in protections. Her sister and brother-in-law held no qualms with her gifting her son a certificate he could use to send his Cleansweep to its manufacturers and have it professionally spelled for upgrade, to hold the same speed and abilities as the latest Firebolt, charmed extra protections to aid him should he...oh gods, should he crash or entertain some such danger astride his broom, he could be shielded in an impact, cushioned in a fall. Her son regarded the present with some relief, smiling as he opened his present and,

“...thank you, mother. I’m...I know it was probably a lot of trouble for you to go though, to save my old broom and get it to me, but...well, you understand. Obviously,” Draco said, waving the thin engraved parchment in his hand, “I um...I do appreciate the thought, but I’m glad you get why I’ve continued using the Cleansweep Auntie and Uncle Teddy got me.”

Narcissa’s brow furrowed with some confusion. “Darling...I’m sorry, what is this about your old broom?”

“...you...you sent it to me? It just showed up anonymously in the Owl Post, maybe a week after your um...divorce,” he snorted softly, “respelled and charmed six ways to Sunday, uhh...if I wasn’t already disinclined to use the broom father got me, having it imbued with something that keeps the broom upright, automatically flips you if you turn upside down? That’s...something I prefer to do of my own power, I wouldn’t want to fall out of practice being able to do that on my own, so I’m glad you left that off with this.”

...well she admittedly hadn’t realized there _were_ such features available, damn. Protections her son might well deny in any case...but that was not necessarily the pressing issue. Lucius forbade her from touching anything save her own clothing and possessions, books from the library. Anything considered Draco’s had been rather well disposed of save...yes she did not know why, but Draco’s broom had been spared his ire. The man had been in a pique of rage when she regained consciousness after Draco’s defection, Lucius had been raging in their son’s former quarters blasting furniture, tossing broken pieces to crash against marble walls, shredding every scrap of clothing or parchment, rending books to the point they were crumbling burning piles of parchment and leather. She...hadn’t been very cognizant in the moment, she’d been leaning quietly in the doorway watching with something akin to all-consuming numbness, it shielded her from the certainty of danger, the knowledge that she should make herself scarce while he was in such a state, but when he reached for her Dragon’s most treasured possession her mouth opened to protest but...her voice had been well lost to her, screamed to a state nothing more than some quiet creaking sound cracked in the back of her throat.

_“Ungrateful, worthless, pathetic waste of a son!” Lucius was bellowing as he took the broom in hand, his other moving to take the opposing end and break it, snap it in half but that hand faltered, shook as the other tightened its grip on the broomstick and a shuddering, breathless, “My son...my son, what…” he swallowed, looking about the room with some horror as if he hadn’t realized how much damage he was truly unleashing. His gaze fell on her and she dropped her stare to the floor before he asked, “Where...where is he, Narcissa?” breath trembling, something that almost sounded like a sob in his chest._

_She had to swallow, moisten her throat before she could rasp out in a voice so brittle she barely recognized it as her own as she swore yet again, “I do not know. I...I did not know he was planning to defect, husband, I promise.”_

_Lucius was silent a moment before he called, “Jinsey.” Oh gods, she was free now, Narcissa prayed she-_

_The blessed Elf appeared the moment she was called, the ribbon that freed her still tucked cleverly in the folds of her sackcloth dress. “Whatever Master is needing, Jinsey can be doing!”_

_“Clean up this mess,” Lucius ordered hollowly, not looking at the Elf as he held out the broom, “and get this out of my sight.”_

She had wondered later, when she and the Elf were alone as Lucius stormed from their home to seek to appeal to the Dark Lord, plan retaliation for his son’s betrayal, planning Narcissa had been forbidden from attending. She’d been utterly exhausted, wrung out, lying down with a warm mug of tea resting on her nightstand, lying on her side with Jinsey at her back gently brushing her hair, and she questioned where Jinsey had taken her son’s broom.

_“Jinsey is free but...Jinsey isn’t being knowing if she should be saying. It is old promise with Master, sometimes there is being things...he gives Jinsey and tells her to get them ‘out of his sight’ and it is being meaning to hide them from him. Jinsey isn’t to be telling Master where she puts things, she isn’t to be speaking of it with him,” she explained, considering it momentarily. “There is...old cupboard, small, it was being for House Elf storage Jinsey is thinking, but old Elves kept it clear when Jinsey saw it when she would be being visiting, when Mistress visited Master in courtship? They was being saying they kept it empty, because young Master Lucius was always being hiding from Master Abraxas in Elf cupboard until he was being too big to fit, Master Abraxas was never being looking there. Master Lucius is knowing about cupboard but...he is being so much like old Master, Jinsey is thinking he wouldn’t look in House Elf places. So she is being hiding Master’s hidden things there.”_

Narcissa was never certain the thinking behind a great deal of what her husband did. She was fearful if she disturbed this strange hiding place he might realize it, punish her for seeking to know what he was ordering Jinsey to safekeep. Jinsey listed what she could remember from over the years, it all ranged from sentimental to ridiculous sounding in Narcissa’s opinion. When they were first wed, and this promise was struck between he and Jinsey, he did so with a box of possessions that contained his reading glasses, a small, well-worn book of poetry, sonnetts they used to enjoy together, pictures...still ones, Narcissa hadn’t gotten the name of the style until her time with Hermione, but they were ‘polaroids’, from an adventure into Muggle London they’d taken in absolute secrecy in their youth that their parents could absolutely never know about for all it had been innocent, love-sick fun, walking unfamiliar streets without a care in the world in a place they would go unrecognized, eating at a muggle-run bistro they themselves could only abide for its secrecy from the magical world and too it had been the caliber they were used to, a small, well-classed place with appetizers that cost what some people made in a day's work, shopping and strolling, the most scandalous thing they did was enjoy some sugary confection called ‘shaved ice’ from a _cart_ but colorful dessert had caught both their eyes and Lucius mustered up the ability to go and order from the elderly sun-tanned man who, apparently, when Lucius informed him he was making purchase for himself and his beautiful fiancee, received congratulations on their pending nuptials, the muggle had spoken blessing to their union and given him their dessert free of charge. There was also...

Well it was something that had bothered Narcissa, since Jinsey informed her but...over the years...she’d seen it herself, her Dragon coming to she and Lucius with some prized drawing or homework or work of magic in tangible form that he would present his parents and...she thought the man throwing the things away before their son, Draco built on the ability to hold back tears in the face of rejection from the practice his father had of scowling at something he offered with excitement and then...yes, he always called Jinsey she realized now, asked that she get the offending item out of sight and...Narcissa now knew that such things had been safekept. And she did not know what to do with that information. She...did not know what to do with Lucius returning her Dragon’s broom...imbued with protections she herself had wished for him to have. _Why_ was he conducting himself as such? Aiding the Order, saving their son from capture...returning formerly treasured possessions that...could be an act to lure her son into some trap by endearing him seeking false reconciliation but...but then why return them anonymously? Was it to imply his mother had returned them? Was it hexed with some subtleness that would harm her son in some way, make him believe she had done as much?

“Mother?” her son’s voice drew her attention back to the present moment.

“I apologize, I lost myself to thought,” she said, shaking her head and offering a smile. “I’m so glad you are pleased, my heart, Happy Christmas,” she wished him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before beckoning Harry closer.

Harry was utterly delighted with his presents from the Witches. Present and Future versions had entertained something of a switch. With the Future’s struggles with relearning how to brew for herself with her magic’s changes in response to ingredients, and translating that into potion that would work for Harry to give him restful sleep, allow him to still maintain dreams of his godfather but only of the pleasant sort, her Present self had taken up the task of researching on that front, she’d more easy access to ingredients and experimenting on herself was easier as she was entirely familiar with how she responded to different ingredients and could better work from her experience to find a solution that would work for Harry’s magic, and so that would be presented to him tomorrow, at the Weasleys, when his present from the Present Narcissa arrived. The Present Narcissa’s original thought for a Christmas gift was an idea for Harry she’d not the time to research, unfortunately, but...it was easily done by the Future’s, especially working in tangent with the Future’s Hermione. So the Future’s Narcissa was the one who brought the idea to life and presented it to Harry on Christmas Eve. It was a charm, to be plied to his spectacles.

“...I’m kind of getting a sense of dejavu,” Harry said as he looked to Narcissa seated before him as they gathered together around the Christmas tree, the Witch had her wand in hand, pointed at his glasses and...his mind bore his first memory of her darling, in her First Year, repairing Harry’s broken glasses.

“I am offering a correction to your lenses. Do let me know if it requires adjustment of any sort,” she intoned before casting upon them with some excitement and waiting for the boy to see just what such a charm did.

“...um...it’s really great, thanks!” Harry assured...having not a single clue just what her spell had done, but that sorted, as no one else had spoken yet.

“What did it do?” Draco wondered with some curiosity, Harry startling when he looked to his boyfriend as he spoke, “Harry?”

“...someone else talk! Or you can keep talking, just someone talk!”

“Well hell babe,” Harry whipped his head to look to Sara as she addressed him, “I can talk your ear off if you want, God didn’t install my mouth with an ‘off’ switch.”

“When I look at people I can see what they’re saying! There’s like...subtitles or something?” he said, looking to Narcissa for explanation.

“Precisely. When you look at someone speaking loudly enough your ears hear it, your spectacles are charmed to offer transcription of their words for you to read, process visually instead of audibly alone. Overlapping voices should offer differing colors of font, and if you wish, my Present self can be given instruction on how to attune your glasses to respond to being in the classroom, transcribing what your Professors are saying in lecture, even when they are out of view.”

Oh! The boy hugged her rather fiercely in thanks, humming with the effort. “Thanks m- er, Miss Black. Narcissa.” oh his face felt warm against her neck, it was heart melting the slip up, she didn’t wish to press it, it might truly have been corrected because it was some misfire when his words went from his mind to his mouth, oh but she did hoped this boy did someday claim her as a mother...in law, at the very least, if not merely a motherly figure in his life.

“Of course, you are absolutely welcome, my darling,” she assured, pressing a kiss to raven curls.

“We want to talk it over with you, if you’d like to have something like that made for Jessie?” Hermione gently offered to Sara, Mike, “It’ll take some adjusting, but it’s doable. And we’ve been experimenting with something that might work for Mike too. It would need something to vibe off of magically, like...a magical battery, but the fact you’re always surrounded by a little magic should help. Jessie isn’t reading yet so it mightn’t be something to implement right away, but...associating what he can pick up with lip reading, with words he can see might teach him,”

_Do you think you’d like something like that, bug?_ Sara Signed to her son and when he nodded with some eagerness, she grinned Signing _I mean I think it’d be hilarious, ‘wait, I can’t hear, let me put on my glasses first!’_ Jessie giggled at the bit of mischief that was, it would confuse his non-magical acquaintances most certainly. She turned to her husband seated at her back, the man was thinking the matter over for himself, he’d not been paying attention to his son and wife’s exchange but when she asked, _Babe?_

_Yeah. Lip reading can be hit-or-miss, subtitles would be pretty incredible. But uh...you’re sure you could handle me in glasses all the time?_

“...you two are still experimenting, right? We uh, won’t be expecting a breakthrough before the New Year?” Sara wondered.

...the thought crossed Hermione’s mind, that she well understood, as she’d some weakness for Narcissa when she’d her spectacles on, she could sympathize with Sara fearing it would interfere with her goals not to add to their household in the near future if her husband suddenly had cause to wear glasses so often. She shook her head, “I don’t think so, we’re still figuring out how to get it to work for Jessie, Mike’s variation will be based off of that, so, you’ve got time before your impending doom.”

“Oh, thank God,” Sara breathed a sigh of relief.

Narcissa would be relieved when they found a solution. The issue at hand was that their spell for Harry relied upon his range of hearing, his ears picking up on sound his glasses offered accurate transcription for, so even as he might _hear..._ the boy used to think the phrase was ‘to be pacific’ instead of ‘specific’, he might mishear the phrase but now he would _see_ the correct word. They either needed a nearly entirely different spell...or something that could pick up sound, magically, use that in lieu of Jessie’s range of hearing. She’d some inspiration, from Andromeda’s memories, actually, that of she and Bellatrix’s spying, she’d a spell that charmed a cup to ‘hear’ the sounds in one place, to transfer that sound to a cup on her person elsewhere. Unfortunately, Andromeda did not know the spell their sister used...in fact it might be of her own creation as reconnaissance spells were often spirited away by the Ministry, kept even from the Restricted Section of Hogwarts’s library, edited out of tomes that held them, so they could not be used by the general population. She’d shared with her Present Self, her plans, to...aid Bellatrix, help her survive the coming year no worse for wear, from being something of a punching bag for the Dark Lord’s ego, appeal to her on a level of sisterly protection, return some of the favor Bella had earned in their youth so that perhaps...she might be more reticent to lay harm on Hermione...especially at Narcissa’s behest. She’d likewise shared her need for this particular spell, her Present Self endeavored not to jeopardize the work the Future Narcissa had executed, in writing their deranged sister in care and warning, and...worked to resume something of a more open candor with the woman. Her time in Azkaban had gone without contact from any and all, almost the whole of Draco’s life, the sisters had been cut off from one another and Bella post-Azkaban was a feral, near-unrecognizable thing, like the Dementors had picked clean every last palatable part of her very soul. It was a tentative, delicate thing, but the Present Narcissa had taken to attempting catching moments with her sister whenever she need report directly to the Dark Lord. That was not difficult...the Present’s Narcissa well knew Voldemort resided in Malfoy Manor, but she was not _meant_ to know. She was not within the realm of people permitted to know his location, as her work within the School left her interacting with the likes of Albus Dumbledore, and it wouldn’t do for the Order’s leader to know Voldemort’s whereabouts, now would it? So her ‘direct’ reports were direct to her sister. Bellatrix would arrange their meeting discreetly, through writing her via the floo, pouring blood from her Marked skin into floo powder as the Future’s Narcissa had done to contact Severus when they first arrived from the future. Narcissa would be given a time and location, usually some measure of sisterly insult that...always made her stomach quake at the amount of blood her sister was spilling to taunt her for loss of her marriage, her son...occasionally for being ‘mummy and daddy’s littlest mistake’, akin to the way Andromeda teased her, which heartened the Future Narcissa, at the very least. Their last such meeting...none of their meetings felt like they necessarily went _well_ but it was just a few days before Hogwarts Winter Hols. The Future’s Narcissa had written her sister just the day prior, so the Present’s was met with…

_Bellatrix awaited her in the midst of a rolling field of tall, dry grass, withered from Winter’s chill and beaten down, submitted to lie flat beneath the snow that crunched under Narcissa’s boots when she landed from her untraceable method of teleportation, appearing before her sister who stood...ramrod straight, fists clenched at her sides, wand gripped so tightly she could hear the threat of creaking wood waiting to_ snap. _Her expression was usually held with some manic sort of pure anger or levity, but tonight she was scowling, putting her entire face into the effort, brow wrinkled, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, frowning lips pursed like she’d tasted something foul, even her hair had lost some of its usual height, the wild raise it had was gone her curls hung heavy...weighed down by either whatever mood she was experiencing, or grease. Perhaps both._

_“Bellatrix. Lovely location you’ve picked,” she startled and then stilled herself, endeavoring not to move a single muscle save for that which was used to shift her gaze so she might roll her eyes at the sister pressing her wand harshly against her throat._

_“Greetings, Cissy,” Bellatrix seethed. “Here to report in, or do you have any other_ helpful _little suggestions you’d like to give me?” her wand pressed harder on ‘helpful’ which was not, for Narcissa’s ease of breathing, but she managed, offering no sign of discomfort. She’d not a clue what the woman was on about but she was certain her Future self was somehow involved and...she was endeavoring to be a woman of her word._

_“No, I’m certain I’ve said what I will on the matter. As for my report, it will be brief. There’s nothing, Miss Parkinson has made no progress with the Cabinet, but the tears I’ve absolutely shed on the matter have yet to flood Hogwarts and sweep it into the lake for the Giant Squid’s consumption so...the building at large still stands, at the very least, for our Lord’s taking...eventually.” Never, and it was a rich form of defiance to think as much in the safety secured behind her faux wall._

_“Oh I can make you cry, Cissy. I’ll make you weep buckets, wish you’d never been born if you_ ever _think you can convince me to poison myself. To spare me from our Eminence? Please,” she scoffed. “You know you’ve been the real nut-case between the two of us.”_

_“I’ll be sure to inform the Prophet,” she drawled, “‘Breaking-News: Bellatrix Black the Stabelist Sister, Narcissa’s Sanity In Question’.”_

_Bella snorted loudly, “Yeah that sounds like something that Skeeter bitch’d write. Hmm...I wonder if they’d let me pose nude for the front page...”_

_“You’re a wanted criminal, Bellatrix.”_

_“Why else would I pose nude? Gotta give the people what they want.”_

_“...not that sort of wanted, and you know that well.”_

_“See? There you go again talking batty,” and just when Narcissa thought it was the continuation of her obnoxious sense of humor, her sister claimed, “just the other night you’re sending me Passing-Pox Potion and telling me to take it if I fear I’m ‘to be violated’. I don’t fear shit, so jot that down-”_

_“I haven’t a quill.”_

_“-and you’re running around contradicting yourself. I’m either ‘unwanted’ or wanted so bad I might be,” she scoffed, “violated for it? That’s what we’re calling it?”_

That _was what her Future Self forewarned? That Bella could expect some...violation was vague, but she would not be, if it was something abhorrent, she felt certain her future self would give a more definitive name, violated was the term Bella herself used when...there had been the rare occasion her sister spoke in seriousness, before her first year leaving their home for her schooling, Bella had been in her Third Year, Narcissa preparing to depart for her first and only year at the Première Académie of Unseen Arts as a permanent resident...she’d only commuted, been Apparated from their home, to class, and returned afterward, on father’s insistence. He had likewise...given into mother’s insistence that she be sent to stay abroad, in the year of her schooling that fell after Nymphadora’s murder. Bella had sat Narcissa down in their home’s library and sharply intoned...she must absolutely remain on guard, not trust anyone, and should anyone seek to touch her inappropriately, ‘violate’ her, Apparation License be damned, she was to write Bella immediately and she would come and correct whomever offended._ “No one’s to touch you on your,” _she’d gestured vaguely to her own chest,_ “or your,” _she pointed with a downward index finger, offering a swift, upward-pitching whistle._ “Asses are only okay if it’s friendly, you’re in charge of deciding if it is or not though. Never friendly if it's someone older than you. Any sort of touchin’ don’t feel right? It probably isn’t. If they try to convince you it is? It definitely isn’t. Jinx ‘em, hex ‘em, I don’t give a damn, you get me their name, and it’ll be dealt with. Anyone violates you? They answer to me,” _and then,_ “Oi, ‘drommy, we had this talk, didn’t we?” _Bella called over her shoulder._

_Their sister stepped out from behind a bookshelf where she’d been listening, uninvited until now, endeavoring to look bored as she flipped through a book, that must truly be boring as she’d grabbed it and opened it upside down but committed to the act before her sisters, nonchalant as she said,_ “Yes, Bella dear, we did.”

“Then why the fuck are you letting Tonks bad-touch you?”

“We just hold hands!” _Andromeda insisted, blushing fiercley, chastising,_ “And don’t say fuck in front of Cissy.”

“You just did!” _Bella defended._

“Because you just did!”

“Because _you_ just did!” _their eldest sister insisted._

“That isn’t- that doesn’t make sense-” _Andromeda growled._ “I hate you.”

_Bella grinned._ “And my work here is done.”

_Now Narcissa supposed there’d been a switch of role, her Future Self warning their sister not to abide sexual misconduct. “Violation isn’t about want, Bella, it is about power. Heed my warning or don’t, no matter the case...should something happen, you’re to come to me.”_

_“Ohh, watch out everyone, Cissy to the rescue!” Bellatrix cackled, sighing with her amusement before she assured, “I can take care of myself, thanks.”_

_“You’ve always been resourceful,” Narcissa supposed, “I would recommend perhaps you implement that old charm you used to use, for eavesdropping? To hear if you are about to walk into a situation you’d wish to avoid.” She’d been about to ponder at the incantation for such a spell, a vye to get the information for her Future Self but,_

_“That again? Ohh I see, all this is just to convince me to let my little spell slip? Well, my answer’s still the same, the incantation? It’s ‘fuck off’.”_

Yes, well, Bellatrix hadn’t penned any response to be returned to Narcissa save in that one instance when the woman sent her something with an air of casualness, merely inquiring how she survived their father’s study, so she might implement something similar on her mission at Hogwarts, perhaps eavesdrop on the Headmaster. She’d recieved a short, not-so-sweet, ‘Fuck off’ then, so at least for all the woman was insane, she was consistent. Both Narcissas hoped Bellatrix kept guard of herself. The Future’s wasn’t certain how Yule this year would play out, but if it was anything resembling the one she endured? Dark Wizards were handsy when they were drunk, high on Yule-tide liveliness, had the flippant permission of a Witch’s husband to assess his bride for themselves. Bella had spoken then, as if she wished for such attention but that could have easily been pandering or jealousy, misconceiving the treatment as something special that would feel distinctly otherwise, Narcissa was certain, if Bella received as much this year, the sole Witch in Malfoy Manor. The following year’s Yule, Narcissa had been well prepared, made Passing-Pox Potion for herself, knowing well they would none of them so much as suggest at touching her, but even the Dark Lord had suffered the depressing atmosphere that overtook Wizarding England in that time, though that had been sulking at a lack of success in capturing Harry Potter, than in the sorry state he’d set the world in. It was swift setting, it took less than a minute to start a breakout of pox not unlike those that came with Dragon-Pox, once imbibed. She just prayed Bella did not throw it out, or better yet, had no need of it.

Narcissa’d no need of any such escape method, even as Witch’s were every bit as handsy, first by taking hold of Narcissa’s hand as their gift-giving came to an end...with the last of the presents for their loved ones offered, Hermione smiled, something shy, faux-wall and Occlusion in full effect as she met Narcissa’s gaze and said, “Your present’s upstairs, if you’d like to open it?”

Oh, it admittedly took some effort to contain her excitement, she was absolutely uncertain what her present could be, she could...think of several things her love would do for her upstairs, but that hardly denoted the assistance of others, their presence given everyone was rising to follow them, so...it would be nothing sexual in nature, which rather well robbed her of her feasible guesses, and she was desperate to know. Though, “Certainly, darling. But I’ve likewise a present for you, it requires no change of venue.”

“Oh! Right,” she smiled, laughing at herself as she shook her head, she’d all but forgotten, in her excitement to gift Narcissa something, that she would be gifted in turn. “You got me something?”

“Of course,” Narcissa warmly returned, summoning the gift box into her hands to offer it to the Witch at her side. She was admittedly nervous, hoped the younger Witch would delight in it, be cheered to have access to such an item again without the negative associations of her time traveling the countryside in what was supposed to be her Seventh Year of schooling. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

Oh, the younger Witch beamed at that, seemed so very excited, she wriggled a bit in place before accepting the box in her hands and untying the ribbon so she could pull free the lid, and to the woman’s absolute relief, her smile widened, eyes alight as she looked to her, “Narcissa!” she cried, setting the box down to reach in and take up its contents, a shimmering bag seemingly woven in silver, a replacement for the beaded bag she’d owned before near matching in design, even charmed in kind, save for a few improvements in both material and spellwork. “This is _beautiful_ ,” she assured, assessing, “you enchanted it yourself,” she was delighted to find, hugging the bag to her chest, pleased to have something akin to her watch that bore Narcissa’s magic close at hand. 

“I did. It is imbued with an undetectable expansion charm, as...the one lost to you was, save...you needn’t cast to summon its contents. It works purely from intent, will take an immeasurably miniscule amount of magic to call what it is you desire from it, into your hand.”

“The spellwork alone is...God, Narcissa, this is _incredible,”_ the girl insisted, leaning forward to press a grateful kiss to the woman’s lips. “Thank you.”

She was admittedly excited for the little continuation of her present she’d planned for the coming days. The bag itself bore them, for either her darling to find or Narcissa to reveal to her, things...Hermione wasn’t one to be placated by presents, but presents that were more so acts of thoughtfulness was another matter and Narcissa would seek to use them to cheer her over the coming days. Christmas Eve...Christmas, the days between until the New Year. These would all bear painful reminder she was not spending this time with her parents, even this morning...the girl occasionally showered for work but the woman had interrupted her more so because it seemed the Witch had taken it as a cover to have a private cry, she’d been swift to rise, turn her face away from Narcissa when she woke and sought the bathroom. The older Witch gave her a moment before seeking to...placate her own desires that built at thought of the younger Witch bathing, but also to cheer her. She planned to maintain that practice, offer sweetness, shows of affection both physical and...well, physical in the form of littler presents, to give Hermione pleasant holiday memories and keep her from dwelling on the things that could lay her devastated.

“This is really sweet, I love it,” Hermione assured, and then, “...are you ready for your present?” she loosed an excited squeak when Narcissa nodded, rising to her feet and bringing Narcissa with her, setting an eager pace for the stairs.

For all it was Narcissa’s surprise, Hermione gasped as she found something unexpected and said, “Mike, you beautiful bastard, that’s brilliant,” as they took in the sight of...the door to the office, coated in a layer of silvery wrapping paper, a large emerald green bow pinned high, centered.

_Not me_ , Mike Signed as Dobby appeared, his arms secure around Jinsey to transport them upstairs as the man continued, _I didn’t decorate the door._

“Jinsey was being making Mistress’s present festive!” the Elf cheerily informed, “Since she isn’t being unwrapping things, just opening office door.”

“Jinsey! That’s brilliant, I love it!” Hermione praised, Jinsey blushing. She looked to Narcissa, “Okay, ready?” Oh Merlin, she did not give any hint to what lay beyond the door save...that now that they were before it, her darling was absolutely nervous, that Narcissa mightn’t like it nearly as much as Hermione had thought she might.

...an utterly ridiculous notion. Stars _above._

Narcissa took hold of the door handle, and opened it to reveal that on the desk directly before the window overlooking the garden...sat a computer monitor, mouse, and keyboard, it’s tower seated on the floor alongside the desk.

“You...you got me a computer,” Narcissa breathed.

“N-not to discourage you from going to the library or anything, you can still- you can do anything that you want to but I thought, you know,” Hermione rambled nervously, “sometimes you might like writing here or typing up your chapters when you can’t get into the library because um, it’s closed or we’ve had some sort of emergency or something, I mean when I was hurt you didn’t get to post for a few weeks because you didn’t have access to a computer and if...if it’s dumb I can cancel with the internet company-”

Further ridiculous notion was lost to her as Narcissa took its maker ransom, lips over Hermione’s for what she hoped was interruption of a most welcome sort, she’d been rambling, not working to communicate clear thought. She wished to bring them internet access? That was, well this was all rather a great deal more than what Narcissa had been expecting, Merlin! “It is _incredible,_ darling, and I absolutely love it. _Thank you_.”

Hermione relaxed entirely, letting out a happy hum as she rested her forehead against Narcissa’s shoulder momentarily before pulling back to wish her a soft, “Happy Christmas, Narcissa.”

“Happy Christmas, my love.”

She and Hermione, Sara had gathered on the couch with Jinsey, Draco and Harry, to watch (or re-watch, in Narcissa and Sara’s case) the Christmas episode of Xena, the others were entertaining some music from the radio, jazzy Christmas tunes that John had pulled Violetta along to dance to, inspired Teddy to dance with his own wife, Mike swaying alongside his parents with Gabrielle in one arm and Jessie on his hip. It was by this time...Hermione had enjoyed a drink before dinner, a second during, and she’d only just finished her third which prompted Harry to chuckle softly and conspire to Draco, “Watch out for Hermione dance-pants*.”

Ahh yes, when the girl wasn’t pressed for a fourth drink in swift succession, either by stress or...Narcissa perhaps encouraging her to summon her besotten, utterly delightful flirtatious nature, she apparently could not resist making dance even if there was a lack of music. There was no such lack, and she set her empty glass on the coffee table, rose up and clapped her hands together before Signing as she spoke, “Jessie! Let’s boogie babe, show your Auntie Andy your sick moves.”

_Down down down!_ Jessie signed eagerly to his father who set the toddler on his feet as Hermione joined him, both by standing alongside the boy and in copying his bouncing excited form of dance...to a jazz rendition of ‘Silent Night’. A nonsensical song, for all it was of some mythos, was not the babe mentioned in its lyrics being hunted and wanted for death by some jealous King? His mother should not have been seeking peaceful rest, in fact Narcissa was certain she must have been endeavoring to find the strength to flee with her child, formidable, for having just given birth...though if it was December then she would be well recovered wouldn’t she? Having had her son in the Spring? But...celebration of his birth took place in Winter...that of his death in the Spring, so...it was all rather morbid and confused. Catholicism seemed an utterly baffling pastime to Narcissa.

Narcissa’s only forewarning came in that Harry patted her son on the knee and said, “Uh...we best get to bed, shouldn’t we? We have to get up early.”

“Do we?”

“Doesn’t really matter, you don’t want to be here for fourth-drink Hermione, you’ve never met her...I think she’s great, you might not feel that way though. She’s um…”

The episode had nearly drawn to a close, when Hermione drew near again and resumed her seat- ahh. No, took one not at Narcissa’s side, but directly in her lap...facing her, straddling the older Witch, fourth drink in hand as her arms rested on Narcissa’s shoulders and she grinned at the woman, greeting, “Heeeeey.”

“That. She’s that,” Harry said, taking his boyfriend’s hand, Draco rising without question and following the raven-haired Wizard upstairs and away from the couch where Narcissa sat...utterly bemused, fighting a smile as her darling made play with a lock of the older Witch’s hair.

“Guuuess what? I got you another Christmas present. Mike!” she waved a hand, albeit clumsily, it took a bit more focus for her to Sign, with more ease than she spoke, “Mike doesn’t have to set it up! You did such a good job with set up I- I’m the Brime- the Brightest? The Brightest Witch of an _Age_ but fuck me if I know how computers work.” 

_You could have figured it out, but you’re welcome,_ Mike assured in Sign.

“Sara, I love your husband!” Hermione informed the woman, much too loudly for all Sara was seated right next to Narcissa and the girl had nearly yelled, she lowered her voice to assure, “Not as much as I love Cissa though. I love you so much.”

“As I do you-”

“Shhh, I mean yeah, you’re gonna just, not on the couch in front of the babies! Jessie and Gabbie and baby Jesus, it’s his _birthday!_ Almost. Except- except no it’s not, because- did I tell you the shepherd’s herding patterns denote that it was nearer Spring when he was born? That’s like...that’s definitely not December...wait. Are the months reversed other places? Or is it the seasons? The equator has something to do with it,” she was certain.

“Sweetheart, love that I do this level of your intoxication...you’re much too tired to entertain it without rambling, aren’t you?”

_“You’re_ rambling, pretty lady,” Hermione intelligently returned, using an index finger to ‘bop’ the end of Narcissa’s nose. “C’mon, Christmas present time!”

A further present? Truly? Well, she wouldn’t hold clear memory of her gift giving...she could be more cognizant when she held this level of drunkenness, but Merlin, mixing it with exhaustion set her at a place where four drinks responded akin to if she’d imbibed six or seven. “Would you indulge me in imbibing a bit of Sober-Up?”

That prompted giggling, Hermione leaning forward with her laughter, smiling against Narcissa’s neck a moment before she reared back, the older Witch’s arms around her waist the only thing keeping her seated without falling, “I’m not _driving_ Cissa, it’s just upstairs,” she said, though...as the woman had requested it, she was already clumsily casting to summon a vial...remarkable how a sober Hermione Granger could seek to find potion by hand but in her drunken impatience, her desire not to leave her seat in Narcissa’s lap brought to her mind the fact she could simply _accio_ the potion to herself...potion she sipped from, enough to restore some clarity but not enough to lose the a significant amount of her buzz.

Andromeda was staring at them with open amusement, began cackling as she held onto her husband’s arm for support, Violetta laughing into her hand at Narcissa’s predicament. “As if your husbands do not conduct themselves this way when they are perfectly sober!” Narcissa defended. She looked to Sara, “...you are somehow worse, with Mike.”

“Yeah I am, put four drinks in me and you can watch me fail to meet my goals, free of charge,” the woman winked. Mike squinted as if he’d not quite caught what she said...but was certain it was something that should make him blush, and so he did, for caution's sake, Narcissa supposed. Merlin help them all. 

“Narcisssaaa,” Hermione practically sang her name in her ear, giggling and then seemingly remembering potion still processing to bring her some clarity, “Oh, we have guests. We have to host them or something, I thought...the episode being over would end the night,” she supposed, albeit perplexed...and it...it was then Narcissa saw in the younger Witch’s mind precisely what sort of present she wished to bestow...why she felt the need to invoke the presence of her less reticent, uninhibited drunken self.

“We’ve entertained our guests. Thank you all for coming, you’re free to leave, you’re free to stay. _We_ are retiring, goodnight, Happy Christmas, be blessed!” Narcissa hastily rattled off before disapparating straight upstairs, Hermione in her arms, a peal of giggles in the older Witch’s ears as she cast to ensure with absoluteness that none would hear them as Narcissa delighted in unwrapping the present her darling had for her...taking her wand to those gods awful tights, she was through with them, she needn’t ever wear such a thing ever again as far as Narcissa was concerned. She drew lines that tore the fabric beneath her wand shredding them as Hermione laughed, pressed a grateful kiss to her lips as Narcissa rendered them well ripped and banished them from the Witch’s legs.

“Dumb costume,” Hermione spoke between kisses, Narcissa felt a subtle burn at her lips from her Fire Whisky, “the worst,” she hummed into their next kiss as Narcissa’s hand slid along the soft fabric of her skirt to carress her hip. “Worth it, God, so worth it, just the look on your face…” she smiled warm, Sober-Up settling left her mind more clear, and it was ablaze with adoration from the memory, the way Narcissa kissed her when she was gifted her computer, the way she lit up in the next moment, assuring Hermione she was pleased, she could _feel_ the swell of love Hermione experienced at the sight, oh gods. It set a lump in her throat, tears stinging in her eyes, she should be well used to this but Merlin, somehow just when Narcissa was acclimated to how much this girl loved her, that love only grew, an impossible feat Hermione Granger performed with such regularity Narcissa wondered if she was even trying or if it was somehow a natural progression some diety surely imbued her with solely to astound the older Witch and bless her beyond measure. She rested her forehead against the younger Witch’s.

“You went to such efforts, to do something so sweet just to encourage me in a hobby.”

“It’s a _talent_ , Narcissa. And you enjoy doing it, it brings you so much contentment, makes you so happy, Cissa, you _love_ writing. How could I not encourage that?”

“You took a job the likes of which sound unpleasant, darling, was it truly necessary?” Narcissa asked as she pulled back.

“Didn’t want to dip into the college fund much, and I want to replace what I did use from it so,” she shrugged, “it wasn’t a field of roses but most everyone works a job they hate, not everywhere can be Whitakers…” she worried at her lip, averting her gaze momentarily. “Um...you really aren’t mad about keeping it from you? I just...I didn’t want to ruin the surprise or have you offering to help fund your own Christmas present.”

“I understand...darling, I’m truly unoffended, was there something more? You...you needn’t fear being honest with me.”

“I um...everyone was here when I got home, I planned on pulling you aside to...well, fess up, but also...it’s stupid, small, I’m fine but um…”

_Hermione sighed, tired, but God was she excited to get home. She dropped her costume into the box on the table in the breakroom, glad to be done with the horrible thing._

_“You heading out, Greene?” a gruff, masculine voice questioned from behind her. Roberts. Crap, she thought he was gone already, he usually left early. She tried to be the only one in the breakroom, it was the easiest place to Apparate from, it was one of the few places the mall hadn’t installed cameras for all her co-worker Jeremy swore up and down there was one in the coffee machine. If he wouldn’t leave she’d just...have to walk a bit._

_“Just turning in my uniform.”_

_“All of it?” the pale, portly older man wondered as he came into her eye line, standing alongside Hermione at the table._

_“Yes sir,” she said, with certainty even as she found it strange he’d ask? Their uniforms weren’t anything worth stealing, she’d dropped the shoes in the shoe-box to...hopefully be sanitized before their next use for some poor future Santa’s Helper, everything else went in the clothing box, their tights they had to purchase from their employer, weren’t meant to be returned since...yeah, that wouldn’t be very sanitary to pass from worker to worker season to season, shoes were grody enough in Hermione’s opinion._

_He looked into the box before casting his gaze up and down Hermione’s person, “Guess you did,” he supposed, smirking as he-_

_His palm_ smacked _against her backside, fingers pressing into the fabric of her skirt to rub against her sex, “Shame we don’t make you turn these in,” he said of her tights before he pulled his hand away._

_She wanted...to do several different things, to snap at him, something clever and barbed to put him in his place, to punch or hex him, but her mind blanked on just how one articulated a sentence and yes she could use magic to defend herself but if he decided to get authorities involved, if she messed up? The Ministry came investigating...that could cause problems, expose them, and if she escalated things so might he, he wasn’t the healthiest man but he outweighed her several fold and she was here alone and Narcissa didn’t even know where she was and she just_ froze. _“Yeah.” Yeah? “My family’s expecting me home soon…” she withdrew her mobile from her skirt pocket, pretended to see some notification, “In fact my dad’s in the car waiting out front, so,” she said, stepping away and moving for the door._

_“Happy Christmas, Greene.”_

_“You too,” she called over her shoulder feeling sick, that...she should have done that differently, shouldn’t she? Crap, crap!_

“...Roberts...is this man’s surname, yes? Might I have a first, darling?” Narcissa asked, evenly.

“He’s just some creep, he doesn’t even have magic, if I really put my mind to it I could have done something I just…”

“He put his hands on you, made you feel unsafe,” Narcissa insisted, “Now give me...his name.”

“Larson. Larson Roberts.” Good. Awful name, she would give it to the Phone Oracle and work from there, this would not go without recompense of some sort. “Are...are you mad at me?”

She had learned the term ‘short-circuit’ most recently, and now she realized why it was associated with mental processes, because she felt her brain short-circuit at the inquiry, “...am I mad...at you?”

“For putting myself in that situation? I...I didn’t think about it until something was happening, but it was stupid for me to go off several days a week, someplace where you didn’t even know where I really was, and...God, I said ‘yeah’, wished him Happy Christmas-”

_“You_ did nothing wrong,” Narcissa insisted, lacing fingers with the girl, both hands palm to palm and she used them to pin the younger Witch’s arms alongside her head. “You got yourself to safety, came home to me and that is what is most important. _He_ acted abhorrently, _he_ is the one who touched what wasn’t his. Touched what is _mine,”_ Narcissa all but growled, pressing a kiss to the Witch’s lips, tongue breaching to lay further claim, “sought to _hurt_ what is mine. Made you feel demoralized and ashamed. _He_ should be ashamed. He should be eviscerated from this very earth.”

“That escalated fairly quickly,” she offered, going for lightness but,

“Oh no, it is the level at which I started at, with my ire, he sealed his fate the moment I felt his hand on you.”

“You aren’t really going to kill him are you?”

“I will seek to correct him of his ways.”

“That isn’t a no.”

“Nor should it be. You are _mine_ , and what is more you are a part of my very _heart_ I say I could not love you more and then I find that I do, it is _maddening,_ Hermione, you drive me to _madness_ and yet if I spare this man his life? It will only be because _you_ would not wish me a murderer.”

“Not because of me!”

“It would be because of him, and his actions. But yes, I do understand that you would blame yourself if I acted in such a way and that alone will secure that vile man’s miserable life.” Narcissa pressed a fierce kiss to the younger Witch’s lips, gripping tight the hands in hers before releasing them to caress the lines of her body, trailing along the sides of her jumper before reaching it’s hem and pushing upward, smiling into their kiss when she felt the hard-spined, silken fabric underneath. “You are mine, you are incredible, and beautiful, and _brilliant_ ,” she insisted, kissing at her jaw before dropping another to her neck before she pushed the emerald knitted fabric further, up to pull it off over the Witch’s head to send it sailing behind her, so she might take in the sight of just what this girl had procured for Narcissa’s Christmas. Emerald fabric still covered her, skin-tight...a bit tighter, considering...it was a lace lined, silky Slytherin green corset. Narcissa ran her hands along the fabric before gripping tight her hips, pressing a kiss to the Witch’s neck, the dip at the apex of her collarbone, her breast bone, smirking as in this attire? Her chin met the swell of her breasts, her cleavage, she’d thought there was _something_ different in her lover’s attire, but she thought perhaps it was a different brassiere not a full blown corset. She tilted her face to plant her lips on the offered skin of the Witch’s left breast, teeth testing tempting flesh, and when her darling gasped at the contact she bit more harshly, sucking and then biting further still, working to leave a mark as Hermione’s hands went to thread in Narcissa’s hair, the other sliding along her back before rising to grasp a fistful of the woman’s shirt at her shoulder blade, whimpering as Narcissa cast to rid her of her skirt and pulled back only to lay eyes on lacy green panties. Gods above. She pressed a kiss to the mark she made, worked with it further still as she removed a hand from the girl’s hip, the other keeping it’s hold, tightening it as she stroked at wet panties that...did not thrum with magic, not hers or Hermione’s...they went uncharmed to clear away bleeding which, when she raised her gaze to meet Hermione’s, she confirmed meant her very unwelcomed monthly guest was finally gone, had taken her leave since that morning. Her love would hold no reticence then. Narcissa plied more pressure, index and middle finger pressing circles against the Witch’s sex through her panties, 

“Oh God, Narcissa.”

The woman grinned as she moved to lay claim to her darling’s neck, hand raising to slip under the waistband of her panties and down, palming the mound of smooth skin and dragging her fingers along slick folds, thumb teasing at her clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from the younger Witch, hips twitching and the hand that held them pressed to keep them pinned in place, sending the movement upward, the Witch arching into the woman and a cry of pleasure tore from her throat as the older Witch entered her, gods, she was so wet, so ready, Narcissa carefully ventured with three, her ring finger tucked carefully beneath her index and middle until she was fully inside and certain the added width would be welcome before she slipped it outward, pressing further and deeper before pulling back, pressing forward again, setting a steady pace to match the circling motion of her thumb over Hermione’s clit, rousing the younger Witch toward orgasm until she was gasping and breathless, coiled so tight beneath her Narcissa almost couldn’t stand it on her behalf, and she set a harsher pace, fingers stroking in and out of clenching, twitching walls until they struck home and the Witch clenched around her slick fingers and Hermione loosed something near a scream as she came and Narcissa gave her no break of pace, she stilled a moment before striking harder, jarring the trembling girl’s hips, raising them upward, almost off the mattress as she fucked her further, 

“Oh- Oh God Narcissa, I- oh please I can’t- oh my God-” and then her voice pitched to a scream with, “Oh my _God!”_ when Narcissa cast into her hand, a gentle warming charm that imbued her fingers in her magic and pressed it against the skin she stroked with such ferocity it the girl was still trembling with one orgasm, shaking all the more as another...and one that built in her magic, rose in perfect unison to chase it. “Narcissa! Oh God,” her hands were in Narcissa’s hair pulling the woman upward from her neck to capture her lips in a kiss, moaning and crying out into her mouth as she worked for distraction, something to ground her through overwhelming sensation while seeking to reciprocate to some degree, needless, Narcissa was hardly unaffected by the hold she had on this girl, she felt release of her own wetness seeping from her and she offered her own cry against Hermione’s lips in the split second before they were lost to her because the younger Witch arched upward beneath her, threw her head back, and _screamed._

The woman offered a few more gentler strokes, before she pulled her hand free from soaked panties, bringing them to her lips to taste before she wondered, “Are you quite alright darling?”

“I- I think you’ve killed me? Not sure. Oh my God it’s still…”

“Well my love, magical orgasm can be set to last quite some time.”

“S-s-set?”

“Ten minutes, in this instance.”

“I can’t- I- you- I’m going to feel this for ten-” she let out a smaller cry, “oh God it- it’s amaz- it- it’s so much I can’t- I- I need- oh God, Narcissa I need you to fuck me.” Ahh, physical distraction from the magical? She could provide that well enough, she saw in her darling’s mind precisely what she needed and she was more than willing to oblige...in point of fact…

“Accio Tag HC96,” Narcissa crisply commanded, summoning Hermione’s Christmas present to their quarters, her bag flying into the room to land at Narcissa’s side and she slipped a hand in with her intent clear to call one of the younger Witch’s additional...smaller gifts, into her hand.

It was not...too small.

It was in fact, something of a harness meant to bring both recipient and gifter, a great deal of enjoyment. Hermione was focusing on unbuttoning Narcissa’s blouse while the woman cast to send everything below her waist back to its proper place and then cast the instructional spell that sent her gasping as a belt secured at her hips, and between her legs, something smooth and solid, curved just right to press against the perfect spot settled inside of her to ply pressure, stroke her as the outer shaft of this particular piece of sexual equipment was plied to her wanting darling still trembling, finished ridding Narcissa of her blouse she’d laid back squirming beneath the older Witch with arms over her eyes as she focused to breathe through magical orgasm.

“Please please please,” escaped her lips.

Narcissa grinned as she aligned herself with the younger Witch, and entered her in a smooth motion that pulled a scream of pleasure from Hermione, sent her arms from covering her eyes to her sides, grasping fistfulls of bedding to ground and steady herself as Narcissa held that position a moment adjusting to the fullness she felt, until she bore down to press the part inside her harder against her G spot, the act only pressing what was buried in Hermione deeper still until the woman relented and pulled back pressure laxing inside herself as she fully exited the younger Witch, returning when she entered her once more, as deep as she could, Hermione crying out with the thrust before she pled,

“Oh God yes, N-Narcissa please, fuck me fuck me fuck me- ahh!”

The younger Witch’s arms wrapped around Narcissa’s neck as the woman leaned down and put the whole of her efforts into thrusting into the girl with brutal abandon, encouraged by the litany of “Yes yes yes yes yes,” Hermione breathed into her shoulder as she wept, gulping in breaths of air between thrusts. Narcissa took hold of Hermione’s hips, gripping tight as she cried out with her own orgasm as she fucked herself pleasing her love, helping her through the sensation burning through her magic, Hermione seemed to experience some release at the sound, and she held on tighter to the woman, begging as she worried Narcissa reaching climax might mean some break was due, “Please don’t stop, oh God it- please!”

Narcissa shifted her hold to grasp fistfuls of the girl’s backside, pulling her hips further against her, Hermione crying out praise in response, and then a gutteral scream as their weights were shifted, Narcissa pulling the girl upward to sit up as Narcissa laid back, her head resting just before the edge of the footboard, still inside the younger Witch now seated straddling her, falling foward and catching herself on her elbows on either side of Narcissa’s waist, working to catch her breath before Narcissa’s hands at her backside prompted, guided her to push and pull, rise and fall and fuck herself on the impliment they shared, Hermione resting her hands on the footboard to steady herself as she followed the silent instruction given and began bouncing at a jarring pace that sent sparks flying through Narcissa’s core, until the girl’s arms gave out with little more than a minute left to work through and Narcissa took hold of her hips and slammed her own hips upward thursting up into the younger Witch sucking in air in harsh gasps until a screamed raw voice cried out,

_“Narcissa!”_

The older Witch came...gods a fourth time? A fifth? As Hermione collapsed utterly boneless against her, trembling and catching her breath even as she whispered a rasping, “So good, so good, oh my God, so good,” into Narcissa’s shoulder, puckering her lips to press a kiss there, a gasp escaping her lips when Narcissa cast to rid them of the implement between them and she could rest fully against the older Witch who...gods above they were rather well ruined, weren’t they? She’d no inclination to rise out of bed even if the very house were on fire. She only just found herself capable of casting to ensure they were both of them cleansed, Hermione jerking as her magic brushed against her sex once more, breathing a laugh into the woman’s shoulder.

“Are you alright my darling?” Narcissa questioned with some exhaustion.

“So good, gonna...definitely getting you back just...”

Narcissa succumbed to unconsciousness shortly after her darling trailed off, breathing evening out as she fell asleep against the older Witch.

She did not wake until sunlight was glaring in her eyes, the sound of knocking on her bedroom door and then,

“Mother?”

Narcissa woke fully, gasping as her arms tightened around the Witch in her hold, oh gods, she’d slept in her new attire...delightful but uncomfortable. She shook herself and cast to send corset into a drawer, summoned Hermione’s favored sweatshirt to clothe her darling before she slipped out from under her. She cast to don a long house robe, secured it around herself before she opened the door just enough to peek her face out to see her son.

“Yes good- Dragon good morning,” was that a sentence? It sounded like it, yes.

“Um...we have to head out soon, we’ve made breakfast if you and Hermione would care to join us?” 

“I’ll be down momentarily darling, thank you, sweetheart, for assisting with Breakfast,” she offered, voice soft with sleep as she smiled and the boy nodded.

“Of course, if um...you aren’t down in a bit we’ll send breakfast your way, for you both.”

That...might be what happened. Oh, “Do absolutely make certain we exchange farewells, my heart, I could not stand it if I missed such a thing.”

“Of course, mother,” Draco assured, taking his leave.

Narcissa closed shut the door, leaning against it momentarily, Merlin...if she felt this tired, Hermione might well be comatose until the New Year.

...her Present Self was wide awake and relishing in some unexpected surprise that drew the Future’s focus to forming memories.

On the Present Narcissa’s hearth, scrawled in blood-drawn Floo powder, scars of black burns spelled out every letter of _Auditus Angorio Cette_ , in Bellatrix’s hand.

...forced to hear. The...incantation for her sister’s eavesdropping spell merely forced an inanimate object to _hear_ , and _tell her_. It was so simplistic it spoke of genius and stupidity.

Narcissa was...not certain how well she would remember the incantation, it might hold fast to her mind because it was a memory her Present Self held but she did not wish to run the risk. She summoned pen and parchment, seating herself on the edge of the bed as she jotted it down, Hermione rousing, brow furrowing as she let out something like a soft whine before her eyes cracked open and she saw Narcissa seated at her side.

“Oh, there you are,” a soft smile came to her lips as she peered up at the woman, eyes lidded with sleep as she yawned. “Mmm. What’s on?” she wondered at Narcissa’s writing.

“I’ve something of a breakthrough in our work to enchant transcribed language for Jessie. A spell that would make an object hear sound, imbued with the command to-”

Hermione gasped, eyes alight, wide awake as she pushed herself up, “To _tell you_ what it’s hearing oh my God! Oh! Oh! It could work like- and then we wouldn’t need- Mike’s would be self powered just like Jessie’s it wouldn’t need to pull magic from them to work I don’t think. Accio Subtitled Spectacles notes!”

“...darling, are you setting to work _now?”_

“Why not? Oh, are you still tired? I can work quietly, close the curtains or I can go downstairs- oh! Harry and Draco, they’re leaving- oh, I have an alarm set for that though, so, I’ll know and if you’re resting I’ll wake you,” she promised, and then at the warm gaze Narcissa settled on her without voicing a response, “...what?”

Narcissa leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to the younger Witch’s cheek. “I merely find I absolutely adore you.”

“Oh uh...thanks?” the Witch offered, blushing fiercely, “The feeling’s mutual,” she assured.

“And so it is. Yes, you may work from our bed if you wish,” Narcissa encouraged.

Hermione scooted to sit with her back against the headboard, notes before her, taking the incantation Narcissa had written down and studying it momentarily while the older Witch laid down alongside her, resting against the younger Witch’s side as she worked, Hermione smiled and dropped a kiss to the woman’s hair, taking the ends of a few strands in hand to make idle play as she reviewed what ground they covered with new information in mind. Narcissa settled into her hold, and began to doze off to the sound of quill against parchment, but her mind became restless, not with thought of developing their enchantments but...the pending departure of her son. This had been a wonderful, blessed holiday with her child, to have him residing with her once more? In a _home,_ full of security and love? Seeing him with his sweet boyfriend, meeting her new loved ones, with Hermione? Seeing how well they loved each other? Never had she and her son lived in such continual bliss.

And her son would not be alive to experience as much...without the source of their former domestic discontent. She’d learned such...conflicting things, about Lucius’s recent behavior. It was nothing short of maddening. _What_ was he playing at? What was he planning? Why was he aligning himself with the Order and acting a proper father for once in his life without...seeking to ingratiate Draco to him?

Hermione had held fear of such conflict, in her mind. That Narcissa would find herself feeling confused, ‘gaslighted’ was the term, by Lucius’s conflicting behavior. Conducting himself abhorrently the whole of their marriage only to, the moment he was no longer in control of them, behave more pleasantly, perhaps some trick to regain control of them, lure them back into his influence. She hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of witnessing this conflict, whatever Hermione had witnessed at the Manor in the wake of their divorce, what the girl believed some genuine response to their departure...but after everything? With some months and further confusing information between Narcissa, and Hermione’s misadventure in rescuing her Light Stone?

“Darling.”

“Hmm?” Hermione hummed, dragging her gaze from her arithmancy to look to the older Witch. “Yeah, Cissa? Honey, what is it?” she gently prompted, the hand that had been playing with her hair shifted just slightly to rub Narcissa’s arm in comfort.

“I...once Dragon and Harry are safely on their way, I believe I would like to see your encounter with Lucius, at the manor."

* * *

Pansy Parkinson was having the barmiest holiday, in quite possibly, all of history.

It was barmy, due to the fact that no matter where she turned in her newfound sanctuary...she was disrupting, crashing some sickeningly soft, sapphic love-fest, _Merlin._ Between the McGonagalls and whatever was going on with _Granger_ and _Lady Narcissa Black_ she had more than her fill of disgusting displays of affection. Could they _get_ more obvious? Granger had some excuse, she was a Gryffindor, Pansy was pretty sure she just spewed that ‘niceness’ crap with most everyone. But the Professor? _Salazar._ She’d spent the school year getting ‘cold sociopath Narcissa Black, dedicated Death Eater not meant to be fucked with’, but down in the dungeons with Hermione Granger? _Gods,_ the woman was _soft._ An open book, with how much she...loved the younger Witch. All the ‘darlings’ and ‘adores’ and just the look on her face 90% of the time Granger was in the room, or in conversation, the Witch was just _smitten_ and that was...gross. What Slytherin would be caught dead being so open with their feelings like that? What was more, she seemed to think she was keeping up the great mystery, she and Granger never...did anything in front of her, but the _looks_ and the Professor had almost an entirely different voice, something warm and happy that was worlds apart from the way she snapped and scathed at Granger when she was in class. 

...the kindness was a Gryffindor thing but...storming the Professor’s class and declaring she was testing out because of how much she despised the woman? If she wasn’t a Mud- a Muggleborn, maybe she could have hacked it out in Slytherin.

When she wasn’t bearing witness to the Witch’s poor performance at playing ‘allies’, she was in the Tower, with...the couple very open with the fact that they were together and dearly in love and it was _McGonagall_ , before hols she’d never much seen the woman do more than maybe smile a little when her little Gryffindor shits did something worthwhile. She’d never pictured the stern Deputy Headmistress as anything other than...that. Stark and sour, leading some beyond boring life. So the...warm, happy, chaotic family the woman had hidden away was more than unexpected, beyond the fact that her family was...mostly...Muggles. Muggles that Pansy...liked?

She...did, embarrassing as that was. She’d been all but terrified to go to her first Occlusion lesson, to McGonagall’s...Minerva’s quarters. She’d not even fully taken her seat in the armchair across from the Professor’s desk in her office, offering a, “Thank you, Professor,” at the offer of a chair, when the woman said,

“Consider calling me Minerva.”

She’d sooner consider quaffing Confusing Concoction...much that it already felt like she had. Confusion on the bit of excitement in the back of her mind when McGonagall assured her daughter was out but would be back in time to prepare lunch, and Millie was asleep but would be up just in time to eat said lunch? Check. Distracted from the task at hand by how nervous she was over it, by plying scattered focus to every other thing in the woman’s office other than the Professor herself? Check. Sick to her stomach because she was about to take _Occlusion lessons_ from a woman who should really hate her guts? Check. Confusing Concoction must be the secret ingredient in Angela’s pancakes, and here Pansy had eaten the entirety of the ridiculous stack the blind girl had set before her because she trusted she wouldn’t be poisoned by the Muggle and...well it wasn’t her fault, the girl couldn’t see how high she piled Pansy’s plate so. It’d have been rude to refuse it, and they’d been...good. Decent. A little like banana bread, Pansy thought they looked a bit different from traditional pancakes, the Muggle girl said they were a little bit of a healthier variation which...yeah, tasted- Pansy didn’t have any problem eating her fill and it um, might’ve helped, she thought. The ‘healthier’ part. When she downed Professor Black’s Nutrient potion afterward it had a bit more ‘umph’ to it, it felt like, like the potion had more nutrients in her system to work with, she actually felt like a person today, a wonder what being able to sleep through the night and eating a few proper meals in a row could do.

There were three chairs in the Deputy Headmistress’s quarters office, the desk chair, two armchairs before it, and McGonagall seated herself in the armchair next to Pansy’s. There was this...huge bowl misting on the woman’s desk that the Slytherin girl found herself staring at in curiosity...was it…?

“That is a Pensieve,” the woman said, Pansy looking to the Professor as she explained, “I’ve permission to use it in our lessons while it is in my care. I offer it only for...storage purposes, not viewing, dear, if there is anything at all you would...truly wish I not see? I do promise you, none will lay eyes on your memories while they are kept in the pensieve, and that would offer you your guaranteed privacy, on any matter you’d prefer I not be privy to. I do assure you, anything I see in your memories save some danger you might pose to yourself or others, will be a matter of absolute confidence.”

She...might have been shaking a bit, since she entered the woman’s quarters and that stopped now, thankfully. She’d tried to tell herself she was just cold, she chilled easily, Justin was always lending her his- well he used to. His jumpers, hoodies. If they matched what she was wearing well enough, or whatever. That was pretty well irrelevant now. The bloke pretty well gave her his entire heart on a platter and she’d done what Slytherin’s do best. Rejected it, stomped it into the ground, treated his love like the filth her parents would think he was, her right along with him if she did anything as horrible as...offer her shite heart in return. That’s what it was, it was crap, something broken about it, she was pretty sure. She didn’t feel things the way other people did, not...nice things. Angry, sad? She had those down, she could feel that at the drop of a hat. Happiness was a weird thing for her to work to, when she could it was...alright. Love? She wasn’t built for that, she didn’t think. Not built right. And when she did...when it was taken away or ruined by her own self, it hurt. Hurt was another one, something she could feel just fine, she didn’t care for it, so. Maybe it was a good thing she was Slytherin like that, love just wasn’t their thing.

...okay the first thing going in the damn Pensieve was the miniature realization that Narcissa Black was as Slytherin as they come and she...had a lot of love, accepted the likely unbearable, disgusting amount of sentimentality and weepy lovesickness a bloody _Gryffindor_ had to give, gave love of her own in return because…

It was like a wall, if she thought about it. Professor Black had them, it was what kept Pansy in the dark, took Granger to convince her the woman might actually be on her side if she didn’t want any part in her classmates’ murders, the older Witch had walls and she used them to protect herself. She dropped them whenever it was safe. Pansy…

Well she was never safe, was she, really? And even if she was...walls protected. They ruined things outside of herself but...they kept her safe, and she couldn’t risk it. If she dropped them...she was afraid. Too scared of getting hurt to dare risk being vulnerable and that was fine by her. She could deal with that, live with that, she didn’t _need_ love, it was just _dumb._

Yeah, so she was a fucking nut case, when she got in her own head and looked around a bit, took stock, nice to know everything was, at least, consistent, this was her regular level of Dumb Witch Disease. The introspection was probably a symptom, really. “Yeah- um, yes, Professor...er...M-Min…”

...what was she doing? The woman reached out, smiled...kindly and patted her hand, the older Witch’s hand was warm, why did that make her throat feel tight? “I said to consider it, my dear,” she gently assured, “call me whatever you are most comfortable with. I only recommended it as we are about to know one another's minds, a level of familiarity would assist in that, but it is not entirely vital.”

Pansy swallowed, flinched before she nodded, “Yes, Professor McGonagall. I’d appreciate Pensieving some of my memories.”

The Professor nodded. “Very well, if you call them to mind, I will extract them...Pansy?”

“I-I can do that s-sure um...yeah.” Ugh! “ _Yes,_ I mean. Yes, I can do that.” It just wasn’t going to be fun. Fuck. Why was she doing this again? Saving her own skin, helping protect her stupid school.

The woman regarded her in silence for a moment before she said, “You think over just what you would like to stow away, and I will return momentarily. Have you a preference in tea?”

Yeah, no benign opinions like that were often a trap. Felt like one, anyway. “No ma’am.”

“Just a moment then.”

The Witch cast...something? Pansy wasn’t sure what. Nothing changed in the warding on the room, everything looked the same, the fireplace, bookcases, three chairs, her empty desk. Hadn’t there been something there a moment ago? No. Yes? Huh. Then McGonagall was gone.

And replaced by another. There was the sound of shuffling feet, like someone just barely lifting their legs to stumble along the stone floors in slippers, soft voices just outside the office door before it opened and that woman came in, the Muggle one. Millie. Oh gods. She wasn’t going to do that hugging thing again, was she?

She did but...it wasn’t like Pansy totally hated it. That was most of the issue really. And um...she toned it down a bit, from the other night, just...shuffled into the room, cast a bleary, sleepy gaze over it, her raven hair had been sleek, silky smooth last night but it was frizzy now, stuck out a bit from her head, tangled badly enough it could be considered mangled, really. She had on a long fluffy blue robe, and under it was a huge crimson sweatshirt that read _Go, go, Gryffindor!_ in gold colored scrawl. There were...animals on her feet. Her slippers, they were a bit morbid but...going for cheerful? Two smiling, silly looking pink bunny rabbits. She yawned loudly, raising her hand after the fact and then mumbled, “Minnie says my nervous baby is here!” with some cheer before she shuffled over to the chair Pansy was in and gingerly perched on the arm, gently wrapping her arms around the Slytherin Witch and breathing a sigh before she pressed- oh gods, she kissed her on the temple! “Occlusion sounds, blah, to me. I wouldn’t much like anyone mucking about in my mind, either,” she sympathized, and then, “Have you met Genevive?”

Their cat. Saying her name seemed to call the creature from where it had been exploring the underside of McGonagall’s desk, she jumped up into Millie’s lap, the Muggle woman wincing at the impact on her thighs as if it pained her, she grimaced for a brief moment before offering up a smile and taking the cat up in her arms, pressing a kiss to her head before she turned more toward Pansy and the creature crawled into her lap, rubbing against her before curling up in her lap. “...what’s it doing?”

“Loving you.”

“Your cat doesn’t know me.”

“She’s a cat. If that Moldyshorts fellow showed up here looking capable of giving her pets and wet food, she’d curl up in his lap, loving him the same as the rest of us.” Moldy...did she mean the Dark-

A giggle escaped Pansy unbidden. She hadn’t even realized she _felt_ like giggling until suddenly she just _was_ . It was stupid, but she didn’t feel quite so sick to her stomach afterward. Oh gods why was the woman smiling so big? She brushed hair out of Pansy’s face as she said, “Ah-ha! I knew you had a smile in you. Sweetheart, Minnie says you’re a little nervous, preparing for your lessons. That’s perfectly understandable, this all sounds very invasive. I don’t have a magical bone in my body save I’ve got Minerva McGonagall well wrapped around my finger. Would you feel better having me sit with you? Minnie wouldn’t wish for your discomfort, she would stop at your say-so at any point, but I understand being uncomfortable speaking up for yourself, especially with a Professor, _especially_ when she’s Head of Gryffindor, you’re a little outnumbered and outranked. If it would help you, sweetheart, I’ll sit right here, hold your hand, and if you're upset about something, if you grow uncomfortable and you need to stop? Give me a little squeeze and I’ve got no problem bossing my wife around, Head of House, Schmed of House.”

“Pardon, darling?” Professor McGonagall asked as she entered the room carrying a tea tray in hand. Did she not cast often before her Muggle family?

“Nothing dearest,” her wife assured sweetly, in innocence. The Professor grinned at that, shaking her head and then...oh. It wasn’t that she _didn’t_ cast around her family, it was that she _did._ Waited until she was before her wife, when it was really rather unnecessary, to cast so the tea tray would levitate on its own, earning a delighted sound from the Muggle woman who gave a few little claps to the act before accepting a cup the Professor handed to her once the teapot rose to fill it, the Muggle woman passing the teacup and saucer to Pansy before accepting a second cup she kept, sighing contentedly as she warmed her hands with the tea cup for a moment as opposed to immediately sipping at the drink. Pansy waited until the Professor motioned to assure she could go ahead and partake of her tea before taking a ginger sip. Oh, it was good, gave her magic this pleasant sort of hum as it reacted to lavender and chamomile, vanilla, a bit of honey. She...did feel better than she had when the woman left her, more ready to handle putting bad memories into the- the Pensieve! That’s right, there was a Pensieve on McGonagall’s desk and it...was still...there? Oh. Some kind of disillusionment that made her blind to the Pensieve existing in the same room as her while its keeper was away.

Justin had these weird...bandage things. Plasters, he called them. He used them when he cut himself shaving, got little scrapes he didn’t take to the Hospital Wing. There was one time she got a papercut, sliced her index finger, the boy practically cooed over it, fussed like she’d chopped her finger off, and then he cleaned it, wrapped one of those plasters around it...took him a minute to find, he dug around in his school bag a bit before pulling out a rectangular plaster this bright purple color, _“Purple’s your favorite color, right?”_ dumb. It was _dumb._ He smiled and she felt... _something_ , stupid warmth because yeah, purple was her favorite color or whatever, and he gingerly wrapped her finger up, pressed a kiss over the bandage when he was done. It hadn’t hurt very much to remove, but it held on a bit, pulled at the skin where the sticky part touched, Justin always sort of braced himself, took a deep breath, and then _ripped_ his bandages off, to get it over with, he said. Pansy’s memories...yeah. They were sticky, stuck good in painful places and she braced herself, put every last one in the forefront of her mind, and sent them out rapidfire, the moment McGonagall’s wand was at her temple, boom! Gone, next one, gone, next one, until they were all in the Pensieve. Justin, Dah- the...the baby. All of it. She could still...remember, but it was like she could remember remembering, not the memories themself, they weren’t in her mind anymore able to be recalled fresh. Good. Cool. Maybe it could stay that way.

...she hated that she wanted them back, even the bad ones. Even the awful ones. Fuck, what was wrong with her?

She felt a hand...hands. There was one patting her own hand, McGonagall. Millie’s were...there was a hand on her cheek, thumbing at something? Oh god, was she crying? That was embarrassing enough it made her think maybe she should have just jumped instead of writing Granger. Not from the Astronomy tower, stupid wards...maybe not. She’d forgotten, made to step- anyway. They stopped her, wards that kept students safe inside the tower. She...had her feelings about that a bit, didn’t really know what to do, she hadn’t planned on having anything _to_ do past that point. And then she remembered Granger’s stupid piece of parchment. Hadn’t really expected her to come. And then she did, and she said a bunch of stupid things that...well the next time she considered an out, she knew she might have a more survivable one in the dungeons, landed Pansy here! Damn it, Granger.

Millie’s hand moved from her cheek to brush through Pansy’s hair, smoothing it. “Do you need a break, sweetheart?”

She gave a bitter laugh. She hadn’t meant to laugh at all, and Merlin it sounded a little wild even to her. “We’ve barely even started.”

“That’s irrelevant to the question, my dear,” Millie warmly intoned, she- why did she just tap a finger to the end of Pansy’s nose? “I didn’t ask how much you’ve done, I asked if you needed a break. You know what, Min, Angel made biscuits before she took Toby out, right?”

The Witch summoned them, a little plate of snickerdoodles appearing on the tea tray and Pansy was encouraged to take one so, she did, taking a ginger bite of warm biscuit that melted a bit in her mouth, Merlin. She never really gotten the concept of comfort food before, but this felt like a solid example. There weren’t even any magical ingredients in it, she didn’t think, maybe Elf sugar? And the lump in her throat receded, whatever weirdness that made her weepy went away as she sniffled, took another careful bite to savor. McGonagall waited until she was done, took another few sips of tea that prompted the woman to refill her cup before she said,

“If you are prepared-”

Pansy braced herself, winced when her instinct was to clinch her eyes shut and cower, she needed to just let it happen! “You can go ahead, attack, I’m ready.”

Oh gods, this was going to hurt, wasn’t it? The woman looked murderous, expression blown open in outrage. Her mouth worked momentarily before she took hold of Pansy’s hand, seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say before, “I would never, under any circumstances, _attack_ your mind. If _that_ is what your tutelage under Bellatrix entailed-” she seemed like she was catching herself from saying something extreme. She settled on, “I am truly sorry, Miss Parkinson, you were violated in such a way. What I am to teach you is to defend yourself from such attacks, we may perhaps practice but it will never be violent and you would be well prepared beforehand. I was saying, if you are prepared, we will discuss how we are to proceed, and then I will show you the methodology I use to defend my own mind from intrusion.”

“Your parents,” Millie said, “sweetheart did you tell them this Bellabitch woman-”

“Millie, student,” McGonagall corrected, “Language.”

“English, a little French, Angel’s Spanish homework has been refreshing my knowledge of Espanol,” the Muggle woman wagged her eyebrows a few times before rubbing Pansy’s arm to comfort. “Did you tell them she was attacking your mind?”

Pansy stared at the woman a moment. Tell them? “They were there, making sure I behaved and learned. I still don’t know why Lady Lestrange said I was passable at it.” Oh. Crap. The woman looked a little sick over it, Pansy...oh gods, yeah, she didn’t like that. “It wasn’t awful or anything, I’m um, okay. Survived worse, it was mostly just uncomfortable and frightening, seeing things in Lady Lestrange’s mind.” Okay, she wasn’t sure if that fixed it because she couldn’t see the woman’s face, she just hugged Pansy to her chest. McGonagall looked grave but she cleared her throat, seeming considering as she said,

“Miss Parkinson...you saw things from Lestrange’s mind, you’ve said. She showed you how she defends her mind?”

“No, she only ever attacked me, just kept doing it until she said I was defending myself proper from it but...n-nothing really felt different to me, I mean I was really sick of her…” she shuddered, “I wanted to stop her, but I don’t know _how_ to Occlude, I think...I dunno, she’s not the most stable. I kind of think she just got bored, or thought...thought it’d be funny to send me into my mission underprepared. It’s not like she cares what much happens to me, and it could mess things up for my parents and she hates...everyone. So.” She shrugged, as much as she could with an entire Muggle wrapped around her.

McGonagall seemed to be thinking it over before she launched into explanation, she was...going to let down her own defenses, let Pansy into her mind, and they’d go from there, start her off seeing the woman’s thoughts, then her image from which she would build her faux-wall. Millie held her hand as promised, for all it sounded...not bad. It...gods, it was nothing like before. McGonagall’s mind was...stable, there was a sturdiness to it, resilience and peace and...love. Lots of that, Merlin, she thought it was plain enough but actually being in the woman’s thoughts, she loved and adored her wife and daughter to the point it felt like surely feeling that much should kill a person.

_“Mark my words, Minerva McGonagall, we’ll have that date,” Millie’s voice, sounded a bit younger._

_“Alright Miss Finnigan,” McGonagall’s voice drawled, like she doubted it. “Look me up when you’ve got a secondary degree, perhaps we’ll talk.”_

_“Minnie?” Millie’s voice again. “Minnie, what is it?” and then she groaned a bit, “No. Not the intense silence again. You want to say something, just_ say it, _love, whatever it is-”_

_“I’m a Witch,” McGonagall blurted out. “I- m-magic is real, Mills. I’m a Witch.”_

_There was something like intense silence of her own and then a scream of victorious laughter? “I knew it! I_ knew _there was something, oh my God! Of course you’re magical. Jesus Min, you scared me. Why didn’t you just tell me, God I thought you were either going to break up with me or ask me to marry you-”_

_“Well I am telling you I’m a Witch because I’m asking you to marry you. Me. Marry me. I-” oh she was overwhelmingly embarrassed, Pansy was embarrassed for her. Millie’s laughter echoed in her mind, “You’re the one who dared me! You didn’t dare me to execute it perfect-”_

_She’d...gotten cut off with a kiss, Pansy was pretty sure._

_There was a moment the woman’s mind was utterly quiet and then they were in some strange looking parlor...sitting room...place. Worn but...warm. Not at all like any she’d ever been in before, she almost got distracted looking around the...Muggle-style home, she supposed, oh Merlin, did the Professor live in a Muggle house? She supposed...that might be easier for her family, to be able to have access to things that would usually require magic. She wasn’t sure how they made their lights, but they had them. There was a fireplace and a couch and a few arm chairs, a coffee table. It wasn’t exactly her style but everything was matching at least, complimented each other._

_“I apologize for the wait, Miss Parkinson, I hope you didn’t see anything unsettling. I’ve made alterations to my image as of late, but for our lesson I felt it best to reconstruct my original, so you get an appropriate feel for what you should seek to construct. An image is that of a place that makes you feel safe.” So...proper lessons applied, Pansy was still shit out of luck then. There had to be somewhere, right? Home was out, but...okay so was school for the most part...even with...the only person she really trusted was dangerous to be associated with, she’d been a wreck underneath it all, scared out of her mind they’d get caught. She must have seemed uncertain because the woman amended, “This image I constructed from a place that is very real, but...Professor Black has given me permission to share that her image is entirely imaginary, it is a place that she feels, if it existed, she would feel entirely at peace, I’d not considered an imaginary image before that point, it was what inspired the change.”_

_“Oh. So...we need your new image then?”_

_“I’m at ease to share it with you, but it isn’t quite an appropriate example. Inexperienced as you are it is best to start with something that makes you feel secure because you feel certain of your own safety in it. I am brought to peace with my new image...because it makes me feel certain should my mind be overtaken, the last defense that might keep someone out will bear nothing that would leave them with knowledge of my family. That is…” she was quiet, considering and then catching herself as if she knew she’d already decided, she just needed to commit. “That is another reason I show you this image. This is my living room, in the home I share with Millie and Angela. It is Secret Kept, I received permission to disclose the location to you this morning. Pansy, I know not what the Summer might hold, I do promise Narcissa and myself are working on securing you to stay outside the home of your parents. But should you return to them...should you ever be anywhere you are in danger, and you’ve need of aid? Knowing what a central place in my home looks like will aid you in Apparating there. There is a boundary, you’ll appear at the edge of the property, once you step within the wards, you should be secure.”_

_Oh_ gods. _“Okay, so, I-I just need to make up a place I feel safe or whatever and then I’ll be able to Occlude? Oh gods, if- if I can’t- just Obliviate me or something, don’t let me just walk around knowing what your home looks like.” Yeah, shit, if a powerful Wizard or Witch_ saw _they might be able to Apparate there on the image alone, nevermind if she actually had their damn address!_

_Okay so her hand was warm even in her mind and what was worse, Pansy could feel the warmth and assurance the woman was trying to convey with putting her hand on her shoulder because her emotions literally came through, with the act. Oh gods. “Your mind would never be mistreated in such a way, if I have any say in it. Dear, you are only just learning, be patient with yourself, you will learn to Occlude and all will be well. Do you trust me, Miss Parkinson?”_

_She swallowed, nervous but, “Y-yes?”_

_The woman smiled warmly. “Then trust me when I say that I have absolutely every faith in you, sweetheart. You can do this, and what is more, you will have help.”_

“Honey?” Millie’s voice sounded, like it was close but had a bit of echo to it in McGonagall’s mind. “Min, she needs to come out.”

_The image around them faded away and_ in the next moment Pansy was opening her eyes to the woman’s office, oh, crap! She’d squeezed the Muggle woman’s hand pretty tight, enough she was scared it might bruise! Pansy released hold of her hand immediately, shooting up out of her seat and staggering back toward the desk, “M-my deepest apologies I-”

“Pansy,” McGonagall said, rising to stand with her, “take a deep breath. You’ve done nothing wrong, no one is upset with you. I apologize for overwhelming you, may I ask how I overstepped so I might avoid it in future? Or were you merely tired? It can be strenuous to venture into another’s mind for any period of time, especially when one does not hold experience in it.”

Overwhelmed but she- the woman hadn’t done anything- “Tired. Maybe a little overwhelmed I- I don’t know I…” she shook herself, looking to Millie. “Did I hurt your hand?”

The Muggle woman had shaken it out when it was released, flexed it a few times but now that she saw Pansy staring she pushed it down with her other hand like she was hiding it in her lap. “Oh no sweetie, not at all. You needed a break, that was a good system, I’m proud of you for letting me know you were done in. Angel should be in soon, why don’t we take a break, have a nice lunch, and you two can figure out how to move forward from there.” She rested a hand on the back of the chair to support herself as she rose up, a bit stiff from being perched on the arm of a chair for so long, McGonagall moved a little like she meant to help her wife stand, the Muggle woman offered her a bright, reassuring smile as she pushed away from the chair, limping a bit but then she walked just fine, right up to Pansy and put an arm around her her shoulders, “Come on lovey. Do you have a preference for lunch? I think Angel’s making salad and...sandwiches, if that’s fresh bread I smelled when I woke up,” she looked to her wife. “Did I miss the dough dance?”

McGonagall smiled with some sympathy, “You missed the dough dance. Angela gets so excited when she leaves bread to rise overnight and is met with success come morning,” she explained to Pansy. Oh gods, she could totally see that. In fact, as she met the Professor’s gaze and offered a small smile, yeah, she had a crystal clear image in her head of Angela in a fluffy purple robe, silken blue hair scarf on her head falling out of place from her bouncing on her feet and wriggling, twisting a bit _“It rose, it rose, it rose! There is a God, He blessed me with bread!”_ she sang. That was a weirdly specific mental image to conjure up. She did that sometimes though, just, her brain was weird. She was worried about Millie though. Wait, why was she worried about the Muggle woman? She seemed fine to Pansy...it was only a split second, like a misfire in her brain just, worried and then not worried. Maybe she was ‘having the painters in’, wasn’t that the lovely term of phrase Granger used? “I’m glad you had a lie in,” McGonagall said, “That is what the break is for, after all.”

They moved to the living space again, McGonagall offering water as Millie and Pansy took seats in stools at the kitchen counter. She summoned a clear glass pitcher and glasses, began pouring their drinks, her back was to the door to her quarters when it burst open, a great yellow labrador bounding in with-

Oh gods. Angela was gasping for air, drenched in sweat like she’d been running. Pansy was out of her seat and the Muggle girl squeaked, a bit startled when she placed a hand on her elbow to maneuver the girl so she could get around her, into the doorway, wand in her other hand. “Get behind me! Go to your mothers, they’re at the counter, on your 4 o’clock,” Pansy ordered, bounding into the hall, a list of hexes already in mind, “Hey!...” she looked about, no one was in sight. “Fucking cowards,” she groused, stepping back into the rooms and closing the door, watching it to make sure protective wards on the woman’s rooms went secure as she did. Good. Then she turned to the Muggle girl standing there utterly baffled. Oh crap, was she going into shock? Pansy rested a hand on her shoulder, the girl raising a hand to cover hers as if verifying it wasn’t her mothers’ hands it was Pansy by process of elimination, “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. Relax and take a deep breath. Do you have any idea who was chasing you?”

“Ch...chasing…” Angela said, confused, and then her expression broke out in a brilliant smile, and she...laughed? “Oh- oh my God, Pansy- no one was chasing me!”

“Then why the hell were you running?!”

“Exercise, Princess. These gains don’t just happen on their own,” the girl giggled a bit breathlessly, raising her arms up to flex her biceps oh, she was dressed...strangely, something like a T-Shirt with the sleeves cut off, shorts and trainers. And she was...did have muscle, gods, was _that_ what running did? Gave her arms and legs like- like...arms and legs. People had arms and legs, a great many of them, Pansy was sure. Just, Merlin. “But uh...thanks for looking out?”

It was embarrassing but she was glad no one had been attacking the Muggle girl. What was she doing running around Hogwarts? What if someone saw her? She supposed there weren’t many people out and about, and there was something in her clothes, magic, warming charms and yeah, something that made people overlook her, had her blending in like she was a student you wouldn’t think twice about, seeing her out for a jog. “Very good, Miss Parkinson,” McGonagall encouraged, laughter in her voice. “Did you enjoy your run, sweetheart?”

“I beat my time from last week! God, it was great. Toby was such a good boy, keeping up with me,” she said, bending and petting the pup with both hands on either side, scratching his fur up and down, he panted contentedly, licking at the girl’s face, and she giggled. “Oh man, let me clean up and I’ll get lunch on the table. Oh, Toby, this is Princess Pansy. You can go, break time, okay? Mwah,” she pressed a kiss to the dog’s head and he gave off a bark that jarred Pansy for all it sounded pleasant enough, just, loud. And then the creature shifted his attention to Pansy, sniffing around her feet and she let out a startled sound when he rose up, put his front paws high on her arms and she wasn’t sure what to do, she raised her arms a bit to sort of brace his? What was happening? Was this hugging again? Even their _dog_ hugged? “Is muma still sleeping?” Angela wondered.

“I’m right here baby,” Millie assured.

“You missed breakfast,” Angela said, going forward with an assessing hand before her, feeling at the counter top and then the empty stool before she sat with her mother, taking her hand. “You must be starved, mum can just cast me clean and-”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, go. Take a nice relaxing shower, clean up your stinky self,” Millie encouraged, raising her daughter’s hands to her lips and peppering them with kisses. “We’ll be here when you’re done. We can start getting things ready, I’ll try not to burn the lettuce.”

“You can if you guys are hungry, I just wanted it for some extra practice um...Narcissa and I were talking at breakfast this morning, she thinks maybe I can help her tutor Ahan? Give him a few pointers about safely chopping and dicing and peeling, the sort of elements that are the same between potion making and cooking? How I identify ingredients without being able to see them, helping her come up with other identifiers we can use without touching ingredients that would act like contact poison, or sniffing things that might be noxious. So long as it’s okay with you two?”

Millie looked to her wife who nodded and the Muggle woman said, “I think that’s sweet honey. Your mum and Narcissa should be able to set something up.”

“Cool, thanks. Um...you’re sure you’re okay? You went to bed early, for you...did you just get up?”

“Oh, I’ve been up a while now. Just my night owl ways catching up with me, I haven’t had a break from work in some time, I’m merely enjoying it, looking forward to a lazy holiday with my favorite girls,” the woman waved it off, pressing her lips to her daughter’s cheek.

“Okay...but if you’re coming down with something, I’m kicking your butt for all this affectionate biological warfare and making you soup,” Angela threatened, dropping from the stool and kissing her mother on the cheek. “Okay, shower!”

That had been...weird. Just, Pansy’d learned well how to spot a lie and...even as Millie was being honest with her daughter she...wasn’t? The women seemed...cagey. It wasn’t any of her business, but McGonagall definitely was comforting her wife, wrapping her arms around the woman and pressing a kiss to her disheveled hair before clearing her throat and striking up...casual feeling conversation. How she thought they should move forward after lunch. Oh. Not saying how they would move forward...suggesting, running it by Pansy like she had a choice...and somehow it felt like she did? 

She didn’t have much choice, in her response when their daughter joined them again. They were still seated in conversation, Toby resting at Pansy’s feet, his tail thumping against her leg and the leg of the stool, it foretold Angela’s return from the bath, because the pup perked up and his tail began thumping rapidfire. She looked up to see the Muggle girl-

“Uh...something funny, Princess?” Angela wondered with some confusion when Pansy burst into laughter. Oh gods, she couldn’t stop, why couldn’t she stop?

“Miss Parkinson?” McGonagall asked. Oh crap! She just- her daughter came in the room and Pansy busted out laughing, shit!

“It’s- it’s not- oh gods I’m- p-please forgive me just-” Pansy caught her breath, heaving a mirthful sigh as she wiped at her eyes, clearing her throat, “Oh gods, I promise it’s nothing- no disrespect, I’m not ha-haing it up over the Muggle girl just uh...it’s going to sound stupid…”

“Minnie tells me you’re a bright student, and you’ve a good head on your shoulders. Nothing you say is going to sound stupid, pretty Pansy,” Millie intoned patting the Slytherin Witch’s hand on the countertop. She consulted with her wife, “Isn’t she pretty? Oh honey, you’re beautiful, but you’ve got the prettiest smile I swear,” she assured Pansy, “Angel, she had the biggest smile on her face.”

“Did she? Why’m I making you smile pretty enough mum had to slap a nickname on you over it?” Angela asked, feeling Millie’s shoulder as she used her mother as a landmark that denoted she was near the counter, walking around to stand alongside her other mother and clapping her hands twice, the Witch indulging her daughter by casting to summon...ahh, her ingredients appeared on the countertop so she could start making her salad, the girl giggled when she heard the rush of magic and then she popped up on her toes to kiss her mother on the cheek.

It really was stupid, but she definately didn’t want them thinking she’d been laughing at her meanly, “Your um...your mothers said something earlier about uh...your ‘dough dance’? When they talked about it, I just...my brain’s weird sometimes, I could picture that being something you’d do, as excited you get over things like that, singing and dancing over it in um, ...purple robe, blue hair scarf, that was what I pictured? So it just struck me when you came out wearing that, like, exactly.”

McGonagall reached across the counter to rest a hand over Angela’s like to halt her from replaying a moment. “You imagined she danced and sang? We made no mention of song.”

“Well normal people dance to music, I figure if you don’t have any you make your own? It was stupid, just about the bread rising, the God she believes in blessing her with it, it was dumb.”

“Um, rude,” Angela said in...oh good, mock upset. Oh gods, she had a huge knife she was slicing up an onion with. “I make up my dough dance songs on the spot, and they’re different every time. Last week’s was ‘the dough aaa-rooooose’! Did I rip off the tune to Amazing Grace? Yeah, but Jesus can sue me.” and then, “wait. Woah, Princess, that’s spooky actually, this morning’s was about it rising! And God blessing me with bread.”

“You did...with exactness,” McGonagall said. “Miss Parkinson did you see any other details?”

“The...um dough was brownish...in a black pan? Iron I think?”

“A cast iron skillet?” Angela prompted.

“I don’t know cooking things. That I know it’s a pan is a miracle. Um...oh, you had on a nightgown. Red flannel? Like your trousers now.”

“Sleep pants, yeah.”

McGonagall was the one who started laughing then, just a little but she looked...pleased? Took hold of Pansy’s hand. “Oh, Miss Parkinson! My dear girl, you’re not bad at Occlusion! You’re a natural legimist! You didn’t learn to Occlude, but you can naturally do so when provoked! Your mind formed a barrier that kept Lestrange out when your magic sought to invoke your wishes to keep her so. Something you did albeit clumsily, but naturally.”

“...what?”

“You saw my mind while wholly removed from it. I haven’t resumed Occluding, I don’t often do so when in the privacy of my own home...when I thought on my daughter’s dough dance, you saw what was fresh in my mind! You merely need...Merlin you shouldn’t need much instruction at all, I should be able to give you example and your magic will guide you, respond in good form. Sweetheart, you can learn Occlusion, you’ll do so with ease, and what is more? You’ll be even stronger at it than originally perceived! Your magic is attuned to that of the mind, just as mine is attuned to altering the physical. My dear, have you never had your magic tested for its gifts? I thought it was common among Purebloods.”

“Well yeah, y-yes I just- just…” there...there was no way she was a Legilimist. That meant she might be good at something, and she wasn’t good at anything. “My parents said they didn’t find anything. When they tested my magic everything came up...average, nothing worthwhile to develop. I just- that was just some dumb lucky guess, my brain is weird, I have like, an over active imagination or something, I’m always thinking up dumb shit that distracts me.” She blanched, flinching as she looked up to the woman across the counter from her, “Oh gods, I didn't mean to swear in your home!”

“In front of my salad, Princess? Really?” Angela complained with some jovality. “Spinach is impressionable, you know.”

“Miss Parkinson I-,” McGonagall came to stand at her side, squeezing her hands, “dear girl, I’m unoffended. I correct crassness in front of students and guests, merely to ensure they are comfortable in my home. I merely offer reminder to correct, not condemn, and if I had been offended...the worst you saw last night, when I insisted you absolutely not use that slur under my roof, but that is a great deal worse than saying ‘shit’. I...I’m more concerned that you would consider your thoughts as such.”

“Yeah, Min, we’re calling a Parent-Parent conference,” Millie informed her wife, leaning over the counter top, “your parents told you your magic was worthless and I assume they’re the blame for you thinking of yourself this way, I’d just...aha, there,” she said, reaching the hilt of the large knife her daughter was no longer using for chopping her vegetables, examining it in the light, “I just want to talk.”

“Ahh yes," McGonagall drawled, "The talking knife.”

“You- you can’t- my parents can’t ever meet you, they’d-” Pansy started.

“She is merely jesting...mostly jesting.”

Millie nodded, if somewhat reluctantly. “Honey, your thoughts aren’t dumb. It sounds like...you have a pretty powerful ability your parents did their best not to nurture in you. Likely...because they feared you using it against them. This legit stuff, it’s like mind reading, yes?”

“I...I guess?” Pansy supposed.

“You aren’t stupid and you aren’t distractible. Baby you’re just using a power you don’t understand how to control, that you don’t know you can use, because you were told it wasn’t there,” Millie insisted, raising her hands to cup Pansy’s face, “Hmm...I’m thinking of a number between one and ten.”

_There was a split-second image of a man in a strange white coat, a clipboard in his hand, some sort of weird writing instrument...a pen, like Granger used. “...137,000.”_

_“Oh, that sounds like a nice high number,” Millie said with some relief._

_“It is...but not for platelet counts, we like to see a 140-150 range, 137 is low.”_

_“...ahh,” she sighed, gesturing with a bandaged hand. Well, that was one explanation for the things that were happening with her body, Minnie had been panicked, petrified when her little kitchen knife accident, trying to help prep things for when Angel got home, wouldn’t stop bleeding. She had to hold her hand overhead, above her heart, to quell it while her wife went and got some magical something or other to see if it would help, it had, a bit, more when Minnie held her hand, the innermost layers of skin closed up leaving a small slash on her palm._

_“Yes, you’ll want to be a little extra cautious, your blood won’t clot as it should. I want to run a few more tests, figure out what’s going on. It could be a matter of low platelet production, it could be autoimmune disease attacking and destroying them.”_

_“Well neither sounds convenient. Is there perhaps a third option where my beauty is so striking it’s made my platelets shy?” she jested, sick to her stomach. Minnie was already so worried, and damn it, what were they going to tell Angel? She fretted enough over their health as it stood, if she was actually_ sick? _Well, she wouldn’t hear a thing about it, not...not until they had something definitive, and certainly not until after the holidays._

Pansy’s mind was suddenly full of the sensation of color, like the sky on a clear day. She cleared her throat as she blinked, looked away from the Muggle woman to see how near the knife she set down was and carefully slid it further away. “Blue isn’t a number,” Pansy said quietly.

“Ah-ha! Pretty Pansy _is_ a mind reader!” Millie declared, excited and proud, “I was thinking of your gorgeous baby blues,” the woman confirmed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Oh Merlin. She...she was sick?

“...m-maybe I am,” Pansy supposed. That had been...yeah, out of her range of imagination. Sometimes...it didn’t happen often, but...it seemed like maybe it required eye contact, she didn’t really do that up-close with people unless they were an authority figure and...most authority figures in her life could Occlude, so...it mostly happened with...someone?

Justin. It mostly happened with Justin. It was vague to her mind now but yeah, she...could remember remembering imagining things when he’d talk about them. Quidditch plays or his day at school, he’d talk about something his friends did and...she could picture it pretty clearly. She...supposed _he_ must have been picturing it clearly.

“Well honey, that’s fantastic!” the Muggle woman encouraged.

She wasn’t so sure it was. Except maybe...maybe yeah, if it meant she would be able to Occlude? She...gods, she wasn’t sure what to think. _Had_ her parents known? Kept it from her because they were afraid she’d be able to break through their Occlusion on her own someday? Why? She uh...she loved them, as fucked up as that felt at times. She didn’t...particularly want to hurt them.

“Hey, quit pouting and eat your lunch,” Angela intoned, setting a plate before her, well, a plate with a bowl full of a serving of salad, there was a platter of sandwiches on the counter...oh, she finished, huh? How did she know she was pouting? Were they eating at the counter? It wasn’t like in Professor Black’s quarters, the McGonagall’s had a proper dining table. But it suited, probably, Millie didn’t have to move she...should rest? Did she need rest? Salad was healthy, had vitamins and crap in it probably. Shit, she needed to learn Occlusion and quit disturbing their holiday. 

“Thanks.”

Except she didn’t quit encroaching on their holiday. Millie sat in with them, Angela too, the Muggle girl sitting behind her mother’s desk..it seemed she just wanted to be with the women, she had her ear cuff in that Granger made, dragging her quill through the book Professor Black got her, Toby resting his head in the girl’s lap, the cat was somewhere prowling around. Pansy sat on the arm of the chair, offered the seat proper, to Millie and took careful hold of her hand, loose, she wasn’t squeezing it for anything, she could swear there was bruising on the woman’s poor hand, faint but building, fuck. But she got through the rest of her lesson without needing a break. McGonagall showed her how she built her faux-wall, examined Pansy’s mind a bit to watch how Pansy’s magic was blocking thought naturally.

“Your mind throws up a blank wall that offers security but lacks the comfort element of your image that would make the act sustainable, too, it makes it obvious you are shielding your mind, as opposed to offering a wall of disposable thoughts for any pursuing your mind to be thrown off with.”

That worked, she could deal with that. So long as no one broke through, “I don’t care if people can see I’m Occluding-”

“The Dark Lord will attack your defenses if he sees them raised against him,” McGonagall insisted. “We will resume tomorrow, and see about sorting through your memories for things you are comfortable placing within your faux-wall, and I want you to begin considering a proper image to ground yourself in while Occluding.”

“Yeah- yes. Ma’am.”

The woman smiled warmly, crap. “You’ve done brilliantly today.”

“Thanks, I should go.”

Millie’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner, honey?”

“I’m baking chicken and making mashed sweet potatoes,” Angela offered to tempt.

“Yes. I- it’s no offense to any of you I just-” she wanted to leave them to their holiday already! “I should go,” she said, standing.

“Alright, well, we’ll walk you back,” her mother insisted. 

Walk? “I um...I can’t use your floo?” that was fine, there weren’t many students here over hols she didn’t think. She could handle herself, besides.

“Well of course you can, but it’s quite the stroll from here to the living room,” Millie jested, “You call back through to let us know you got to the right place safe, okay honey? Wonderful thing, the floo but they can be so finicky sometimes, I worry for the day Minnie’s accent will send her to another hemisphere.”

“Your accent is thicker than mine,” McGonagall said.

“Oh, is it now?” her wife returned, embellishing her accent further, “I dunno what yer talkin’ about Min’, yer bums out the windae!” ...like she was kicking the woman out?

“Yer bums about to be something,” the Witch threatened warmly, smile at her lips.

“Scott saying, it means she’s off her rocker,” Angela thankfully offered in case Pansy was confused which...she was, about a great many things, at least Scottish sayings were more easily translated than human emotions, if only just by the barest of margins. “And a mum saying,” Angela said, quieting her voice to stage whisper, “that means my parents are gross and in love.”

Millie put her hands on the armrests to push herself up, getting up to just walk her to the floo. That was dumb. And it made something inside of her chest twist a bit painfully, she’d had a bit of trouble standing before, she was seated more comfortably now but still, if she was tired or in pain...Pansy offered her hands to the woman helped take on some of her weight as she stood, and the Muggle took it as an ideal way to pull her in for a warm hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she wrapped an arm around Pansy’s shoulders, Toby pulled Angela along, McGonagall coming after, securing her office behind them as they made their way to the Floo.

“You’ll call back through?” Millie pressed.

“Yes ma’am. Thank you for hosting me,” Pansy offered respectfully, nodding to the women.

“Later Princess,” Angela waved, snorting when Pansy replied,

“Farewell,” and then she took the offered Floo powder, throwing it into the fire before she stepped into the flames calling, “Professor Black’s quarters!” and stepping directly into the Professor’s parlor. She and Granger were...possibly still messing with the dumb crib, Granger was a nutter. What sort of Witch assembled furniture? She took a pinch of powder from the little silver pot the Professor kept on the mantel and used it to call back through to McGonagall home, “I’m back.”

“Very good Miss Parkinson,” McGonagall said, “do have a pleasant rest of your evening.”

“Eat good at dinner honey, and get lots of rest, you worked so hard today,” Millie fretted, praised. Gods. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

She had this stupid lump in her throat, so she was grateful the powder burned out, ended the Firecall. Fuck. What the hell had even happened today? Gryffindors were so godsdamned weird and confusing, especially the Muggle sort, she- how were they so nice to her? Why? What the fuck did they even _want_ from her? Nothing, but there had to be something. Yeah McGonagall wanted her to learn how to Occlude to protect her family...that’s it, they...they must just want that. Yeah. That worked, good, maybe they’d quit doing weird things that made Pansy feel...feelings, it was gross and stupid.

Ugh. Professor Black and Granger came out of the guest bedroom...it’d been alright last night, comfortable for all it’d been a little cluttered with deliveries yesterday. Pansy...the stuff was there! So she maybe...she’d been exhausted when they got in from dinner, but nervous, and sometimes she couldn’t sleep because what if she woke up dead? Maybe that was dumb, she was sixteen but- some nights she was so exhausted and world-weary and just- sleep would evade her, the sensation of falling asleep read in her brain like she was _dying_ and she’d panic back to fully awake, and the cycle started again until she just finally finally finally fell the fuck to sleep. Anyway, she’d felt that coming on, even though she was safe, she just didn’t _feel_ safe and so she occupied herself, wore herself out more by casting to clear away packaging and levitate furniture and decor around the room until it looked decent and then she took another bath...there were privacy wards up at the end of the hall, where it opened into the parlor and she was _so_ not seeing what that was about. Finally fell asleep. Might have trouble sleeping if she went in and saw evidence of the two Witches...whatevering. What did women even do together? There wasn’t anything to...put in- nope. She didn’t want to think about it, she didn’t want to know. Justin used his hand- nu-uh. It wasn’t clear to her mind but she remembered being thrown by it, thinking it was a weird way of going about things but Merlin bless him he did something that- well she kept going back, so.

The older Witch had Hermione’s hand in hers, had been turning away from the girl as she led them into the hall and saw Pansy in the parlor, startling as she dropped the younger Witch’s hand and raised it to her chest, “Miss Parkinson!” she cleared her throat, “I didn’t expect you back until later this evening. I trust you had a good lesson?”

“Fine. She wants me to come back tomorrow, to start sorting through things to put in my faux-wall.”

“Truly?” the older Witch asked, surprised.

“Pansy, that’s so great! You must be catching on fast,” Granger, encouraged. Gross.

Pansy shrugged. “She...she thinks I might erm...that my magic might be inclined toward mental magic.”

“Like Narcissa’s? She thinks you’re a legilimist?”

“I don’t fucking know, Granger. I’m not a mind-” well, maybe she was, actually. She sighed, impatient and frustrated, mostly with herself. “Sorry. I just- today was weird. This whole everything is weird and-”

Fuck her, what the hell was wrong with these people?! Granger got up in her space, put a hand on her shoulder and smiled sympathetically. “Hey,” she said...sort of comforting which was dumb, it sounded like she was talking to a damn threstral she was trying not to spook! Gods those things were- ugh. Not the most pleasant of surprises awaiting her when she started up Sixth Year. Surprise! Demon horses pull the school’s carriages. "Take a deep breath. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, and you’ve spent all day learning something new...discovered something about yourself you didn’t know before, huh? You need to decompress, everyone does from time to time. We’re all done setting up the crib, you can go take a nap if you want or uhhh we were going to...read,” uh-huh. “until dinner. Maybe play some chess? Do you want a snack?”

“I’m not a child.”

“I have chocolate covered crisps.”

...someone made her try crisps once. J...Justin. Why had that been so hard to remember? Oh, it was like, way back oh shit, she put memories from First Year in the Pensieve? ...oh, yeah. She had. Because it was the first time she er...thought she might fancy him. Which was rubbish, gods she was an idiot. “...fine.”

So they lounged around the parlor, Hermione seated on the arm of the Professor’s chair, reading quietly, while Narcissa and Pansy played ‘Witches’ Chess, a bowl of crisps floating a lazy path between them so they could eat at their leisure...they weren’t bad.

The Professor softly smirked when Pansy took her Queen...why was _she_ the one looking so pleased? “You thwarted my Zwischenzug.”

“Gesundheit,” Granger giggled, without looking up from her book, though she stared into the space ahead a bit...something. Startled and something else Pansy probably didn’t want to know about when the Professor rattled off,

“Es ist ein Deutsches wort,” the woman said, “It means ‘intermediate’ move. A tactic in Chess where an opponent moves with the next move in mind as their true motive, I meant to distract you with my bishop…”

“Took your Queen instead, yeah- oh.” Pansy swallowed, realizing it wasn’t what _she_ imagined the Professor might do. “I wasn’t er...I’m not against cheating but I wasn’t trying to.”

“I put my focus on our game into my faux-wall for the chance you might see it, a test if you would. You truly did not know your magic’s inclinations?”

“No. Parents either didn’t know or...kept me in the dark about it. I got tested for magical aptitude before Hogwarts,” she huffed a laugh, “I almost didn’t come. Mother and father went back and forth on whether it was worth it or not.”

“They most likely feared your being around so many of your peers would reveal to you your abilities. Miss Parkinson I’m truly sorry I did not see your ability for this. If Minerva is certain that is all I need but...it is very quiet in you, your magic is not very expressive.”

“So what? The test was right and my magic’s crap but-”

“I said nothing of the sort! Honestly, Pansy. I merely seek to parcel through why I would not recognize like magic in you. I should have seen it the moment I met you in person, sweetheart we have been acquainted on a level for some years. But I- darling, I’m made to wonder, has anyone ever been made to cast upon you? To do anything to your magic?”

“...mother had a Healer work with it after my testing came back so poor. It just said I was ‘average’ for everything but, you know. That’s not good enough.”

“Pansy...if I brought someone trusted to examine you, would you permit it?”

“...why?”

“I’m concerned perhaps you have either been made to despair of your own magic for so long it now represses itself, which is certainly unhealthy. Or...it has been intentionally suppressed, cast upon to set limit to it so you do not get out of hand.”

“...what?”

“It has fallen out of practice in some families, my mother was suppressed magically the whole of her childhood until she married. She wished to do likewise with her daughters, but my father would not have it. I grew up with your mother, she...was suppressed in her youth, her marriage to your father relinquished that. Were you made to agree to something, when this ‘Healer’ cast upon you?”

“I dunno, it was years ago. Maybe?...yeah. He asked...something. If I wanted ‘suitable magic’ for a Witch my age-” oh gods, she felt the blood rush from her face.

“Clever wordage, what you heard as permission to alter your magic to strengthen it...was meant in the spirit to suppress. We will not know with absolute certainty until you are examined, but if this has been done to you, it can be undone.”

“I have to get married?!” Pansy all but shrieked.

“No. No darling, I mean to call a true Healer to examine you, she will verify what was done to your magic, and reverse it at your request. If it is a matter of magical depression, that will likewise be treated,” Professor Black leaned forward, resting her hand over Pansy’s, “We will sort this out, I assure you.”

“...kay. Maybe. Okay. M-my parents can’t-”

“I’ve little intention to tell your parents if they are on fire, darling, I’m hardly going to blather away of our circumventing their machinations.”

...Angela wasn’t about having her machinations circumvented. They sat down to dinner at the kitchen counter, Hermione was in charge of alerting the Kitchens they were ready to eat. There were always some options available in the Great Hall, Elves sent orders based either on direct request from a Professor, or on preference.

So it was a little baffling when portions of...ew, lamb, appeared on dining hall plates before the Professor and Hermione while...a flowery porcelain plate, like one they ate on last night appeared in front of Pansy, with baked...chicken. And mashed sweet potatoes. A bit of steamed arugula and spinach, some kind of vinegar drizzled over it.

_“Woah! Are we really popping bottles this early? I know it’s a holiday but that sounds like alcoholism,” Angela said when she heard the_ pop _of Pansy uncorking a vial._

_“Just potion,” she assured._

_“You feeling sick, Princess?...oh crap. Mum swore you don’t have any food sensitivities on file, are you okay?”_

_“I’m fine! Gods, calm down, I just- it’s nutritive potion. I haven’t been eating much lately.”_

_“...that doesn’t sound like you_ aren’t _sick. You lost your appetite or something?”_

_“For poison. It’s stupid, I’m just...paranoid.” Sort of. She’d seen the Dark Lord do worse, and he_ had _put a hit out on Severus Snape. Not a ‘hit’ hit, but...a warning, when he failed again at securing the Defense Against the Dark Art’s professorship again, lost it to Remus Lupin of all people. It’d been more father and Lucius Malfoy acting in the Dark Lord’s stead, but still. If he wasn’t a potions master he might be dead, his throat bled for hours, mother said when she tucked Pansy in her first night back from school for Winter hols, sending her off to sleep with the warning that_ that _was what failure was met with, punishment. “I got caught up in some bad stuff, obviously. My own fault.”_

_“...you haven’t been eating because you’re afraid Dark Dickhead-”_

_“Angela, your mother will hardly appreciate such language,” Professor Black offered halfheartedly._

_“You’re right, sorry, I should use the correct terminology,” Angela apologized before she amended, “Dark Penisface,” had Granger spitting up her Orange juice, “is going to have someone poison you? It seemed like you ate my cooking just fine.”_

_“Well, you have no motive to poison me,” Pansy’s, “That I know of,” overlapped Angela’s,_

_“That you know of,” the Muggle girl giggled at having spoken at their shared train of thought._

Oh gods. She’d insisted on dinner...this wasn’t going to be a continuous thing, right? She hated it, feeling indebted to the girl, hated that the act spread something warm in her chest.

Didn’t mean she wanted her to stop. She should stop it. But also she should never. 

She...stalled. She stalled as long as she could, within reason. Stayed up reading in the parlor so late that after an hour of checking their watches, the other Witches finally decided it was late enough to abandon their guest without seeming rude, needing to retire. “You’re sixteen, Miss Parkinson, I trust you can manage your own bedtime but do remember you’ll be expected at lessons with Minerva come morning,” was all Professor Black left her with. Hermione seemed conflicted, reticent to follow the woman into her bedroom...oh honestly!

“Just freaking go already Granger, gods, where the hell else am I supposed to think you’re sleeping? You certainly didn’t crawl into bed with me last night.” Ugh. The Witch paled, like she was scared about Pansy knowing. And she didn’t particularly want to get into it. Whatever they were up to...Granger was the younger Witch, but she seemed capable of making her own informed decisions. As long as she was cool with it, wasn’t being pressured or whatever...Pansy wasn’t going to kick up anything. Why was her next thought that she’d personally see to it Professor Black would be out of a job if Granger came to her and said she was being mistreated? She didn’t care about Hermione Granger. “We were all in bed together, er, non-weirdly, yesterday. A sort of friendship thing, like that.”

“Are we becoming friends, Pansy?” Granger asked, like she was delighted with the prospect.

“Shut up and go to bed!” oh wait. “Did the Professor get your potion started for tomorrow? Or does that need done?” Crap! She didn’t care, she just- she would have to put up with Granger if she was cramping badly or whatever. At least when she wasn’t at lessons.

“I set it to brew in my laboratory while you and Miss Granger were rather engulfed in conversation over your readings,” Professor Black said from her bedroom door, Oh yeah. They had...talked. Not unkindly. For more than five minutes. Maybe an hour. The Professor held out her hand to the younger Witch, “Come darling, let us retire.”

Good. They were gone and...no one was going to pressure her into going to bed. She _would_ she just...didn’t want to. She felt panicky about it, for more than her regular anxious bullshit. There was something in there she really didn’t want to see...and for the life of her she couldn’t remember what or why. She _knew_ but it was escaping her.

So despite bracing herself as she prepared for bed for the better part of the next hour after the others went to sleep, summoning her nightgown and bathing a long while before she set foot in the guest room, it hit her like...well she was pretty sure it was what the Killing Curse felt like, an eruption of pain and then everything going dead inside, heart stopping, no more breathing, just dead. Except she survived, and that was most of her issue now.

She’d been bracing herself for walking into a room with an empty crib. It shouldn’t bother her, it shouldn’t, but it wasn’t so much the crib, it was that she forgot why it would bother her and then when she saw it? It gave her mind enough context, given her reaction came from laying eyes on that particular piece of furniture...and the horrific realization that she forgot.

She totally forgot.

She forgot her baby left- him? Her? Fuck fuck fuck no. No no no, she _knew,_ she knew whether her baby was a Witch or a Wizard she even named them, it was-

A horrified cry sounded, from her own lips, she realized as she stumbled back out of the room and _ran, bolted_ for the Floo. Oh gods she- she hadn’t meant to forget! She didn’t want to, she left it! She left her memories in the Pensieve, she meant to retrieve them at the end of their lesson, ask for them back, but she’d been rushing to get out so quickly she-

She didn’t need her baby, to know she would be a shite mother. She _was_ a shite mother. She forgot them!

She threw down powder, crying out, “Professor McGonagall’s Home! Professor McGonagall’s Home!” and…

For a split second, the Professor’s Tower Quarters appeared in her vision, she’d been half-finished with her second utterance of ‘Home’. And before she could step out of the flames-

She stepped directly into the woman’s image. Dark without the light of day, but it was the ‘living room’, McGonagall used to use for her Occlusion Image, she was in the real thing and oh _gods_ she fucked up! A whine escaped her as she stumbled into the living space, oh gods it was dark and she didn’t know how anything worked and there was a low rumbling noise outside that scared her, and something in the next room _hissed_ -

And then the Floo roared to life behind her, and she fell directly on her ass as a Witch stepped out of the rush of flames, wand in hand, gaze assessing.

“Miss Parkinson?” Minerva McGonagall, greying locks loose and spilling down her shoulders to her hips, a pale pink housecoat wrapped around her, bare of foot in her living room.

“I-I-I- oh gods I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to come to your quarters, I said your home! B-but I- somehow- I saw your rooms but...but I’d said it twice...I don’t know why _that_ sent me here-”

“There is a direct Floo connection between my home and my quarters, when you reiterated your destination, it sent you through as you were in my hearth, you scared the daylights out of Angela, she was reading on the couch and thought it was your voice she heard but I couldn’t be sure, of course, when she called to me what she heard when my alarms sounded.”

“Alarms?”

“...for an intruder in my home. You are welcome here, of course, but as we are on holiday it’s to alert me if anyone enters,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “Are you hurt, dear?”

Her chin quivered, a pathetic sound leaving her even as she said, “No.”

The woman knelt, stowing her wand away with the flick of her hand before she offered both to Pansy, and then, very kindly, “Can you stand?” Pansy nodded, sniffling, and the woman offered her a warm smile. “Alright sweetheart. Come along. Let us return to my quarters.”

She helped Pansy rise on trembling limbs, and wrapped an arm around her tight, securing her through the journey back through the Floo, into her quarters where Angela stood at the counter brewing tea, her mother at her side with her arm around her shoulders, though when her wife and Pansy came through the floo,

“Oh honey,” she ‘tsk’d with sympathy, “sweetheart you were right,” she said to her daughter before addressing Pansy again, “What’s wrong lovey? Are you alright? Oh, honey you’re shaking, come sit down on the couch.”

Oh gods, it was so late, the woman looked exhausted, she’d clearly been asleep before this. “I’m so sorry,” Pansy sobbed.

The arm around her tightened, hand on her arm rubbing to soothe, “Shhh, dear, it is alright,” McGonagall assured. “Sit down, breathe, we’ll have a cuppa and a chat. Whatever possessed you to come here this evening?”

“Nothing- I- oh gods I’m so sorry I just- I ne- ne- I need my m-memories back I meant to get them before I left, but I didn’t and I’m a horrible-” oh gods she felt like she might be sick, she breathed in a harsh sob, “I’m just horrible, I forgot them and- I need them back!”

Millie came around to sit at Pansy’s side, McGonagall casting to summon their tea to, a pot and cups appearing on the coffee table, a sad whine sounded from Toby as he led Angela to the couch, and then rested his head in Pansy’s lap, the Muggle girl reaching out, finding Millie’s knee before she found Pansy’s hand, grasping hold of it and squeezing. “Mum had you stow away some of your memories for safe keeping? They’re perfectly safe, right, persevered in that sieve thing?”

“B-b-but I l-left them,” Pansy sniffled.

“Shhh, they’re safe, and you can have the back, of course sweetie,” Millie assured, pressing a kiss to her temple, “oh honey, it’s _okay_ , take a few deep breaths for me, alright?”

She did. But it didn’t help when McGonagall’s brow furrowed with regret and she said, “Pansy, I would absolutely restore your memories but it is dangerous, damaging to remove and replace memories so often, especially the same ones. If they are memories you would prefer be out of your mind in our lessons...I promise you, they are absolutely safe where they are, but it would be best if they remained either in your mind, or in the Pensieve, for the remainder of our lessons, as opposed to endeavor switching back and forth. At best, your memories would be damaged in the process, at worst, your mind.”

_“Damaged?!_ I- oh gods I don’t- I don’t want you to see but I don- I don’t want to just leave them, and if they got messed up I-” that couldn’t happen!

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what you need my dear, if...if I could form a perfect solution for this, I would, I assure you,” McGonagall said, sounding miserable with herself as she carded a hand through Pansy’s hair. Oh gods, the woman wanted with everything to comfort her, fix this, it was making her miserable because _Pansy_ was in misery over it and- how the hell did that even work? Feeling feelings because another person was? “As it stands, your memories are safe, and they would be perfectly returned to you once our lessons are concluded if you wish for their privacy still.”

“I don’t wish anything, I need my baby!”

The women were very quiet for a moment, silently consulting one another with a look before McGonagall gently ventured, seeking some confirmation. “...Pansy?”

This was stupid and embarrassing and she just needed it over, her memories back! “M-m-my baby, I can’t remember their name, I should never forget their name, I- oh gods, m-m-my memories are all I’ll ever have of them, I left them in your dumb pensieve and I need them back I don’t care if you see I just want my baby!”

“Minnie go, go now,” Millie firmly intoned, the weight at one side disappearing as McGonagall fled from the couch while the other- oh hell, the woman pulled her into her lap, holding her as tightly as possible- oh fuck! Both Muggle mother and daughter were crying with her, Millie pressing kisses to Pansy’s temple as Angela squeezed her hand. “Sweetheart, what- honey, you...you lost a baby?”

“I didn’t want an abortion! But they killed them, my parents t-t-tortured me and I lost them and now I see Threstrals and I told Justin I was glad because I couldn’t stand carrying Mudblood spawn so he hates me and that's what I wanted because I just want to die and I didn’t want him missing-”

She’d stopped when she realized what she was saying, confessing out loud. To almost perfect strangers, save McGonagall standing with a wisp of memory hanging at the end of her wand as she stood just in the parlor, staring in utter shock.

She wasn’t sure how long she cried or what all she said. Millie hugged her and she wept into the woman’s shoulder and word vomit happened, what she could remember of loving Justin, the knowledge she loved her baby even if she couldn’t remember their name now-

“I...I gave a cursitory search of your memories, Miss parkinson, I promise I did not watch them, but I did seek out something specific, if you wish it returned. I can arrange to have your memories secured in vials you keep on your person, until it is safe to return them while maintaining their privacy. And in the meantime...this seems most what you wanted,” McGonagall said, she rejoined them on the couch, carefully guarding the memory her wand held, and when Pansy nodded she raised it to the Slytherin Witch’s temple-

Her baby’s name.

Pansy wept relief and grief for as long as the women around her let her, and that...was until she stopped. Calmed enough to accept the cup of magically re-warmed tea offered to her, sip at it to soothe her throat, oh Merlin, she was...embarrassed even as she felt too tired to be much of anything.

“Okay...honey, you’re alright. You’re going to stay with us tonight, and when we wake up, we will figure this out. You’re never returning to your parents, that’s for damn sure,” Millie informed, oh gods, she was just- she was just some sickly Muggle Pansy could bruise on pure accident, but her mind was full of the resolve that she would stare down anyone, fight them to protect Pansy, no matter the cost. “Min, can’t the Ministry-”

“We can’t get them involved, oh gods,” Pansy whimpered as McGonagall let out a ‘shhhhh’.

“I feel very much the way you do, my love. But at this time?” McGonagall sighed, “With the war...the Ministry is already wanting as it is. Unfortunately they are more likely to side with her parents, bend to their wealth and will. I am not saying it is _right_ , I am saying that it _is._ And...all the law enforcement in the world does not stop them from being a Dark Witch and Wizard, they would not fear the law, they would harm her however they saw fit, but something will be done, I assure you,” she vowed, “We will absolutely keep you safe, my dear,” she swore to Pansy, “you will not be returned to your family home. By hook or by crook, we will ensure it.”

“This was stupid,” Pansy refuted, “don’t- I can’t- you’re already doing so much, I can’t put you in more danger-”

“Oh, nevermind that, sweetheart, you are who we’re worried about,” Millie said, tucking a few curls of Pansy’s hair behind her ear, “honey, we won’t regret it a moment, anything that keeps you _here_. Alive, and safe.”

“I can’t- you’re already- you should worry about yourself! This was so stupid I- it’s all my own fault, all of it, and now I’m here and I’m wrecking everyone’s holiday, the Professor’s and Grangers, and yours, you shouldn’t be up fussing over me, you should be in bed, you’re sick-”

The room fell deadly quiet, Pansy’s mouth working as she tried to figure out how to insist she misspoke or apologize or hex herself for not keeping her stupid mouth shut, but no one said a word until, “...sick?” Angela asked, a painful squeaking crack in her voice. “Mum? What does she mean?”

“Nothing, angel-”

“Don’t ‘nothing angel’, me! You’ve been acting strangely for weeks now, both of you- mum?”

“I-I didn’t mean to- I saw it in your minds,” Pansy hastily said, promising, “I- I was keeping your confidence it just- it slipped out, I’m so sor-”

“Shhh, honey, it isn’t your secret to keep. I’m grateful you saw and respected my wishes. I’m not angry with you,” Millie promised. “I’m fine, Angel. I’ve been a little poorly, a few aches and pains your mother has insisted I see a doctor over. We’ve ruled out my uterus traveling around my body and biting my joints, I was waiting for something more definitive, and the holidays to pass. But baby, it’s fine, no matter what it is, it will be fine-”

“You...you’ve been in pain? Feeling-” Angela was shaking as she insisted, “mum! Why didn’t you tell me? It’s my job to take care of you too, muma, if you’re scared, I want to be scared with you! You have to be honest with us, _us,_ mum and me! That’s the rules!”

Millie gave her daughter a wavering smile, taking the girl’s hand in her own and raising it to her cheek so Angela could feel the upturn of the corner of her mouth in the palm of her hand before pressing a kiss to her hand. “I ache head to toe and I am absolutely exhausted and heartsick and yes, perhaps a little scared. So...yes, I want my wife and my babies safe with me. Minerva, please inform Narcissa that Pansy is safe with us. Let’s get some rest, shall we?”

“W-we?” Pansy sniffled. Why were they telling Narcissa she was here? She could just go back-

To the stupid room that started all of this. It wasn’t the room’s fault but…

But maybe she should thank it. 

Because she ended up getting the best sleep she’d had in months...maybe ever, piled on the couch McGonagall transfigured a bit, to lengthen the seat so it was more like a bed, curled up with this ridiculous family and their ridiculous pets, Angela wrapped around Millie, this Muggle woman wrapped around Pansy, the Witch finding herself being held in a way that somehow made her feel safe, and vastly empty, openly vulnerable like she was just a second away from stepping off into something scary. And when McGonagall was through calling through the Floo to Professor Black, the woman laid down alongside Pansy, held her hand, and something in her magic promised security. That she was there, and _safe_ because these women would protect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Drunk Hermione is a full shout out to Drunk Amy off of B99, it's an obvious thing I just wanted to make sure it's clear I'm loving on that and not touting it as an original idea 😂 
> 
> Okay, I've got like a scene and a half more to write on the next bit and that'll be up as soon as possible! Be safe and well, see you on the next chapter!


End file.
